November 2010
Melina hadn’t applied to any big deal, hard-to-get-into colleges. There was no point, since her grades had slipped during her junior year, when she’d gone a little alternative and partied too much. Both Mary Ann and Alice had been cool about it, and acted as if they hardly noticed the changing colours of Melina’s hair, makeup, nail polish, and clothes. An attitude Melina’s parents should have adopted if they’d wanted to lower the stress level at home.
Now that she was back in the land of the semi-normal, her hair dyed to a shade of brown found within nature, her grades were good again, her SAT scores were better, and she was applying to some colleges not too far away, like Syracuse.
She told Alice about her applications when she came to babysit on a Saturday night. Alice was on her way out to a movie with Mrs. MacAllister from downstairs.
“But why so close to home?” Alice said. “I thought you wanted to go away. Why aren’t you applying out of state?”
“I wouldn’t be living at home in Syracuse. And going out of state isn’t exciting. I’ve been to South Carolina. It’s the world I want to see.”
“So why don’t you attend college out of the country?”
“We can’t afford it. Just to live in residence at Syracuse, I’ll need to use all my babysitting savings, work at a real job in the summer, and work part-time next year.”
“Weren’t you saving your babysitting money for a graduation trip to Europe?”
“Yeah, but things changed.” Melina didn’t feel like going into the details her dad had told her about their financial position — the mortgage, the insurance costs, how they needed to replace her mom’s car, how business at the hardware store had declined since the discount superstore had opened up a half-hour drive away.
“I wish I could help you somehow,” Alice said.
Melina wished so, too.
In the car on the way to the movie theatre, Sarah said to Alice, “Thank you for doing me a favour and coming out tonight.”
“I owe you many favours, I know, but I’m doing this because I’ve resolved to go out more than twice a year. From now on, I’m going to make an effort to indulge in an occasional diversion.”
“That’s a good goal. But if you want some advice, choose your diversions with care. I recently joined a dance committee at the country club for something to do, and after one meeting, I’m in despair.”
“Was it that bad?”
“You should have seen the committee members: there was a pushy, know-it-all, retired businesswoman who squirmed out of taking on a single task. And an Idea Lady, who proposed one outlandish suggestion after another, then complained when they were rejected. And the shady operator, a man who had a friend who could supply a sound system, a cousin who could underprice the caterer, and a son who could take photos for cheap. Too late I remembered that one of the best things about working in real estate was being on my own.”
Alice signalled her turn into the theatre parking lot. “I’m not too keen on meetings, either. When I’m forced to go to them, I’m always trying to move them along, speed them up, get them over with, so I can go back to my office and be alone.”
“Oh, Alice,” Sarah said. “We always were alike.”
At noon on the Sunday after Benny’s family party, Danielle answered the phone.
“Hi, Danielle, it’s Mary Ann. How’d your party go?”
“It went well. Except for the part when a bug crawled out of the salad and onto my father-in-law’s face.”
“Really? What a scream.”
“People did scream.”
“And you laughed, I hope.”
“I started to, but I had to stop myself when I saw the horrified faces all around me.”
“I’ll never forget making barbecued corn one time — in the husk — and serving it to a client of Bob’s. The guy was a real pompous ass. I had laugh behind my napkin when he unwrapped his corn and found a worm wriggling inside.”
“Did the client think it was funny? Or your husband?”
“No, but I did.”
“Well, it took me a whole day of apologizing, but by the time the family left they’d resumed speaking to me.” Though Danielle’s favourite part of the day had been right after lunch, when Adele had told her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much at a party.
“And will you still be speaking to me if I come out there this afternoon with my kids to choose a puppy? Say no if you can’t stand the thought of any more people traipsing through after yesterday.”
“By all means, come over. And if you like clams and mussels, I’ve got leftovers you could take home.”
Benny and the boys went down to meet the Grays in the driveway. From the doorway of the house, Danielle recognized Kayla, saw two older boys who must be her brothers, and last out of the car was a man Danielle had met briefly at the second dinner club evening, and whose name she’d forgotten. Danielle walked over, wearing a hospitable smile. Later, she’d ask them to stay for ice cream.
Alex said to Kayla, “You can’t have Hero, we’re keeping him.”
Benny said, “I’m afraid one of the puppies is accounted for. But there are five others to choose from.”
“Hi, Danielle,” Mary Ann said. “You know Kayla, these big guys are Josh and Griffin, and Sam is an experienced dog owner, so we brought him along as a consultant.”
So that was his name: Sam.
He said, “Great place you’ve got here, Danielle. Mary Ann was telling me about the produce-growing operation on the way out. I’d love to take a look at it later, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
“But first, to the kennels!” said Benny and led the kids off around the side of the house.
Danielle brought up the rear with Mary Ann and Sam, realized who he was, and said, “You’re Sam the Samosa King!”
“Now dethroned. How did you know?”
“Your wife told me.” Danielle looked at Mary Ann. “That woman Hallie is Sam’s wife, isn’t she? Or am I mixed up?”
Mary Ann said, “You know, Sam, I’m not so sure you should have left the food business. Did you try those dumplings Sam made at the last dinner club, Danielle? They were scrumptious.”
All five kids were inside the kennel now, being jumped on by the puppies. Mary Ann, Sam, and Danielle stood outside, leaning on the fence.
“I enjoyed cooking for the dinner club,” Sam said, “but I feel pretty far removed from the prepared-food scene these days.”
Danielle stared over the fence, unseeing. “Prepared food is such a wonderful concept. What could be more like paradise than not having to make dinner every night?”
“Even more so nowadays,” Sam said. “That segment of the market has really grown.”
Kayla called out, “Mommy, all the puppies are so cute! I can’t decide.” Even her surly brothers were down on their knees in front of the dogs, letting their faces be licked.
“The problem is,” Danielle said, “that every time I bring home purchased food, Benny doesn’t like it. He says I could make it better, he thinks it doesn’t taste right, or it upsets his stomach. So he won’t eat it. Unfortunately.”
Sam said, “A connoisseur of your cooking, is he?”
“Uh-oh,” Mary Ann said. “Sam is getting that how-can-I-use-this-in-my-novel look. Watch what you say, Danielle, unless you want to read about yourself in Sam’s book when it’s published.”
Book? What book? Then Danielle remembered Hallie dismissing it, calling it “Murder in the Kitchen, or some awful thing.”
“If the book’s ever published, you mean,” Sam said.
Mary Ann gave Sam’s arm a playful slap. Or was it a loving tap? “Don’t say that! It will be.”
“Mom, come see,” Kayla said. “Help us choose.”
Mary Ann and Sam entered the fenced area, waded into the dogs and kids.
“It’s the best idea,” Danielle said, “to have someone else prepare your meals. The best.”
But what with the kids’ voices raised in excitement, and the barking of the dogs, no one heard her.
Alice called Jake, got tongue-tied, left a lame message saying she wanted to know how he was and could he call her when he had a chance. And she did not jump every time her phone rang for the rest of the day. She busied herself with work instead, so she wouldn’t be sitting and waiting for a call like a desperate single woman in a bad romantic comedy. She took care of some paperwork, checked her emails, and opened one titled “Silver Lining” from her former colleague in England, name of Roger.
Roger’s message was excited, full of exclamation marks. A medieval church in a Tuscan village had been destroyed by fire — a tragedy, of course, in terms of the loss of
the building and the priceless frescoes it contained — but a godsend to Roger, who had been wanting to excavate the site for years, since theorizing in his doctoral dissertation that a long-lost Hellenic shrine to Apollo had stood on the same ground.
He wrote:
In case you were wondering, I did NOT arrange for the fire to be set! But if I can slash my way through the government red tape, my excavation of the site will start next summer. Care to join me for it?
Alice read the message once, twice, and quit the mail window without replying. Of course she couldn’t go. Much as she’d love to. Did anything sound better than a summer in Italy, an exciting site, her old digging friends, a farmhouse they would rent for the season, an outdoor garden where they could drink wine and eat good food after a hard day’s work? Was that the life, or what? Her former life. Her before-Lavinia life.
As soon as the waiter had taken away their menus, Tom said to Kate, “I may have erred in my order. Do you think the chef here truly comprehends ossobuco?”
“Probably. How was work today?”
“We closed the deal on the New Jersey mall.”
“Congratulations.”
“It’s not what I’d call thrilling news.”
“No? What would be?”
“Nothing I can think of at the moment. How was your day?”
“The usual. But then, I’m not seeking thrills.”
“Perhaps I should have ordered a veal chop. Veal chops require less understanding.”
“Are you seeking thrills?”
“If I were running this restaurant, I’d have had the table next to us cleared five minutes ago.”
The waiter brought over a square glass vase filled with rosemary crackerbread, Tom asked some questions about the ossobuco that were answered to his satisfaction, and the waiter left.
“Maybe you should open your own restaurant,” Kate said.
“Am I obsessing too much about the food? I apologize. I’ll desist.”
“You used to talk about going into the restaurant business, years ago. Do you ever wish you had?”
“No. I think my passion for good food can only remain alive at a remove from the industry of its production. I’m far more suited to be a demanding consumer than an accommodating proprietor. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Kate broke off a piece of crackerbread. “Maybe.”
“Would you like to open a restaurant?”
“Me? No. Never.”
“Why are we talking about this, then?”
“Oh, look. Here come our salads.”
Danielle came by to return Sarah’s cake stands and brought with her two pots of flowers as a thank-you gift.
“What beautiful nasturtiums!” Sarah said. “And so late in the season.”
“Isn’t the colour strong and bright? I thought you might like them — to look at, or to eat.”
“Thank you. As long as they bloom, I’ll feel I’ve kept the cold weather at bay. I’m dreading winter this year.” She set the pots down on the porch, on either side of the door. “Won’t you come in?”
Danielle followed Sarah inside and placed the cake stands on her kitchen counter. “I can’t stay, but thanks again for the cakes. They were a big hit. My mother asked what bakery they’d come from — she was shocked to find such quality out here in the country.”
“Isn’t she kind? I do enjoy baking. I volunteered to bake for the New Year’s Eve dance I’m helping organize at the country club, but the committee said no. All the food has to come from the caterers.”
“Someone from your committee called me to ask about flowers for the dance. Was that your idea?”
“Yes.” Sarah had stepped behind the counter and was cutting into a pan of lemon squares. “That would be Sandra. I gave her your name. I wanted to help with the decorations, but Sandra has been in charge of flowers for years. I’m glad she called you, at least.”
“If they wouldn’t let you do decorations or food, what are you looking after?”
“Here’s a joke for you — I’m in charge of music. I have CDs to listen to from the bands I’m supposed to be considering.”
Danielle tried and failed to imagine having the spare time Sarah had to volunteer for tasks like this. “How are they?”
“Terrible. And the committee insists on a live band to maintain the club’s party-giving standards. Honestly. If retirement means I have to spend all my time with people so set in their ways, I’ll have to go back to work.”
“And what will you do about the music?”
“Wait until the last minute and book the best of the worst, I suppose. But how are you now that your family party’s done with? How’s business? How’re the kids?”
“We’re all good, thanks, but I should get going. I have to pick up some groceries. And cook them.”
Sarah handed her a baggie containing four lemon squares. “Let me give you these to take home. In case you want to let your family eat dessert for dinner.”
Danielle sighed. “If only.”