12. The narrator was looking forward to meeting with his father because he 1) hoped that his parents would get back together. 2) expected to get a valuable present from him. 3) wanted to stay with him in New York. 4) missed the feeling of being with him. Reunion The last time I saw my father was in Grand Central Station. I was going from my grandmothers in the Adirondacks to a cottage on the Cape that my mother had rented, and I wrote my father that I would be in New York between trains for an hour and a half, and asked if we could have lunch together. His secretary wrote to say that he would meet me at the information booth at noon, and at twelve oclock sharp I saw him coming through the crowd. He was a stranger to me my mother divorced him three years ago and I hadnt been with him since but as soon as I saw him I felt that he was my father, my flesh and blood, my future and my doom. I knew that when I was grown I would be something like him; I would have to plan my campaigns within his limitations. He was a big, good-looking man, and I was terribly happy to see him again. He struck me on the back and shook my hand. Hi, Charlie, he said. Hi, boy. Id like to take you up to my club, but its in the Sixties, and if you have to catch an early train I guess wed better get something to eat around here. He put his arm around me, and I smelled my father the way my mother sniffs a rose. It was a rich compound of whiskey, after-shave lotion, shoe polish, woollens, and the rankness of a mature male. I hoped that someone would see us together. I wished that we could be photographed. I wanted some record of our having been together. We went out of the station and up a side street to a restaurant. It was still early, and the place was empty. The bartender was quarrelling with a delivery boy, and there was one very old waiter in a red coat down by the kitchen door. We sat down, and my father hailed the waiter in a loud voice. Kellner! he shouted. Garcon! You! His boisterousness in the empty restaurant seemed out of place. Could we have a little service here! he shouted. Then he clapped his hands. This caught the waiters attention, and he shuffled over to our table. Were you clapping your hands at me? he asked. Calm down, calm down, my father said. It isnt too much to ask of you if it wouldnt be too much above and beyond the call of duty, we would like a couple of Beefeater Gibsons. I dont like to be clapped at, the waiter said. I should have brought my whistle, my father said. I have a whistle that is audible only to the ears of old waiters. Now, take out your little pad and your little pencil and see if you can get this straight: two Beefeater Gibsons. Repeat after me: two Beefeater Gibsons. I think youd better go somewhere else, the waiter said quietly. That, said my father, is one of the most brilliant suggestions I have ever heard. Come on, Charlie. I followed my father out of that restaurant into another. He was not so boisterous this time. Our drinks came, and he cross-questioned me about the baseball season. He then struck the edge of his empty glass with his knife and began shouting again. Garcon! You! Could we trouble you to bring us two more of the same. How old is the boy? the waiter asked. That, my father said, is none of your business. Im sorry, sir, the waiter said, but I wont serve the boy another drink. Well, I have some news for you, my father said. I have some very interesting news for you. This doesnt happen to be the only restaurant in New York. Theyve opened another on the corner. Come on, Charlie. He paid the bill, and I followed him out of that restaurant into another ...