“Oh, thank God,” Jadey said. “Not that Chas and Ella aren’t welcome at our house
time—I swear, having other people around makes us behave
better—but what a relief for you. Now, Maj, as for the cheese knives . . . ”
“Second drawer to the right of the oven,” Priscilla said, and I was surprised at how quickly she’d conceded. Then she said, “Jadey, I was under the impression you were watching your figure.” She smiled. “I’d think these sorts of hors d’oeuvres would be very tempting.” Nan and Ginger had entered the hall from the living room by this point, distracting somewhat from the unpleasantness of Priscilla’s remark. Nan said, “Oh, Alice, we’ve been praying for your grandmother,” and Jadey said, “No, she’s on the mend,” and Ginger said, “I love your scarf, Alice. Maj, tell us what we can do to help.”
“You can get those barbarian sons of yours to quit tearing up my lawn.” Priscilla laughed throatily. “At this rate, my foxgloves and irises won’t live to see June.”
A brief silence ensued, and Ginger said, “I’m sure the boys are ready to come in anyway.” As she scurried out the front door, Jadey rolled her eyes at me before returning to the kitchen.
Priscilla said to Nan, “I’ll steal Alice for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
I followed my mother-in-law to a little alcove on the far side of the powder room beneath the front staircase. Standing in the hall, I’d caught sight of Charlie’s brothers congregated in the living room, and I’d thought that, recent tensions be damned, an evening of family boisterousness might be just the thing for both Charlie and me.
In the alcove, Priscilla said, “You had no business taking Ruby to the Marcus Center.”
I blinked. What had I imagined Priscilla wanted to talk to me about? The strife among her sons, perhaps? Or something far more banal: that she needed me to fill the bird feeders while she and Harold were in Washington.
“It was extremely inappropriate,” she was saying, and her voice was neither loud nor excited; it was merely frosty. “My household help is my concern.”
“I didn’t—” I hesitated. “I didn’t realize it would offend you. I certainly didn’t mean for it to.” I would stop short of telling her I was sorry, I thought, because I wasn’t. Miss Ruby was an adult, and so was I—both of us had the right to attend a play with whomever we pleased.
“You must imagine you’re providing some sort of cultural edification for her, is that it?”
“Priscilla, it was a spur-of-the-moment invitation. I had no ulterior motive.”
“Ruby has been in our employ for over forty-five years, and we’ve taken superb care of her during that time. Do you think she’d stay with us decade after decade if we hadn’t? There are a number of things I’m quite sure you don’t know about her, including that Harold and I helped her leave an unscrupulous husband. Is that something you were aware of?” Priscilla was almost six feet tall, but as she’d spoken, she’d leaned down so that mere inches separated our faces. I became aware of the fine lines around her lips, her mauve lipstick, her teeth, which, this close up, were smaller and a bit browner than I remembered; in addition, her crooked upper-left canine was prominent.
I opened my mouth to speak, but it was hard to know what to say.
“In the future, I’ll thank you for not interfering,” Priscilla said. “Have I made myself clear?”
“I hope you won’t scold Miss Ruby,” I said. “The outing was definitely my idea, not hers.” Then—I couldn’t help it—I added, “But with all due respect, I guess I still don’t understand what you object to.”
“Oh, Alice.” Priscilla took a step back, chuckling. “I’m embarrassed for you that you’d have to ask.”
I HAD A
glass of wine before dinner, and for the meal, I managed to sit between Harold, benign as always, and John, who, despite the friction with Charlie, had never said an unkind word to me. As usual, Priscilla had designated seat assignments, but she’d essentially ignored me after our conversation behind the staircase. By dessert, my surprise over our exchange had subsided, and I was able to relax into the table’s banter; at the outset, Priscilla had placed a moratorium on any discussion of Blackwell Meats, a wise move on her part. As we finished our butterhorn cookies and vanilla ice cream, Arthur, who, like most people present, seemed to have had quite a bit to drink, was giving Ed grief for his recent cosponsorship of a congressional bill with Judith Pigliozzi, a Democratic representative from northern California who was best known for her support of a failed medical marijuana bill. “Next thing you know, Eddie and Judith’ll be smoking reefer in the Capitol,” Arthur crowed, and Ginger, Ed’s wife, said, “You know, some studies indicate that marijuana can be very helpful for migraine sufferers”—meek, mirthless Ginger, herself a migraine sufferer, said this, and it was so out of character that everyone exploded with laughter. “So
how you can stand being married to Ed,” Charlie said. “We always wondered.” At the same time, John said, “Nothing like a hit of Mary Jane in the afternoon, eh, Ging?” Ginger was protesting, saying, “I didn’t mean that
tried it, no, it’s just something I read about—” and Arthur and Charlie were miming inhaling joints. “Truly, I’ve never smoked marijuana,” Ginger said, and she seemed very flustered. “It was in a magazine article.”
“Alice, you ever smoked up?” Arthur asked, and Jadey said, “Don’t put her on the spot,” and Arthur said, “Then let’s go around the table. Dad, it’s safe to assume you’re a no?”
Harold, with a weary smile on his face, shook his head. By this point, all the kids were back in the basement, and I gave thanks that Ella wasn’t present; I wasn’t in the mood to explain pot.
“We already have Ginger proclaiming her innocence,” Arthur said. “Me, hell, yes. Nan?”
Nan wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if I like this game,” she said, and Arthur said, “I’ll take that as another yes. Ed?”
