‘You remember Lieutenant Lowell. He was the officer in command of my unit in Vietnam. Frankly I’m surprised he even remembered my name, let alone found out where I lived.’
‘Aren’t we coming up in the world?’ Elena teased, as she poured him a cup of coffee. ‘I don’t suppose there’ll be that many pizza parlour managers among his guests. Will you accept?’
‘Of course I will. I’m the manager of Elena’s, the most exclusive pizza house in New York.’
‘Exclusive in this case means there’s only one.’
Alex laughed. ‘Not for much longer. I’ve already got my eye on a second site a few blocks away.’
‘But we’re not making a profit at the first one yet,’ Elena reminded him as she put two eggs on to boil.
‘We’re breaking even, so it’s time to expand.’
‘But—’
‘But,’ said Alex, ‘my only problem is what to buy a man who has everything for his thirtieth birthday – a Rolls-Royce, a private jet?’
‘A pair of cufflinks,’ said Elena. ‘Your father always wanted a pair of cufflinks.’
‘I have a feeling Lieutenant Lowell just might have several pairs of cufflinks.’
‘Then make them personal.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have a pair made with his family crest, or his club’s emblem, or even your old regiment.’
‘Good idea, Mama. I’ll have a pair engraved with a donkey.’
‘Why a donkey?’ asked Elena, as the egg timer buzzed to indicate four minutes.
*
‘Are you sure?’ said Alex as he looked at himself in the full-length mirror.
‘Couldn’t be more sure,’ said Addie. ‘It’s all the rage. By this time next year, everyone will be wearing wide lapels and bell bottoms. You’ll be the toast of Broadway.’
‘It’s not Broadway I’m worried about, but Boston, where I suspect it still won’t be the fashion even the year after next.’
‘In which case you’ll be a trend setter, and all the other guests will envy you.’
Alex wasn’t convinced, but he still bought the suit, and a frilly sky-blue shirt that Addie insisted went with it.
*
The following morning Alex rose early, but instead of heading straight for the market to select the day’s toppings, he went to Penn station, where he bought a return ticket to Boston. Once he’d found a seat on the train, he placed his small suitcase in the overhead rack and settled down to read the New York Times. The stark headline shouted: ‘NIXON RESIGNS’.
By the time the train pulled in to South station four hours later, Alex was wondering if President Ford would pardon the former president. He grabbed a cab and asked the driver to take him to a sensibly priced hotel. Despite his new-found wealth, Alex still considered it a waste of money to pay for a suite when you could sleep just as well in a single room.
Once he’d checked into the Langham, he took a shower before trying on the two suits he’d brought with him. In one, he felt like Jack Kennedy; in the other, he looked like Elvis Presley. But on the cover of Vogue on his bedside table was a photo of Joan Kennedy wearing a sky-blue ballgown, which Vogue was predicting would be this year’s colour. Alex changed his mind yet again. One last check of the time on the invitation, 7.30 for 8.00 p.m. He left the hotel just after seven, hailed a cab and told the driver the address.
After driving around the Common, Alex noticed that as they climbed higher towards Beacon Hill, the houses became grander. They came to a halt at the entrance of a magnificent townhouse, where he was met by two security guards, who gave him a long hard look before demanding to see his invitation.
‘Maybe he’s part of the cabaret,’ one of them said, loud enough for Alex to hear as the cab turned in to the long driveway and continued on its journey up to the front of the house.
Alex knew he’d made a mistake the moment he stepped into the oak-panelled hall and joined a long queue of guests waiting to be greeted by their host. He wanted to turn round, go back to his hotel and change into the more conservative suit, but then he would have been late. He wasn’t sure which would cause more offence. He couldn’t help noticing that several of the guests were turning to take a second look at him.
‘It’s wonderful to see you again, Alex,’ said Lowell, when he finally reached the front of the queue. ‘I’m so glad you could make it.’
‘It was kind of you to invite me, sir.’
‘Lawrence, Lawrence,’ his host whispered, before turning to greet his next guest. ‘Good evening, senator.’
Alex made his way through to a large drawing room packed with guests, almost all of the men wearing dinner jackets. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter before disappearing behind a large marble pillar in one corner of the room, from where he stared at a painting by someone called Pollock. He didn’t move or attempt to speak to anyone, until a gong sounded, when he made sure he was among the last to enter the dining room. He was surprised to find he’d been placed on the top table, between an Evelyn on his left and a Todd on his right.
Alex quickly sat down, relieved that at least no one could now see his bell bottom trousers.
‘How do you know Lawrence?’ asked the young woman on his left, after grace had been delivered by the Cardinal Archbishop of Boston.
Alex found himself stuttering for the first time in his life. ‘I served . . . I served under Lieutenant Lowell in Vietnam.’
‘Ah yes, Lawrence mentioned that he’d invited you, but he wasn’t sure if you’d come.’
Alex was already wishing he hadn’t.
‘And what do you do now, Alex?’
‘I own a string of pizza parlours,’ he blurted out, immediately regretting his words.
‘I’ve never eaten a pizza,’ she said, which Alex didn’t find hard to believe. After a long silence, he asked, ‘And how do you know Lieutenant Lowell?’
‘He’s my brother.’ Another long silence followed before Evelyn turned to the person on her left and began telling him when she would be returning to her villa in the south of France.
When the first course was served, Alex was uncertain which knife and fork to pick up from the large array in front of him. He followed Evelyn’s lead, before turning to the man on his right, who said, ‘Hi, Todd Halliday,’ and shook him by the hand.
‘How do you know Lawrence?’ asked Alex, hoping he wasn’t his brother.
‘We were at Choate together,’ said Todd.
‘And are you also in banking?’ asked Alex, as he had no idea who or what Choate was.
‘No. I manage a small investment company that specializes in start-ups. And you?’
‘I own a couple of pizza parlours, and have my eye on a third site. We’re not Pizza Hut yet, but it can only be a matter of time.’
‘Are you looking for any capital?’
‘No,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve just sold my old company for over a million, so I won’t be needing any outside finance.’
‘But if you’re hoping to rival Pizza Hut, the right partner could speed the whole process up, and if you were interested . . .’
Todd wasn’t able to complete his sentence as he was interrupted by a familiar figure whom Alex immediately recognized, who rose from his place to propose Lawrence’s health. Alex admired the relaxed way the senior senator from Massachusetts addressed the gathering, without once referring to a note, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman seated next to the senator, who he’d just seen on the cover of a glossy magazine in his hotel. He only wished he looked half as good in sky blue.
When the senator sat down to warm applause, Lawrence rose to reply. ‘I’m delighted,’ he began, ‘that so many of my family and friends have been able to join me this evening to celebrate my thirtieth birthday. I’m particularly honoured that Teddy was able to break away from his busy schedule to propose my health. I hope that one day, and in the not too distant future, he’ll consider standing as the Democratic candidate for president.’