Lacrime di Gioia

125.

Turns out it was all of the above.

For whatever combination of compassionate, humanistic, complex, professional and possibly even romantic reasoning she felt appropriate, we talked it through. Over plates of Salvatore’s renown lasagna, peppered with eggplant and porcini mushrooms and textured with a perfect layering of fresh ricotta we exchanged opinions, hopes, dreams, facts, fears and a few fantasies.

By the time our dessert choice of raspberry gelato arrived along with two flutes of prosecco, we had addressed all the major issues and several minor ones. 

About Violet Hayes: Do I detect a note of jealousy?
About the why: Thirty years of gut instinct.
What is TOM thinking? He is concerned about the potential fallout, political retribution, and a Congressional backlash targeting our charter.
My debrief? It was like enhanced interrogation, did you have a part in Mr. Godbey’s appointment? Was I the beta case? Have we transitioned to a leaner, more aggressive posturing?
The Davis issue: We were separated six years ago and legally divorced the day the current POTUS was elected, some say delayed enlightenment but I prefer to call it ironic coincidence.
A night to remember? A demure half smile and quick change of subject.

It became readily apparent to me that she was next in line for the Head of Operations position, the Program Director, something she was perfectly suited for, having both the broad skill set required and the emotional characteristics necessary to make the tough calls and develop critical talent. We laughed when I wondered aloud if we would soon be calling her TOL instead of the current acronym for The Old Man.

Dinner was done. We decided to have coffee, she a cappuccino and a doppio macchiato for me.  Salvatore hurried by to ask if we desired anything else. In response we thanked him for the incredible evening, his friendship and marvelous hospitality.

I asked for the check but he produced an envelope from his vest pocket instead, placing in dramatically on the table centered in front of us.

“No charge my dear friends, always good to see you both so healthy and happy. Tickets to the opera next week, Verdi’s La Forza del Destino, with our compliments for your always fine work on our behalf. Here we are all sons of immigrants.” He bowed.

I could see Julie’s eyes begin to water. I thanked Salvatore again and we waltzed through the bistro and into the light rain that lingered on the strangely empty streets of DC. We had lost track of time during our celebration. It was midnight.

We stood for several minutes outside in the mist, oblivious to the cold. I couldn’t tell where Julie’s tears of joy ended and the rain began.