The Dinner was a hypothetical situation in which Mom was ready for me to formally meet her boyfriend. It would occur after three months of her dating a guy and be a sign that things were getting serious. In my entire eighteen years of life, we’d only made it to The Dinner a couple of times. The majority of her flames fizzled out weeks beforehand at best. The two who’d made it three months are worth mentioning.
There was Denison the dentist. Four months eight days. I really liked Denison. He was pretty great to both Mom and me. He taught me how to shoot a basketball and all the words to American Pie. He also bought me my first pair of white sneakers. Come to find out, he wasn’t a traveling dentist as a side gig and those “emergency dental trips” about once a month up the coast were just an excuse to visit his male paramour Maurice up the coast. Dating Mom as a beard was a misdirection for his traditional Canadian relatives. We hadn’t heard from him since he called Mom from a Key Largo tryst to break up with her.
Then there was Tyrannus T.J. Copeland. Five months twelve days. He cursed like a sailor but had a kind heart and a neck tattoo that said “Do unto others.” The T and J, which he went by for the entirety of their relationship, stood for Thomas Jefferson. I didn’t learn his full legal name until he was arrested, tried, and convicted of drug trafficking, money laundering, manufacturing a controlled substance, conspiracy, tax evasion, racketeering, and jaywalking. The last one he was let off with a warning and the rest earned him a sentence of 89 years with a chance of parole after 30. He writes us letters often, at least once a month, detailing what life is like in the state penitentiary. He recently converted to Christianity after a pastor came and spoke to the inmates. He also started a book club and every now and then would ask Mom for recommendations in his letters. Mom and I were both really proud of him for turning his life around. We had an inkling that his laundry mats, mattress stores, and car wash might have been fronts for something, but there weren’t any other red flags and frankly, he was quite nice and just a bit too ahead of his time.
I guess I should also mention Derrick, but at The Dinner, we found out we were all going to the same family reunion that July and so Mom and I peaced out before dessert. I personally don’t count that one since we didn’t finish the dinner, but Mom counts it for the sake of second-cousin-once-removed Derrick’s ego. We all had a laugh about it over a game of Spades when we saw him again that summer.
Three tries, three strikes. And now here we were, meeting Mr. Mann for The Dinner and, of course, we were late. We were always late for everything.
What you need to know about Mr. Mann: His actual name is Manny Franklin Mann. I don’t know what his parents had against him, but Mom has seen his ID, so it’s legal. It's hard to fully capture his appearance because I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite like him before. Mr. Mann smiled a smile full of pearly white teeth beneath his thick, blond, outrageous, cartoonish handlebar mustache. He twirled it ponderously every now and then. His bulging eyes never blinked. I counted to 78 and no blink. Even though he’s rarely looking in my direction I know in my heart of hearts that he somehow knows when I’m going to blink and waits for that exact moment to bat his eyelids. Anyways, his hairy biceps were bigger than my head and his short-sleeve, unironic, pink, green-duck-dappled Hawaiian shirt was nearly stretched to its breaking point. He spoke in a poor, thick Russian accent even though he claims he’s from Brooklyn and was joyful, too joyful, in the most serious way possible.
We arrived at the Italy Joint probably twenty minutes after Mr. Mann arrived. We hurried in through a summer sprinkle and he greeted us with that impossibly white smile. He was just sitting there still as a deer in headlights and fully cheesing but without a hint of a smile in his eyes. At one point during the meal, while I was engrossed by his mustache, I realized I had completely missed whatever they were talking about because they had stopped chatting and were both staring at me. No, Mom was staring at me. Mr. Mann was staring through me. His eyes bore past my exterior and down into the depths of my soul. I got a sudden urge to run home, lock all the doors, clear my browsing history, and reset every password I’d ever made. He'd just said "Mars." Right, that's my name. The casual rise of intonation indicated he'd just asked a question. Mom gave me a nudge.
I blinked (Dammit). I racked my brain trying to unlock the incidental, subconscious memories of their conversation that I had largely been ignoring and just nodding my head to up until that moment. Unfortunately, the spotlight was on me and I could hear every tick of the creepy, pizza-themed, anthropomorphic analog clock across the room. Any attempt at a thoughtful response was futile, so I conceded and asked, "What’d you say?"
Mr. Mann cleared his throat and repeated, "I was just asking, Mars, if you’ve put any more thought into your college years! Many ways to spend it. I know alotta schools are still accepting late applications."
"Yeah, I hear that, but I don’t really think that’s for me. Nothing about college interests me.”
“You could try community college, eh? Not a huge commitment and those there scholarships should mostly cover it. Get a job and pay your way through. That’s how my papa did it and his papa before him.”
“And how old are you again?”
He ignored my question and continued, “I myself was lucky enough to get into an esteemed trade school. Many good years there. Met many good folks.” He paused thoughtfully then asked, “What about that girlfriend of yours? Isn’t she going to the state school?"
"Allie isn’t my girlfriend. We’re just friends."
“Oh? As they say, boys and girls can’t just be friends, ‘cause they always catch the feelings,’” he sang heartily and Mom giggled (it unfortunately didn’t seem forced). He turned to her fully cheesing and said to her, “The way you described the two of them and all their shenanigans I coulda sworn they were thick as thieves in love.” He leaned back in his chair with his hands resting on his gut (not to imply his gut was anything other than pure muscle) and an actual twinkle in his eye. Seriously, something was sparkling in his eye. Is he wearing glitter…?
Mom chimed in, “The two of them have known each other since grade school. They’re inseparable. I’ve always been surprised that they haven’t ended up together. But Mars always claims ‘We’re just friends! We’re just friends!’” She waved her hands about and tried mimicking my voice but just cracked herself up.
“Mom. Stop. Please” I slid down in my seat, trying to disappear.
She turned to me and put her hand on my arm, “Hey little red planet, no one would blame you if you followed her to State. It’s a good school!”
“It’s a great school!” Mr. Mann chimed in. “A couple of our agents did their undergraduate degrees there. Are many of your other friends going there?”
Most of them, I lamented to myself. “Yeah a few, I guess, but like I said, not really for me. If they jumped off a bridge and all that, you know? Anyways, remind me what you do for work again?”
Nothing changed about Mr. Mann when I asked that question, at least not anything physical. His expression gave nothing away. His eyes gave nothing away. However, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.
Still showing those pearly whites, he smiled, "I work for a firm."
I asked, "What kind of firm? Accounting? Legal? Marketing?"
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Colder.
He replied, "Just a general, run-of-the-mill firm!”
I pressed, "What’s the name of the firm?"
His smile got bigger. "Jenkins Firm."
“Jenkins Firm?”
“Jenkins Firm.”
“What do you do at Jenkins Firm?”
Even colder.
“I oversee many of the associates. Management, delegation, you name it.”
His smile was inhumanly ear-to-ear. Mom leaned over and grabbed his arm, embracing it. “He wears many hats and I daresay deserves a promotion!”
The atmosphere returned to normal as did Mr. Mann’s smile. His normal, that is.
“Ah, in time, in time. I certainly want for nothing right now. How could any man not be content with such a beautiful woman at his side, eh?” When I realized he was directing the comment to me I nodded and then excused myself to go to the restroom.
I passed a waiter carrying my plate of chicken tenders. My stomach growled, but I had to keep pushing onward. I already turned my back to the table and in the depths of my being, my primal instincts told me that looking backward would be a sign of weakness. And a sign of weakness in front of Mr. Mann felt…I’m not sure how to describe it other than the feeling a hare must feel when he flees a fox; except, the fox works for some mysterious organization and is dating my mom and the hare failed trig and has a tree nut allergy.
When I got to the bathroom, I plopped on the toilet, whipped out my phone, and looked up Jenkins Firm. I couldn’t find any good search results on the first page so I tried JenkinsFirm.com, JenkinsFirm.org, JenkinsFirm.edu. Nothing was hitting. I clicked my screen off, set it by the hand soap, and turned on the sink to splash water on my face. I heard my phone start vibrating against the ceramic announcing an unknown caller. I answered.
A robotic British voice firmly stated: “Jenkins Firm. A firm for all your needs." A pause. “Please enter your security code in order to continue the call.”
I quickly hung up. That was weird and eerie and uncomfortable, I reflected. I went back out to the table where Mr. Mann was filling out the check, and my chicken tenders were already boxed up. Goosebumps riddled my body. Hairs stood on end. A shiver ran down my spine.
It was frigid.
As I walked up, Mr. Mann said to me, "Sorry, I have to head out. I got called in for a job… with the firm." He gave me a look that seemed knowing, but to be fair he always looked at me like that. I stayed silent.
Mom replied, "Oh, Manny, it’s completely fine! And you didn’t have to pay for the meal!” She put up a front as if it was a blow to her pride, but her eyes said thank you.
Mr. Mann went along with it, "I’m more than happy to. It was a pleasant evening with you both. Plus, if Mars is going to start looking at colleges, then anything you would’ve spent on this meal can go into that fund." He gave me a left-side wink. The previous chill in the air vanished as quickly as it came.
Mom told him he was too kind and they gave each other a loud peck on the lips and he went on his way. As soon as the restaurant door closed behind him, I turned to Mom and said, "Mom, seriously?” I put on my best Mr. Mann impression, “‘Just a general, run-of-the-mill firm, eh?’”
“Why are you so interested in his work, hon?” She asked accusingly, which made my stomach churn. Then she started beaming, which was even worse. “Oh wait! Should I ask him about an internship there? That would be perfect! Both of my men working side-by-side!”
“Oh God, no. Please no,” I started but she was already miles ahead, pulling up her memos and speech-to-texting meal plans for the lunches she’d send us off with.
As much as Mr. Mann sent up more red flags than the Soviet Union, I couldn’t help but admit he made her happier than I’d seen in a long time. I sighed, “I just can’t help but get TJ vibes from him.”
“What’s your problem with TJ?” She asked incredulously. “He’s a brother in Christ, Mars!”
“I don’t have a problem, Mom. Not everything has to be a problem. It’s not even personal. I just worry about the secrecy and the mystery and the unknowns. With TJ, it was non-violent drug trafficking, but what if this is something worse?”
Her eyes widened, “You think he peddles Adderall?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I heard it was making rounds in the schools. Kids taking it without prescriptions.”
“I mean, not exactly. We just don’t know him is all.”
“Mars, I wish you would trust your mother! I wouldn’t be formally introducing you to him if I didn’t feel safe around him.”
“I mean, TJ is a criminal, Mom. Your morality sensors didn’t exactly sound the alarm back then.”
She rolled her eyes, “Come on now, honeybun, we both knew there was something fishy going on and chose to ignore it.”
“I mean, sure, I thought maybe he had a few unpaid parking tickets. Or maybe skipped jury duty. But Mom, HE RAN A DRUG EMPIRE.”
“Oh please, the man sold weed. A little weed never hurt anyone! Frankly, I think you could use a prescription. You’re so uptight sometimes I swear.” She was initially deadpan but cracked into a smile.
I was absolutely rolling. We kept getting looks, but I couldn’t stop laughing. Mom started giggling then wiped her watery eyes and continued, “Jesus forgave TJ so you should too. Plus, Manny isn’t like that.” Her countenance grew dreamy. “He’s perfect.”
Red flag. I finally calmed down and muttered under my breath, “Too perfect.” Then aboveboard I told her about my toilet research on the Jenkins Firm and the subsequent call. “Mom, that’s not normal. It’s creepy at best!”
“Crazy how invasive third-party data is these days!” She replied nonchalantly as if regurgitating a 2 AM news anchor’s derivative talking point. She perked up. “Wait, so were you looking them up because you are interested in working there?”
“No, Mom. No. I’m just trying to figure out who this guy is. He could be a serial killer.”
She replied, "You shouldn’t be so nosy about people’s personal lives. He’s as gentle as a lamb. Mr. Mann does a lot of good for the community."
I probed, "What kind of good?"
She replied, "I don’t know. Just a lot of good. He has all these ‘Employee of the Month’ plaques at his house, so whatever he does, he does it well. And more importantly, he gets paid well which is something you need to be thinking about if you ever want to support a family of your own! He’s a good man, Mars. I wish you would just give him a chance.” Her hands were fully on her hips at this point. I knew it to be a sign of trouble if I continued down this path, so I relented and deflected.
"If I had a dollar for every time you said that, then I would at least have enough money to buy another Toni record so that I could melt it down, send the plastic to his record company, and ask them to print one of his good albums on it."
Mom’s eyebrows raised, "That one you’ve been talking about for weeks? It wasn’t good?"
"Saying it wasn’t good is the understatement of the year. I’ve never heard something so trash in my life."
Mom said, "I’m so sorry to hear that, honey. By the way, did I see you bring in a—Oh, hello Manny! Welcome back!”
I felt a looming presence behind me and Mom’s face lit up. Then I heard his voice come around from behind me, serious as a heart attack. "No, I just forgot my card." He reached around my left side and removed it from the cashier's sleeve. After he set it back down, he put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Really be thinking about some of those colleges, Mars, eh? It wouldn’t kill you to at least see what they have to offer. Who knows? Something, or someone, might catch your eye if you look close enough."
The weight of his hand on my shoulder was like a block of ice. I don’t even think he was intentionally pressing down hard, but the man’s casual strength was at least twice as much as me at 100% and my veins felt like they were freezing. As my entire body began to slip into rigor mortis I stammered out something like, "Yeah, okay, maybe I’ll give it a look later."
His hand came off and my whole world lightened. "Good, I’m glad to hear it!"
His joyful demeanor returned and he bid us farewell and then headed back out. I opened my plastic container and started smashing chicken tenders and fries as we went out to the car. The rain was done and so was I. Mom didn’t seem to mind my silence and lack of protest as she blasted Betty Barley the whole way home.
Gentle as a lamb my ass.