Fred O'Connor, dressed to the nines in a dapper suit, pink shirt, bow tie and sporting a boutonniere, asked Dean if his iron was broken when he took one look at his stepson's new but wrinkled slacks. Dean paid no mind that the old man wasn't in the know about the latest Hollywood styles and so informed him. He took an arm of each of the fashionable ladies and paraded one block uptown to Main Street, nodding to potential voters and ignoring the comments Fred muttered behind him that he looked like the crinkled cousin from Hicksville. But his attire was forgotten as soon as the quartet entered the Buen Tiempo, Ouray's popular Mexican restaurant. The restaurant was Martha's choice, but there were no dissenters. They all enjoyed the Main Street eatery, next to the newly renovated Beaumont Hotel, the queen's-castle of the Victorian town.
The Buen, as everyone referred to it, was located in a hundred year old structure previously known as the Scott-Humphries Building, which had remained vacant for over twenty-five years. The restaurant was a recent and welcome addition. Like many of Ouray's Victorian buildings, it had previously housed a variety of mercantile businesses-a dry goods establishment, a drug store- during the times the town was a thriving, self-sustained community. The Buen was nearly full, but as the season crept toward the Fourth of July and the heart of summer, finding a dinner seat anywhere in Ouray would often require patience. After a short wait, the four were seated in a booth and began to work on chips and salsa as the adults ordered drinks.
"I like a place with an 'oops' bartender," Dean said as their margueritas were served.
"A what?" asked Cynthia.
"Oops. You know, a bartender who fills the glass so high it spills over on the napkin and he has to say 'oops'? Not some guy who sells you a six dollar wine in a half-full glass."
Much as Dean attempted to pick things up, the group failed to exhibit its usual liveliness. The silence became ear-splitting. Finally Fred O'Connor withdrew a crumpled dollar bill from his antiquated change purse and a fountain pen from his jacket pocket. He handed both to Martha and glanced up at the ceiling.
"Sign the buck," he said. "We'll donate it for good luck so's you're sure to come back."
While Dean failed to read the correlation, he applauded the act and kept quiet as all four looked up at the high ceiling, nearly covered in thumb-tacked bills. Dean didn't even offer a quip about Fred's tightness with a buck and his moth-eaten purse as the old man called over a waitress to do the duties. Martha signed the dollar bill with a hint of a smile.