—You what? said Sally.
—Like this!
In order to demonstrate, Woolly plucked one of the leaves, scraped it with his teeth, and dropped it on his plate.
Within a matter of minutes, everyone was having a grand old time plucking leaves, and sipping wine, and discussing with due admiration the very first person in the history of mankind who’d had the audacity to eat an artichoke.
When everyone had finished their appetizer, Sally straightened the napkin in her lap and asked what they were having next.
—Fettuccine Mio Amore, said Billy.
Emmett and Sally looked to Duchess for an elaboration, but since he was clearing plates, he asked Woolly to do the honors.
So Woolly told them the whole story. He told them of Leonello’s—that restaurant at which no reservations were taken and no menus given. He told them of the jukebox and the mobsters and Marilyn Monroe. He told them of Leonello himself, who went from table to table greeting his customers and sending them drinks. And finally, he told them how when the waiter came to your table, he didn’t even mention Fettuccine Mio Amore, because if you didn’t know enough to ask for it, then you didn’t deserve to eat it.
—I helped make it, said Billy. Duchess showed me how to properly slice an onion.
Sally was staring at Billy in a mild state of shock.
—Properly?!
—Yes, said Billy. Properly.
—And how, pray tell, is that?
Before Billy could explain, the door swung open and Duchess appeared with all five plates.
As he had been describing Leonello’s, Woolly could see that Emmett and Sally were a little skeptical, and he couldn’t blame them. For when it came to telling stories, Duchess was a bit of a Paul Bunyan, for whom the snow was always ten feet deep, and the river as wide as the sea. But after the very first bite, everyone at the table could set their doubts aside.
—Isn’t this delicious, said Sally.
—I’ve got to hand it to you both, said Emmett. Then raising his glass, he added: To the chefs.
To which Woolly responded: Hear, hear!
And hear, hear said they all.
* * *
? ? ?
The dinner was so delicious that everyone asked for a second helping, and Duchess poured some more wine, and Emmett’s eyes began to glitter as Sally’s cheeks grew red, and the candle wax dribbled delightfully down the arms of the candelabra.
Then everyone was asking somebody else to tell something. First, it was Emmett asking Billy to tell about the visit to the Empire State Building. Then it was Sally asking Emmett to tell about the ride on the freight train. Then Woolly asking Duchess to tell about the magic tricks that he had seen on the stage. And finally, it was Billy asking Duchess if he knew any magic tricks.
—Over the years, I suppose I’ve learned a few.
—Will you do one for us?
Taking a sip of wine, Duchess thought for a moment, then said: Why not.
After pushing back his plate, Duchess took the corkscrew from the pocket of his vest, removed the cork, and set it on the table. Then picking up the wine bottle, he poured out the dregs, and forced the cork back inside—not simply into the neck where it usually resides, but all the way through the neck so that it dropped down to where the dregs had been.
—As you can see, he said, I have placed the cork in the bottle.
Then he passed the bottle around so that everyone in turn could confirm the bottle was made of solid glass and the cork was truly inside. Woolly even turned the bottle upside down and gave it a shake in order to prove what everyone knew in principle: that if it was hard to push a cork all the way into a bottle, it was impossible to shake it back out.
When the bottle had completed its circuit, Duchess rolled up his sleeves, held up his hands to show that they were empty, then asked Billy if he would be so kind as to give us a countdown.
To Woolly’s great satisfaction, not only did Billy accept the task, he used the tiny little second hand in the dial of his new watch in order to execute it precisely.
Ten, he said as Duchess picked up the bottle and lowered it into his lap out of sight. Nine . . . Eight . . . , he said, as Duchess breathed and exhaled. Seven . . . Six . . . Five . . . , as Duchess began rolling his shoulders back and forth. Four . . . Three . . . Two, as his eyelids fell so low it looked like he had closed them altogether.
How long is ten seconds? thought Woolly as Billy’s countdown took place. It is long enough to confirm that a heavyweight boxer has lost his bout. Long enough to announce the arrival of another new year. But it didn’t seem anywhere near long enough to remove a cork from the bottom of a bottle. And yet, and yet, at the very moment that Billy said One, with one hand Duchess thumped the empty bottle on the table, and with the other set the cork upright at its side.