not surprised to see that his riotous gaiety had drawn their disapproving eyes. He met their stern frowns with a smile whose politeness barely covered the underlying mockery.
Yeah, that’s right, you rich farts. Two scapegraces, right before your eyes. As close to outright ex-cons as you can get. Heavens!
Nichols’ voice broke into Mike’s silent test of wills with the Simpsons.
“So you’re the famous brother,” the doctor murmured.
Startled, Mike’s eyes left the Simpsons. “I wasn’t aware that I was famous,” he protested.
Nichols shrugged, smiling. “Depends on the circle, I imagine. From what I can tell, listening to them gabble over the last couple of days, every one of your sister’s college friends has a crush on you. You’re quite a romantic figure, you know.”
Again, Mike was startled. And, again, it must have showed on his face.
“Oh, come on, Mike!” snorted Nichols. “You’re still in your mid-thirties, and look younger than that. Tall, handsome—well, handsome enough. But, most of all, you’ve got that glamorous history.”
“Glamorous?” choked Mike. “Are you nuts?”
Nichols was grinning, now. “Give me a break. You can’t fool me.” He made a little sweeping gesture with his hands, indicating himself. “What do you see here? A very prosperous-looking black man in his mid-fifties, right?” His dark eyes glinted with humor and knowledge. “And what else?”
Mike eyed him. “A—let’s call it a history. You weren’t always a proper doctor.”
“Certainly wasn’t! And don’t think, when I was your age, that I didn’t take full advantage of it.” Nichols’ wide grin changed to a gentle smile. “You’re a classic, Mike. It’s that old tale which always tugs at sentiment. The reckless and dashing black sheep of the family, leaving town before the law could nail him. An adventurous lad. Soldier, longshoreman, truck driver, professional boxer. Disreputable roustabout, even if he did manage to tuck away three years in college. Then—”
The smile
Yeah, that’s right, you rich farts. Two scapegraces, right before your eyes. As close to outright ex-cons as you can get. Heavens!
Nichols’ voice broke into Mike’s silent test of wills with the Simpsons.
“So you’re the famous brother,” the doctor murmured.
Startled, Mike’s eyes left the Simpsons. “I wasn’t aware that I was famous,” he protested.
Nichols shrugged, smiling. “Depends on the circle, I imagine. From what I can tell, listening to them gabble over the last couple of days, every one of your sister’s college friends has a crush on you. You’re quite a romantic figure, you know.”
Again, Mike was startled. And, again, it must have showed on his face.
“Oh, come on, Mike!” snorted Nichols. “You’re still in your mid-thirties, and look younger than that. Tall, handsome—well, handsome enough. But, most of all, you’ve got that glamorous history.”
“Glamorous?” choked Mike. “Are you nuts?”
Nichols was grinning, now. “Give me a break. You can’t fool me.” He made a little sweeping gesture with his hands, indicating himself. “What do you see here? A very prosperous-looking black man in his mid-fifties, right?” His dark eyes glinted with humor and knowledge. “And what else?”
Mike eyed him. “A—let’s call it a history. You weren’t always a proper doctor.”
“Certainly wasn’t! And don’t think, when I was your age, that I didn’t take full advantage of it.” Nichols’ wide grin changed to a gentle smile. “You’re a classic, Mike. It’s that old tale which always tugs at sentiment. The reckless and dashing black sheep of the family, leaving town before the law could nail him. An adventurous lad. Soldier, longshoreman, truck driver, professional boxer. Disreputable roustabout, even if he did manage to tuck away three years in college. Then—”
The smile