Glenn Beck - The Overton Window

He realized he’d been going on and on, and noticed only then the bleak expression that had settled into Molly’s eyes. She looked like a kid who’d just been told what happens to all the unwanted puppies at the pound.

“That whole subject was kind of a buzzkill, wasn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. No more shop talk.”

The car pulled up to the curb outside the restaurant, the side window glided down, and a broadly smiling man in a white apron approached with a steaming serving tray.

“Young Mr. Gardner.”

“Good morning, Robert. Sorry if we got you out of bed.”

“No trouble, no trouble at all, I will happily itemize my inconvenience on your tab.”

“I’m sure you will. Robert, this is Molly. This is our first meal together, and I wanted to impress her.”

The chef passed through his covered plates, carafes, and rolled silverware. “Well, Molly, if nothing else, your new friend at least has some excellent taste in soul food.”

There was more eating than conversation as the car made its way south and east again. The chicken and waffles were always amazing, and Molly finished quite a while before he did.

“What was your mom like?” she asked.

“My dad met my mother in 1978, and I’ll tell you, I doubt if two people have ever been more different. Oh, this is interesting, my mom is actually in that documentary about Woodstock.”

“Which part?”

He waved a hand in front of his eyes. “I don’t know exactly, I can’t really watch it. She’s kind of making out with some hairy guy, and I’m not sure, I think she flashes the cameraman at one point-”

“You’re not sure? That’s something I’d remember pretty clearly.”

“Look, I’m blocking it out, it’s my mom, okay? So anyway, years later, late seventies, and she still had her causes that she marched for, but mostly she just loved life, you know? Never wanted much. She had a little apartment in upstate New York, and she was working as a waitress at a resort up there one summer.

“And my father, the man who would become my father, had this huge place down on the lake near there, still owns it, and he saw her in the restaurant, asked her out, and that was it. Kind of a whirlwind romance. I think she was his fourth wife, or maybe his fifth. But he never married again after she was gone.”

“So you all lived up there together?”

“Oh, God no. She wouldn’t move to the city, and of course he was too big for that little town, so I hardly ever saw him except on holidays. We weren’t what you’d call a traditional family unit; hell, I thought he was my grandfather until I was about six. He’s quite a bit older than she is. Was.” He lost himself for a few moments, and had to take a long look at his hands in order to stop remembering. “Anyway, she died, lung cancer, and I guess Dad didn’t know what else to do with me, so he moved me down here.”

It was quiet in the car for a minute or so.

“Hey.” She tapped him on the knee, and he looked up. “Would you mind if I sat over there with you?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

The seats were meant for one occupant only but she moved across, put their plates aside, and situated herself easily, sidesaddle across his lap, one arm around his back, a hand resting on his chest, her head against his shoulder.

“I think I’m going to like you,” Molly said.

“You sound so surprised.”

“I guess I am.”

He gently put his arm around her, hesitant lest he disturb the moment, but he needn’t have worried. She touched his hand, and curled a little closer.

“I think I like you, too,” he said. “But I’m warning you right now, if I let down all my defenses, and then you hurt me? Well, you saw what I did to those thugs tonight.”

“Oh, no. You’ll hit me in the knee with your face?”

“Just as hard as I can.”

The ride continued on. Their conversation was easy, just quiet thoughts and topics drifting between the two of them. At Ninetieth Street the driver turned into Central Park and then deftly talked his way past a mounted policeman and a blue barricade at Engineers’ Gate. Motor vehicles were strictly forbidden at that time on that day, but it’s hard to say no to a car like that, especially when you can’t be sure who’s riding in the back of it. They took the route slowly, and not just to give the joggers and dog walkers their weekend right of way. For whatever reason the park drive at sunrise on a Saturday had never looked quite so rare, and there was no hurry to leave it behind.

“Noah?”

She stretched dreamily, arched against him as she did so, and sighed and looked up into his eyes. “Would you take me home now?”

“Sure. Where did you say you lived, down by Tompkins Square Park?”

“No. I mean to your home.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Okay.”

“I just don’t feel safe yet, after last night.”

“I can understand that.”

“And I’m not talking about anything sexual.”

“I’m surprised you even mentioned that. Furthest thing from my mind.”

“Really.”

“No, not really, but it’s okay. So, like a sleepover, nothing sexual. That’s cool, I’ve got an extra room.” He touched the intercom and asked the driver to take them to his home at Seventy-ninth and Fifth for their last stop.

“I know it’s awkward to talk about it,” Molly said, “I just want you to know I wouldn’t sleep with someone I just met-”

“Sexually.”

“Right. I just wanted to be up front about it. That isn’t something I do.”

“Got it.”

“And I’m not saying I never have. Or that I might not want to.” She straightened his collar, which had apparently been turned under the entire time, and nestled her head against him again. “I’ve just made some bad mistakes in my life, and I’ve decided not to repeat them.”

“Okay, enough said. You don’t know what you’re missing in this case, but fine.”

They got out at the corner, and as Noah signed off with the driver, he saw Molly standing there on the sidewalk, looking all around as if she’d just stepped off the last bus from Poughkeepsie, taking in the ritzy sights of the Upper East Side.

“Is that where you live?” she asked, pointing.

“No, not there. See those flags? That’s the French Embassy.” He took her hand and walked her to the intersection. “And down the street there, that’s the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which we can walk through sometime if you ever want to get totally blown away. And that’s Central Park over there, which you’ve already seen.” He turned her around and pointed up the tower of dark masonry and glass that had been behind her. “And way up there on the twenty-third floor, that’s where I live.”

They walked inside and made their way across the ornate lobby to the elevator bank. As the double doors were closing a hand reached in to stop them. They reopened to reveal a lanky, fiftyish man in a blue jogging suit. He was flush from a morning run, a rakishly handsome fellow with dark, thinning hair and sharp blue eyes. He thumbed his numbered floor button and those blue eyes gave Molly a leisurely, detailed once-over, which she seemed just barely able to coolly ignore. When the elevator stopped and opened at his floor, the guy glanced to Noah with a subtle nod before he departed, a man-to-man stamp of approval indicating their shared good taste in fine feminine company.

The doors hissed closed again, leaving the two of them alone.

“Was that who I think it was?” Molly asked.

“Eliot Spitzer.”

“The governor. Of New York.”

“Former governor. And maybe you noticed just then, if you hadn’t already read about him in the papers, that he’s also a total horndog.”