by Wolf Wootan
At one point, the General remarked, “I don’t know how you can abide those towel heads, Syd. They cause a lot of unrest in the world, them and their damned Allah! Their crazy antics extend well beyond the Middle East.”
“I respectfully beg to differ with you, General. The number of Muslim extremists causing havoc in the world as a percentage of all Muslims is a small number. It’s not fair to paint an entire people with the terrorist brush. I, if anyone, have more reason to hate them most—Iranian terrorists blew up the bus my parents were in, killing all aboard. I certainly despise those who did that, but not those ‘towel heads,’ as you call them, who are innocent. I remember last year that a general lost his command and career as a result of sexual harassment of a high-ranking female general. I certainly don’t hold that against all generals!”
General Lincoln stared at Syd with amazement as she made her little speech. Hatch wanted to stand up and cheer! Someone had the guts to talk back to his father, instead of knuckling under. He waited with amusement to see how the General reacted. He was surprised when his father broke into a large smile.
“Hot damn, Hatch! I like this woman! She has a real fucking backbone!”
Carrie said curtly, “Watch your language, Larry! Must you always embarrass me?”
“Sorry, Syd! You have a sharp mind and a lot of spunk! I’m used to people agreeing with me, even when they don’t,” exclaimed the General with a chortle.
“Thank you, General,” smiled Syd. “You will find that I speak my mind, particularly when I’m sure of the facts. ‘Towel heads’ are at the center of my life’s work.”
The General patted her knee and said, “I sincerely apologize to you, Syd. Why don’t you call me Larry, dear.”
Hatch could not believe his ears! No one called his father “Larry” except Carrie. Hatch had never called him Larry, of course, and very seldom “Dad.” Syd had worked some kind of magic and “Larry” was eating out of her hand.
Maybe dinner tonight will be more fun than I thought. I was ready for a disaster! thought Hatch.
• • •
Syros is a small island and is part of the Cyclades. Ermoupoli, sometimes called the “Queen of the Cyclades,” is its capital and main harbor. The landscape alternates between mountains and low-lying farm areas. Archeological excavations have shown that the island was inhabited in Neolithic time. Ermoupoli is a sightseer’s dream—old mansions and white houses cascading down to the harbor, Miaouli square ringed with cafes, and the Apollo Municipal Theatre (a miniature version of La Scala in Milan)—but Hatch had no sightseeing on the schedule that day. The place he was taking them to was on the west side of the island, not far from the bay called Finikas.
A waiting limo took the four of them from the small heliport where the chopper landed to a quiet waterfront inn—Papadopolos Beach Hotel. Hatch had reserved two “suites” with an ocean view. It was 7:30 P.M. as he showed his parents to one suite and told them to freshen up while he and Syd did the same and changed clothes in the other.
“You rented an entire suite so I could pee and wash my hands?” exclaimed the General. “You have no concept of the value of money, Hatch!”
“You’re right, General. I just didn’t want you and Mom to have to hang out in the lobby while Syd and I got settled. Besides, I got a two for one deal. I am thrifty,” laughed Hatch. “Go relax. Call room service for a drink. They’ll put it on my tab. We’ll meet you here in the hall at 2015.”
Syd and Hatch entered their rooms and Hatch put their overnight bag on the bed.
Hatch chuckled, “Well! ‘Just call me Larry, dear!’ I nearly fainted when he said that. No one—and I mean no one—calls him Larry except my mother. Even she calls him General in front of other people. You are something special, Syd!”
Syd laughed with him and remarked, “I was trying to be on my best behavior, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. I must have hit a nerve.”
“Not even three-star generals ever talked to him like that. I think he likes you. I expected tonight to be stressful and a pain in the ass, but now I think, for the first time, I might enjoy a meal with my parents.”
Syd unpacked their bag, shook out their clothes, and hung them in the ancient closet. Their “suite” consisted of a large bedroom with a balcony, a sitting room with a balcony, and a small bathroom.
“How did you get a two-for-one deal on these rooms, Hatch?” asked Syd as she undressed.
“Well, I didn’t. This is one of my poorer investments. The family who owned this place—the Papadopolos family—and the restaurant next door, one of my favorites, were going belly up so I bought it a couple of years ago. They get to live here rent free and run things, and I get free lodging when I show up. It supports them, and actually makes a small profit now, which we use to maintain the place. It keeps them off the street, and the taverna next door—Papa’s Taverna—draws quite a crowd most of the time. Unlike the hotel, it’s open all year round,” explained Hatch.
Syd’s heart went mushy and a tear formed in the corner of her eye. She went to him and put her arms around the man she loved and kissed his cheek.
“It’s not a poor investment, dear. You invested in poor, needy people. Plus, you kept this historic inn from who knows what fate? I can’t wait to see the taverna. By the way, who are you here? Bob Kelly? Or someone I don’t know about yet?”
“I’m Hatch Lincoln here. I would never take my parents to a place where I couldn’t use the family name. It’s not widely known, however, that I’m the owner. Mr. and Mrs. Papadopolos are still considered to be the owners except by a handful of people—mostly their family members. If you keep rubbing your near-naked body against me, we’re going to be late meeting my parents,” chortled Hatch as he played with her bra-clad breast.
“I’m sorry, darling, I forgot how hot you get when you see me in my underwear! I’ll get dressed now!”
“I get hot looking at you even when you’re fully clothed!” he laughed. “I still can’t believe you love me!”
“Me either, but believe it! Can I wear my Italian skirt and off-the-shoulder blouse in your restaurant?”
“That would be perfect! Can you wear that thing braless the way Teresa does?”
“Not on your life! Not in front of your parents! And what are you doing noticing that Teresa goes braless? Get real, Hatch! I’ll wear it braless just for you some other time,” she chuckled.
• • •
When the four of them entered Papa’s Taverna, they were greeted boisterously by Spirodion Papadopolos—called Papa Papa by the locals—and his wife Margi. Syd had learned from Hatch that they were both in their late sixties, but they looked younger and were obviously quite fit and in good health. They both hugged Hatch, and Margi kissed him on both cheeks. Hatch introduced his father and mother, and then Syd. The four of them were shown to a large round table with a view of the docks through an open window. Papa Papa took their drink orders after much jubilant discussion.
The restaurant had a long bar along one side. The rest was evenly divided between a hardwood dance floor and tables and chairs. There were windows along the wall facing the docks, and they were all open. Hatch explained that Greeks preferred open air dining, especially in the summer months. The current temperature was a balmy 69 degrees. The entire place was decorated in what Syd assumed was Greek rustic.
Syd knew now—thanks to an earlier conversation with Hatch while she dressed—that General Lincoln was 72 and his mother, Carrie, was 70. The General had retired in 1992 as an Air Force four-star general and, therefore, had a good pension. Hatch had paid for the cruise they were on: it was a 50th wedding anniversary present. They currently lived in the Florida Keys in a community for seniors. Hatch saw them occasionally when he was in Florida. Hatch’s brother Vernon was 46, married to Connie, 44, and had two daughters. They were Lily, aged 20, and Amy, aged 18. Both of the girls were attending Yale.
Hatch excused himself for a moment and went to the bar to greet some other members
of the Papadopolos family. Papa Papa was behind the bar fixing their drink order as Hatch approached him after shaking several hands and receiving several hugs.
“Did it arrive?” asked Hatch eagerly in a low voice.
“Yes, sir! It sure did,” beamed Papa Papa.
He reached under the bar and retrieved a small package wrapped in brown paper.
“Unwrap it for me, please,” said Hatch as he lit a cigarette.
Papa Papa removed the brown paper and handed Hatch a satin-covered ring box. Hatch stood so no one could see what was in his hand and opened it to reveal the ring he had ordered over the phone. The diamond was only three carats—still rare and hard to find at that size, however—but its color and clarity were exceptional, and it had been emerald cut by one of the world’s premier jewelers. It would have been larger, but Hatch knew that Syd would never wear anything larger. He was probably stretching the envelope of her acceptance as it was. Four smaller diamonds were set along the sides. He snapped the box shut and slipped it in his pocket. Papa Papa’s eyes were bulging. He had never seen a diamond that big, or a more beautiful engagement ring.
“What a ring!” he whispered in his heavy Greek accent. “You could buy another place like this for what that cost! Is that for the lovely Sydney?”
“Yes, if she’ll accept it.”
“When are you going to ask her?”
“Tonight, I think. This thing is already burning a hole in my pocket,” Hatch replied as he took a drag on his cigarette, and blew a cloud of smoke into the haze collecting on the ceiling. There were many other smokers in the room.
“There will be much singing and dancing tonight! I will send Stavros to fetch Otus so we will have another bouzouki player!”
“She hasn’t said yes, yet,” warned Hatch.
“How could she not?”
• • •
While Hatch was at the bar with Papa Papa, the General was taking the opportunity to probe Syd’s philosophy and background some more. They had a lively conversation going, Syd giving as much as she received. General Lincoln liked her. She was somehow entirely different from all the other women Hatch had introduced to them. She did not seem shallow and air-headed. She had depth and charm.
She’s not just a piece of ass like the others he brings around. I wonder if he knows that. He must! This woman is intelligent, witty, and has spunk! She’s a keeper!
“Syd, what do you think of the new president?” he asked her, still digging.
“I think it’s too soon to evaluate him one way or another,” she answered, knowing for a fact that he had asked Hatch—or ‘Bob’—for help at least twice in two weeks. She knew that Hatch thought that he was most likely spineless, but then, Hatch had a great dislike for politicians who did not step up to the plate and take a swing. “At least, he chose a woman for a running mate, even if it was only to get him elected.”
Syd laughed a happy, bright laugh.
“You think so? You think women can handle the pressure at that level?” snorted General Lincoln.
“Stop baiting her, Larry,” interjected Carrie.
Syd answered him, “Of course! Even the services have women generals. I partially agree with Margaret Thatcher on women in politics. She said, quote, ‘In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man; if you want anything done, ask a woman.’ Sometimes, I think a woman can say it better, too!”
“Well, I always wonder how women will handle things when they get gripped in the hands of fear. Military or political!” continued the General.
Syd thought a second, then mused, “Fear is often misunderstood, General. In times of danger, the animal instincts built into our genes raise warning signals. It’s how our minds process those signals that produce what we call fear. The mind is very powerful. Fear, properly channeled, can help one defeat the bogey man.”
The General fell silent while trying to digest her statement, and fortunately for Syd, Hatch returned followed by Papa Papa with a tray of drinks.
Trying to regain the upper hand, the General asked, “You wouldn’t be one of those feminists, would you?”
“Lordy no, Larry! Do I look like someone who would burn a perfectly good bra?” Syd smiled sweetly, an eyebrow arched.
The General’s neck seemed to turn a darker shade as Carrie glared at him.
Hatch remarked, “Did I miss something?”
Carrie replied sweetly, “No, dear. Your father was trying to have a duel of wits with Syd and lost.”
Papa Papa served their drinks and gave them menus. He also described the specials for the evening. Then he suggested that they enjoy the joie de vivre, Greek style. He recommended that they start off with a selection of mezedes, Greek hors d’oeuvres. They agreed, but left the selection to him.
Greeks in all walks of life use evening dining as one of their principal sources of entertainment, especially in the small island villages. Papa’s Taverna catered to Greek clientele primarily. The only other non-Greek guests besides Hatch’s group were two French couples. Nearly all the tables were now full.
Papa Papa returned in ten minutes and placed an assortment of filled plates in the center of the round table. He explained that Greeks preferred their mezedes served family style so all could sample some of everything. He related in detail what each dish was. There was dolmadakia, meat rolled in grapevine leaves; kolokithakia, deep fried zucchini with a spread called tzatziki, made from yogurt, garlic, and cucumbers; keftedes (meat balls); and pickled octopus.
These were all new foods to Syd, since her experience with Greek food was limited to an occasional Greek salad and a few pita bread sandwiches stuffed with grilled lamb souvlaki. She figured the food could not be any spicier than some of the dishes she had eaten in the Middle East.
They all sampled the various dishes, ordered a second round of drinks, and partook of lively and comfortable conversation. Hatch was enjoying himself even more than he had expected.
The General finally said to Syd, “If I didn’t say so before, Sydney, my deepest condolences on the loss of your parents. A little family get-together like this must make you sad. Did you ever find out who the culprits were?”
This brought a glare from both Carrie and Hatch, but Syd took it in stride and answered with a wan smile, “Thank you, General. The group who took credit for the bombing was a group of Muslim extremists who called themselves the Wrath of Allah.”
She did not wish to go into more detail for obvious reasons.
The General reached for another zucchini and said, “Didn’t I read something about a group in Iran getting blown up a couple of weeks ago? As I remember, that was their name! That must have been something to see! Those bastards being blown to hell, where they belong!”
Syd recalled the scene vividly, including Sara’s blood everywhere.
“Yes, that would be something to see,” she whispered.
“Let’s change the subject, General,” interjected Hatch. “We needn’t remind Syd of the loss of her parents.”
“I just thought she would be pleased that …”
“I’m sure she is. How’s your golf game these days, General?” continued Hatch, determined to save Syd from any more of his father’s probing.
“Well, I’m no Tiger Woods.”
• • •
By the time they had finished their dinner—pork cooked in a covered pot with apples, pears, and vegetables—the entertainment was in full swing. The musical group consisted of two men each playing an eight-string bouzouki (a mandolin-like instrument with four pairs of strings), one playing a baglamas (a three-stringed instrument), and one with a kithara (guitar). Occasionally, the musician playing the lead melody on a bouzouki, would switch to a klarino—a Greek clarinet—to play the melody. His name was Otus Andros, Papa Papa’s forty-year-old nephew. He was a well-known expert musician in Greek circles. His daughter Kaly sang many of the songs the band played. The place was now packed to capacity.
Hatch ordered a couple of Zorbatinis for himself and
Syd, and ordered a bottle of Metaxa Private Reserve brandy for his parents. He ordered the entire bottle so he and Syd could take what was left to their rooms later for their ritualistic nightcap.
“What’s a Zorbatini?” Syd had asked.
“It’s one quarter ounce of ouzo and one and a quarter ounces of Stoli vodka—or, in our case, a double dose of each. You’ll love it!” he had explained.
When the drinks were served, Carrie and Syd excused themselves and went to the Ladies’ Room. Hatch bought two cigars from the bar and led his father outside to the dock. There were several tables out there filled with revelers, so the two walked farther down the dock to gain some privacy.
“Are you still allowed a cigar, General?” queried Hatch.
“It’s my fucking fiftieth anniversary, so I’ll have one if I want!”
“I’ll take that as a no, but you’ll have one anyway.”
They lit up and leaned on a rail and peered out over the dark water. They could see lights on some of the boats anchored on buoys. The clanking of sail lines against masts drifted in off the water like a wind chime.
“How did the interrogation of Syd go, General?” chuckled Hatch as he puffed his thin cigar.
“Interrogation? No such thing! Just friendly banter, getting to know her.”
“Sure.”
“Well, if it means anything, this gal I like. I know it’s only been a few hours, but she outshines the usual brainless pussy you bring around. She’s smart, and has mucho backbone,” said the General as he puffed his cigar. “She’s the only person besides your mother who has ever had the guts to talk back to me!”
Hatch sipped his Zorbatini and smiled, ignoring the insult about backbone and his usual taste in women.
She passed the old man’s friggin’ test! Not that it would have changed my course of action in any way if she hadn’t, but it will make things much more pleasant now. Maybe he will accept her as a daughter-in-law!