The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 03

"Shut up. The Nazi bitch will hear you and decide we need shorter rest times." Robin was in her usual mood at these things.

As they headed into the locker room, Mallory asked in amusement, "Why do you come if you hate them so much?"

Good mood restored now that the inhumanity was over, Robin grinned. "DH spends his days lifting heavy things. He walks for miles. Man's got stamina. Need some of my own to keep up, if you know what I mean." Her eyebrow-wiggle set Mallory laughing.

Mallory returned to the topic. "Seriously, you've come to a Tuesday lunch or two. Does something seem off to you?"

It does. Or it doesn't, Robin thought, depending on how you look at it. Jim isn't as easygoing and lighthearted as he was pre-tirade, but it isn't the tirade. He's acting normally for a guy in his situation. She wasn't going to say that to Mallory though. "Maybe it's your imagination. Take the win that you're talking again."

Mallory wasn't convinced. She parted with Robin and headed over for lunch. "Tom, have you noticed that Jim's different? I asked him what was wrong and he said nothing."

Tom shrugged.

"So what do you think it is?"

"You should talk to him about it, I guess."

"Which part of 'He's not talking about it' are you not getting?"

Tom shrugged again. Mallory's gaze sharpened. "You know something," she accused.

Tom looked at her without expression. She pleaded, "Please, Tom. We've been friends for a long time, more than friends at one point."

"Both of us agreed that was over, Mal."

"Yes, but you're still my friend and I'm still yours. I'm afraid he's still mad for how I went off on him."

Tom shook his head. "He's over that."

"Then what?"

He shook his head and went back to restocking. But Mallory didn't quit. Finally, he sighed and set down his bar cloth. "Why do you think Jim didn't come in for days back a number of weeks ago?"

"Because he was pissed off that I yelled at him."

Before she finished the sentence, he was shaking his head. "Before that. You even commented on it."

"What are you talking about?"

"You should know, Mal. It was your birthday."

"What? Nothing happened. Josh and I went up to Vermont and then ..." her voice trailed off as Tom tipped his head and gave a little tight smile. She followed the trail of implications. "You're nuts! Jim was just busy after that. He told me so."

"If you say so." Tom just stared at her with a "Was she this much of an idiot when I was dating her?" expression on his face.

"He's never said anything."

"Why would he? You were with Josh."

"I'm not anymore."

"Why would he?" Tom repeated. "He saw that guy who took you out a couple of weeks ago. That guy's muscles had muscles. He knows he's not your type, and he's a little gun shy about women."

The next day, Robin marched into the bar after her workout. "That was a bad idea," she said to Tom.

"What?"

"Telling Mallory. She'll avoid him to spare his feelings."

Tom shrugged and went back to what he was doing.

Shannon was standing nearby. She and Robin exchanged looks. "Men," one of them said faintly. He wasn't sure which.

He didn't pay it much attention. Maybe they get it right more times than us men, but I know Mal better than they do. You don't get her to do something by waiting around. You rub her nose in it like a puppy.

I just needed her to show enough concern to "drag" it out of me.

Sure enough, Mallory found an excuse to avoid Tuesday, and Jim ate alone. That Friday, Robin's "let's grab a bite after spin at Mickey's" was declined.

"Got stuff to do."

Robin doubted that. Since she'd planned ... hoped ... she'd be eating at Mickey's, and since her husband was out of town, Robin headed over to the pub. "Vodka martini, two olives," she called to Tom as she dropped down across from Jim.

When he appeared with the drink, Jim said, "Why don't you and Shannon join us?"

"Fridays are busy."

Jim looked around. "Happy hour crowd is thinning. Late-night crowd is still a couple of hours away. You've got another bartender. Come on."

Robin nodded agreement. Tom considered, then held up a finger to say, Be right back. The other two shared a smile as they heard a squawk from the kitchen, followed by a firm, "Frankie knows how to cook. Let's go." Robin scooted around next to Jim so the other two could have the outside chairs in case they were needed.

But the bar and the kitchen had no problems keeping up, and Tom and Shannon relaxed with their friends, and laughter flowed. As they were debating pie, Tom pulled out his phone. With the barest flicker of eye contact with Robin, he dialed. "Hey, Mal, we're here with Jim and Robin. And you're on speaker, so no telling me how much you miss me because Shannon's holding a fork."

"Ha-ha. What's up?"

"Friday's a tradition now. You need to be here. So, throw on something and come on over."

"Tom, I—"

He cut her off. "Good. See you in ten." He hung up, to everyone's amusement. This time, it was Robin who made eye contact with Tom for a bare second, careful not to let Jim see.

Mallory showed. As she stopped at the bar to get a drink, Tom rose. "Who needs a refill?"

As he passed Mallory on his way behind the bar, he murmured. "Remember how upset you were when a friend was avoiding you? And you at least knew why." He didn't pause to let her respond, just stepped behind the bar and poured pints. Shoving one across the counter, "Can you take that to Shannon with yours?" He ignored the rather silly combination of unwillingness and guilt on her face.

The conversation turned to the gym since four of them were members, Shannon's "I will, yeah" making it clear to all that she wasn't setting foot in there.

Jim had a hangdog look on his face. "I haven't been going very much. Work's been busy. Lori's a pain in my ass. And my assistant has us all taking turns doing Meals on Wheels." At the attaboys from the others, Jim put hands up. "Do not ... I repeat ... not give me any credit for it. I'd stop in a heartbeat if, like everybody else in the company, I wasn't scared to death of her. Thursdays are my day and I'd rather get off my sickbed than let her catch me skipping."

"She's a dragon?"

"She was my dad's assistant. I'm still a toddler in diapers in her mind. I figure when I'm about sixty and she's about ninety-five, she'll concede I know how to do one or two things."

"Having a workout buddy helps get you off your ass," Tom said. "Come when I do."

"Late morning doesn't work so well for me. Too much going on at the plant."

"How 'bout early morning?" Robin said.

Jim shrugged. "Maybe that would work."

Robin paused, as though waiting for something. Then she went on smoothly, "Tuesdays and Thursdays I have staff meetings in the a.m., so they're a little more regular. I could meet you at eight those days if you wanted."

"I guess." Everyone could hear the reluctance in his voice and chipped in to bust his chops.

Except for Shannon. She teased, "You're a fine figure, James, and if yer man sitting next me doesn't stop acting the maggot, well, would you consider growing a little stubble on that chin? I like to feel it under me hands when shifting a guy."

By the time they'd cleared up that "maggot" meant annoying idiot and that "shifting" ... no, not that ... shifting means making out ... they were all holding their sides at Shannon's protestations.

"We gotta get back to work," Tom said, standing. "See some of you Tuesday"—no glance at Mallory—"and we'll join you next Friday for dinner."

Jim saw the trouble fifty feet away through the window of Mickey's. He was off his stool where he was waiting and out the door, brushing past Mallory on her way in.

"What?" she said in confusion. Turning, she saw Jim's destination: Brandon, tramping along purposefully in her wake. She stepped reflexively back. "Tom!" she called.

"Not a great idea, Brandon," Jim said. "It is Brandon, right?"

The question surprised the man facing him. "Who are you?" he said and kept walking.

Jim moved so he was between Brandon and the door. "Just someone." Now that Jim was close enough, he could smell the beer. One o'clock on a weekday and the guy wasn't sober.

"Get out of my way. I just want to have a word with her." Brandon was clearly in no mood to discuss the situation.

"Tom!" Mallory said more urgently. Tom showed up at her side, a cut-off Louisville Slugger in his hand. "Get out there!"

"Patience. This isn't my first rodeo," Tom replied. He stood just inside the door, out of Brandon's line of sight. Both he and Mallory could hear the words being exchanged fifteen feet away.

"Last warning, dude, if you don't want to get hurt."

"Shit. You'd break me into pieces with just one hand."

The casual concession of superiority rather than bravado took Brandon aback. "Then move your ass out of the way."

"Of course, why would Mallory have any interest in a guy who beat the shit out of someone half their size?"

"What the fuck's your problem, dude?"

Jim went on as if Brandon hadn't spoken. "And then there's all the other stuff, Brandon Gleason."

"How the fuck you know my name?"

Jim shrugged. "You drive a truck for Hutcheson & Feld. You probably don't know it, but Ed Hutcheson is one of my best friends." Suddenly, both Brandon and the two listeners at the door realized that Jim's voice had lost its amiable tone. "We play poker once a month, barbecue, that kind of thing. There's also that I donate a lot for the Policeman and Fireman's Fair, so the police chief likes me."

He paused, and then almost as an afterthought, added, "And of course, Mallory's best friend is an attorney glad to sue the ass off of anyone."

The sudden assault from a direction Brandon hadn't anticipated confused his already-beer-befuddled brain. All he could manage was a weak, "Dude, all I want to do is talk."

"Yeah, but when you get down to it, why bother with her?"

Huh? Mallory thought.

"I mean, come on, I sincerely doubt you'd have trouble finding something else. Probably a lot better."

Tom's eyes twinkled with amusement. Mallory glared at him.

Brandon's eyes were fixed on Jim. "You who she's bangin' now?" He waited for a second, then answered his own question after a dismissive flick up and down, "Nah, not you. Why do you care, dude?"

Jim shrugged, the patient voice returning. "She's kind of a friend. I don't want her hassled. Especially when all you want to do is tell her to fuck off. Just send her a text. Hell, send her a text with a picture of your next girlfriend who's hotter."

Brandon's eyes wavered to the doorway and back to Jim's face.

"Look," Jim said, "I don't want my teeth all over the pavement, and you"—a hint of something icier crept back into Jim's voice—"don't want to lose your job, have the cops knocking, and get sued by some tight-ass lawyer bitch over a piece of trim you can replace in a minute."

Tom's twinkle had turned into a full-on grin. Mallory's glare moved from Stun to Kill.

Brandon hesitated.

"Find a girl who appreciates the work you put in." Jim waited. Brandon glanced away and Jim knew he'd won.

"Fuck you, Mallory!" Brandon yelled at the doorway, one finger aloft, and turned away.

Jim saw the bat in Tom's hand when he came back in. "I was hoping you were there."

"Didn't want to escalate it."

"Brandon's not the sharpest knife in the drawer," Mallory broke in, "but even he isn't dumb enough to fall for 'You're too good for her.' And he didn't want to tell me to fuck off."

Jim looked at her in surprise. "Of course not! He just needed something to save face so he could pretend he wasn't worried about the threats." Jim laughed. "It's a lot easier to just say, "Bitches be crazy," and walk away than admit you don't want to lose your job or get arrested."

"A bitch?" Her adrenaline was flooding, fueling her upset, and her tone was dangerous for a second, eyebrows already aloft, before Ask first, talk second, yell later came crashing into her mind. Hard on the heels of that she caught the sharpening of Tom's gaze on her face and uncertainty moving into Jim's.

"And ..." She deliberately softened her tone as her rational brain, winded from a hard sprint to catch up, took control. "Piece of trim? Really?"

Jim looked abashed. "He seemed like the locker-room-talk type of guy. I was winging it."

His expression made it impossible to be upset. He may have thought me a bitch a time or two, but that man would never call me a piece of trim for real. She felt the adrenaline leak away. She let a note of amusement creep into her voice. "And if I tell Robin you called her a 'tight-ass lawyer bitch'?"

Jim and Tom looked at each other and burst into laughter. Simultaneously, "Bitches be crazy!" Mallory shook her head, refusing to cop to seeing the humor.

Jim leaned his head down and sniffed an armpit. "Bleh! Talk about flop sweat! It was pouring off me. I'm going home to change. I've got a customer coming this afternoon. Sorry, Mallory, some other time."

"What would you have done if he hit you?" she asked quietly.

"Hurt. Hopefully not bled." He shrugged. "I probably took worse playing football."

"You played football?"

"High school." Jim nodded goodbye. Turning at the door, he looked back at Mallory. "Those were physical threats he made. Think about a restraining order." At her recoil. "Just think about it."

As she was eating her salad at the bar and talking with Shannon, Tom brought his iPad over. He laid it down in front of her, the browser open to a site called Yearbookinfo.com. He pointed at a picture. Mallory looked at the caption.

"Well, they all look like they have tight ends in those pants," she joked. She studied the picture a moment longer. "Even that guy wouldn't have a chance against Brandon."

Tom snorted in disdain. "That mouth-breather brought biceps to a big-boy fight. Jim had him out-gunned from the get-go."

"He still could've gotten hurt."

"You can't be the guy that turns a one-man printing store into a company like that without being able to make some hard choices." He was happy to see that register.

Mallory touched the tablet to scroll the pages, finally finding the senior pictures. "Oh my God, no." She spun it so they could see. "JustHELL no!" The three of them laughed together at the stone-washed denim sports jacket with huge lapels and the fauxhawk. "He should've used the football one. It was kinda cute."

"What year were you, Tom?" Mallory asked.

He laughed. "Not sayin'."

"He's a local boy?" Shannon asked Mallory.

Mallory nodded and cocked her head in thought. "I'm thinking maybe 2002."

Shannon took the iPad.

"Shannon. No." He reached for it; she played keep away. "I'm serious."

Shannon's bray surprised Mallory the way it always did coming from that freckled pixy face. "If it's no to this picture, Thomas, then it's also no to the kind of picture you've been wanting." The wicked expression left no doubt in Mallory's mind what kind of picture that was.

Tom's severe look suddenly turned optimistic. "Are you offering a trade?"

"Oh, it's still just a maybe." She turned the accent on full. "But if you don't give us a peek, a ghrá, I guarantee hell will be freezin' over first."

Tom threw up his hands and stalked to the far end of the counter. The women tapped and scrolled, and burst into laughter at the half-open shirt, the boot-cut jeans, the square-toed shoes. "Tom," Mallory called down the length of the bar, "better call Nick Lachey and tell him you found his clothes." The younger ones seated at the bar roared.

"And a picture for him?" Mallory teased Shannon quietly.

"Will I?" Shannon laughed and dropped the act. "No. My bits aren't going anywhere near a camera. But I do know how to console that boy every time I put him off." She grinned.

"You missed Tuesday!"

Robin's accusation had Jim cringing in fake, well, mostly fake embarrassment. "You know how it is ... work."

She waggled a finger at him and got onto the treadmill next to his for some cardio.

"You're joining us tomorrow, right?" he asked her.

"I doubt it. DH is flying in earlier in the day."

"Tom made it pretty clear that Friday was an inviolable tradition now." Jim let go of the grips long enough to waggle his finger in return, eliciting a laugh. "Bring him. I'd like to meet him. We'll get you home by bedtime." He stayed absolutely straight-faced, but he heard the faint snort of answering laughter next to him.

At the appointed hour the next day, Jim saw Robin with a man in tow wending their way through the front of the bar. "Jim, this is—"

"Daniel," the man said, sticking out his hand. "It's futile for me to tell you that because she'll have you calling me DH in no time at all, but I prefer Daniel."

Jim laughed, and seeing the crinkle of laugh lines around the man's eyes, ventured, "Daniel Danieli? Your parents must have hated you."

"Oh, no. It's Daniel Heydorn. Rob didn't take my name." The smile that accompanied that made it clear to Jim that Daniel was neither upset about Jim's little joke nor about his wife's decision. "The only concession I got was our daughter is a Heydorn. I've only got sisters, and she says her brothers have the Danieli name covered for the next generation."

"Of course I would support Emma being a Heydorn. Men need a little reassurance about paternity," Robin said with a wicked twinkle. Everyone laughed, although an impartial observer might have thought the women's were a trifle more relaxed.

"I was told DH was for Dear Hubby," Jim ventured.

"Oh, it is whenI say it," Robin answered. "But if it is when anyone else says it, then he's got some explaining to do." As she said that, Jim noticed her attention was on the newcomer to the table.

"Robin, Daniel, I'd like you to meet Addison. She's a friend of mine who's in town for the weekend."

It was a little bit of a tight squeeze for seven at a table made for six, but they made it work.

"I've got everything east of Chicago and from North Carolina up," Addison answered a question. "I flew in from Raleigh–Durham yesterday and I have to be in Altoona Monday morning, working my way east through Harrisburg and Hershey during the week."

"So, you're not in this area much," Mallory said, "and not even close by most of the time. Does that work for you two? I mean"—she paused as if she might have just committed a faux pas—"I'm assuming you're a couple."

"We're good friends," Addison said, her tone level.

In the pause that followed, Tom got to his feet. "Who's for another round?"

"I'll be DD," Jim volunteered. "The rest of you go ahead."

A chorus of, "Okay" — "I'm in too; we'll Uber" — "Me three."

"Seltzer for me since you're making me eat pasta," Mallory said.

Robin got up to help Tom and Shannon with plates when Frankie called from the kitchen. As they stepped through the swinging doors, Robin said, "Did you know Addison was coming?"

Tom nodded. "Yep. Jim mentioned it to me Wednesday. I told him to bring her."

Shannon shot him a stern look. "I thought the six of us was this new tradition of yours. I thought you—"

"This is fine," Tom cut her off.

Shannon didn't quit so easily. "Mallory's out there trying to figure out how to rearrange Addison's schedule so she can come by more than once a month." She looked over at Robin. "Mallory's your best friend. If you're okay with this ..."

"She's trying to be helpful now," Robin said slowly. "But there was a moment there at the beginning ..." She shook her head. "I'm not sure Mallory even realized it." The two women shared a look.