“Cheers!”
Alex, Lisa, and Andrew and Diana Canter clinked wine glasses.
“Glad we’re finally able to get together and be properly introduced,” Andrew said. “Having been neighbors now for what, four weeks?” The Canters—who lived directly across the street—had introduced themselves the day the moving van pulled up to the curb in front of Alex and Lisa’s house. The two couples had tried to schedule a dinner out ever since, but Andrew’s job required business travel and Alex had night call, leaving this evening their first opportunity to socialize.
Lisa laughed. “Something like that.”
They were at Ridley’s, a basement barbecue joint off a downtown alley. Not much in the way of atmosphere, but the place had a regional reputation for killer ribs featuring a spicy dry rub instead of the more common wet sauce. Years of barbecue smoke, beer, and sweat filled the air with a musky but pleasant odor, attesting to the dive’s long-standing popularity.
“How do you like the new job?” Andrew inquired. Both Canters spoke with British accents.
“So far so good, but we’re still in the honeymoon phase. I’m sure that sooner or later something will come up to dampen my enthusiasm.” He considered bringing up Reynolds’s racist comments but decided against it. “Long as you brought up the subject of work, I’m sorry to say this will need to be a short evening. My debut surgery is scheduled for first thing in the morning. I want to be there early so I can make sure things are set up the way I like.” He disliked talking about his work, so he redirected the conversion toward Andrew. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know what it is you do.” He vaguely recollected something about Proctor and Gamble.
“I’m a chemist by training, but now I manage people. The plant I’m presently assigned to is a division of Proctor and Gamble, which explains my need to be constantly running back and forth to Cincinnati. That’s where our corporate headquarters are located.”
“Ah, that does explain it. Where are you from originally?”
Diana chuckled. “Our accents give away that we’re not natives?”
Alex nodded with a laugh.
Andrew was playing with the square packets of hand wipes from the table supply, perfectly aligning them in a stack, then spreading them out again. “A small town in England, actually.” Pronouncing it act-sley. “I’d be shocked if you’ve ever heard of it, so I won’t bother supplying a name. Suffice it to say, it’s about a hundred kilometers northwest of London, if that’s of any help.”
“And the reason you’re here in the States?” Alex remembered that P&G was an international company.
“Been with the company my entire career. Started straight out of Cambridge and have been a good soldier ever since, moving whenever and wherever they wished to post me. Probably still have one or two relocations before I retire. Just happen to be here in the U.S. at present.”
Alex loved hearing what other people did in their jobs. “And what does a chemist-turned-manager do?”
Andrew smiled politely. “When a plant is having issues of various types, I am sent to sort them out. I reckon that qualifies me as a fixer of sorts, although there is no real job description. Not very glamorous, but it keeps a paycheck coming.”
Alex and Lisa exchanged glances, making Alex wonder if she had the same question on her mind as he did. “How long have you lived here?”
Andrew thought about that a moment. “Over a year now.”
“How do you like it?” Lisa asked, picking up on Alex’s direction.
Andrew hesitated a beat. “Just fine.”
“No culture shock?” Lisa probed. “It has been for us. We’re West Coast people.”
“Yes, well,” Andrew said with a glance at his wife, “every place has its own unique culture, this being no exception. However, I must admit we have met a lot of nice people here. I’m sure you will too as you settle in, the neighbor boy included.”
“Richie? The kid who sneaks around the neighborhood in camouflage and climbs over our fence with his pellet gun?”
“Mmhmm, that’s him.”
Andrew’s words were guarded, leaving Alex to suspect he hadn’t reached his level of upper management without honing some very strong diplomatic skills. Most likely, the Canters didn’t feel comfortable divulging personal opinions to complete strangers. Perhaps they never would. One never knew what might filter back through the grapevine and cause embarrassment. Alex had hoped for an opportunity to discuss race relations in this city. So far, no African American he’d encountered had said a word about it. He sensed smoldering unrest among them and wondered how prevalent it was.
How could it not be present?
Guilt still nagged him for not voicing an objection to Reynolds’s use of nigger. But he rationalized his silence by thinking he needed to establish himself before taking a stand on such politically loaded issues. He found his heightened sensitivity to such diplomacy both necessary and disgusting.
Diana rescued the pause in conversation. “And Lisa, what sorts of things are you interested in doing? Are you involved with any volunteering?”
“I worked at the university bookstore before we came here but don’t work presently. Not sure if I’ll look for a job. I’ve been asked to do some volunteer work, and that, hopefully, will keep me busy enough. I’ve grown very fond of being able to have options and control my time. It’s a luxury.”
Diana smiled, as if pleased with the answer. “We have a lovely book club that I’d be pleased to have you join—that is, if you’re into that sort of thing. I find several of the ladies quite interesting.”
Interesting. Lisa had never been one for luncheons or book clubs or other girly-girl activities.
“You folks ready to order?” asked their waiter, who’d been eyeing them since serving their wine.