“She looked fine a year ago in L.A.”

“She sure did. Peter thinks she’s just tired. She’s been building her new house in Virginia, and that’s hard work, even if you’re not wielding a hammer.”

“I guess.”

The two boys returned to the table and looked at the menu. “What’s osso buco?” Peter asked.

“Try it; you won’t be sorry.”

“Whatever you say, Stone.”

Ben spoke up. “It’s an animal leg with sauce. I’ll have it, too, Pop.”

“How many times I have to tell you,” Dino said, “don’t call me ‘Pop.’ ”

“What’s the matter with that?” Stone asked.

“It’s what I called my old man.”

“Oh, okay.” He looked at Ben and shrugged.

Their food arrived and dinner continued with two different conversations going on: one between Stone and Dino, the other between the two boys, who seemed to be speaking in code.

“You want a date tomorrow night?” Ben asked Peter, suddenly breaking into English. “My girl’s got a hot friend.”

“Sure,” Peter said.

“We’d better wait until we hear from your mother tomorrow,” Stone said. “She may have plans for us.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Can I call you tomorrow, Ben?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m staying at the old man’s.”

“Don’t call me ‘the old man’ either,” Dino said.

“I’m running out of names,” Ben said. “How about Pater?”

“Not unless you want a fat lip.”

“How about ‘hey you’?”

“That’s better than Pater, but still not good enough for you to get money out of me for a date tomorrow night.”

“Gee, Dad, thanks! I didn’t know you knew I was broke.”

“You’re always broke,” Dino said.

“Can I have the car?”

“Take the subway; you can’t afford to park, and I’m not having my car towed.”

“Awright, awright, Dad.”

Stone spoke up. “And you might remember that neither of you is of drinking age.”

On the way home in the cab Peter talked excitedly about Ben. “He’s really a great guy, in spite of the bluster.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Actually, he’s a lot like Dino.”

“I guess he would be, wouldn’t he?”

They arrived at the house, and Stone went to his study to check the answering machine for messages, while Peter wandered around the room, looking at books and objects. Stone was writing down a message when he looked up and saw Peter holding a framed photograph of Stone’s father, staring at it intently. He put the phone down.

“Who’s this?” Peter asked.

“That’s my father,” Stone said.

“Funny,” Peter replied, “he looks very familiar.” He sank into a wing chair across from Stone.

Stone steeled himself; he knew the question that was coming, and he didn’t want to answer it. “So what’s this plan of yours for after you graduate?”

“It’s like this,” Peter said. “I know I can handle the courses in college, but at sixteen, I’m not ready to be in a freshman class where everybody is two or three years older than I am.” He paused. “For one thing, no attractive girl is going to give me the time of day.”