Jack With a Twist

“Of course,” I say, “I just want you to know that you’ve got tons of support through every step of this thing.”

“Well, that was the last step,” she says, tipping her lemon into her Diet Coke with the penis-shaped straw.

“So, is it final?” I ask, taking the straw out of my drink and placing it onto the nearest table.

“Yup,” she says, sipping the rest of her Diet Coke down, “I’m officially divorced. Let’s go get something stronger from the bar.”

“Was it okay being there with him?” I ask as we walk over to the bar. “Did he make a scene or anything?”

“No,” she says as she motions for the bartender to pour us shots of Southern Comfort. “He did look ridiculously hot, though.”

“Marcus is ridiculously hot,” I say, as the bartender pours us our shots. For some reason, the shot glasses at Mangia e Bevi seem to be twice the size of a normal shot glass. Vanessa counts down from three and we down our shots at the same time.

“I know,” she says. “It’s weird. After you’re with someone for so long, you kind of forget about what they look like. Good or bad, I guess. You just get used to them and the way they look. I haven’t seen Marcus in so long that I think I forgot how freaking hot he is.”

I turn around from the bar and see a waiter helping my mother hang a sign that reads: “Let’s Get Lei’d!”

“What, so now you want him back?” I say with a laugh as I pour us each a white wine from the nearest table. Vanessa laughs without smiling.

“That looks perfect, Mimi,” Vanessa yells out as she runs over to my mother. “Can we get it a touch higher?”

“This ‘Let’s Get Lei’d’ theme is very clever,” Jack’s sister, Lisa, says as she walks over to me.

“Thanks,” I say. “It was my mother’s idea.”

“She’s adorable,” Lisa says, looking over at my mom. “It must be so nice to be close to your mother like that.”

“It is,” I say, “although most of the time, I’m ready to kill her. But that comes with the territory. Are you close to Joan?”

“Where’s Patricia?” Jack’s sister Elizabeth asks as she walks over to us. As she stands side by side with Lisa, I recall that Lisa is the youngest of the three and Elizabeth is the one in the middle. Patricia is the oldest. I actually remember who is who! A waiter comes over with a plate of fried calamari and I grab a piece and dip it into marinara sauce to congratulate myself on being so darned smart.

“Probably off somewhere bossing someone around,” Lisa says with a laugh and Elizabeth laughs, too. I give a tiny laugh. I’m not quite sure if I’m allowed to laugh at jokes that disparage one of the other sisters Solomon quite yet.

“How’s Alan?” I say to Elizabeth and I marvel at how I just remembered which brother-in-law goes with which sister. The words just fell out of my mouth, and after I’ve said them, I realize that I definitely know who’s who! Just as I’m about to ask Lisa how her husband, Aaron, is doing, Elizabeth answers my question.

“You’ll see for yourself later,” she says, grabbing a piece of bruschetta off the tray of a passing waiter. I decide not to take a piece so that my breath won’t be garlicky later when Jack arrives and kisses me hello.

Who knows, we may even make some history of our own in the second bathroom on the left….

“Elizabeth!” Lisa hisses. “Ix-nay on the urprise-say.”

“I know about the surprise,” I say. “My mother’s not good with secrets. I look forward to seeing Aaron later. I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him much.”

“Most people think that all of our husbands are interchangeable, so don’t worry,” Elizabeth says and she and Lisa laugh at the joke.

I join in on the laughter and for a second I wonder if I’ve underestimated the Solomon sisters. I’ve sort of bunched them all together, and maybe I’ve made a real mistake in not making an effort to get to know each and every one of them separately. Their husbands, too.

“Seriously, though,” Elizabeth says, “I’ve got to go and find Patricia before she starts some sort of trouble.”

“She just doesn’t want old Patricia to have any fun, now does she?” Lisa says, pouring herself a glass of wine from the nearest table as Elizabeth goes off in search of Patricia.

“You work in midtown, right?” I say to Lisa.

“Yes,” Lisa says, taking a sip of her wine, “I’m on Third Avenue, too, just a few blocks down from your office.”

“How about we go to lunch this week?” I say, as she pours a little more wine into my glass, too.

“I’d like that, Brooke,” she says. “I’d really like that.”

“We just got lei’d!” I hear in a thick Polish accent.

Now, there is only one person in the world that I know with such a thick Polish accent, and the other is her sister, Devorah. But there is simply no way in hell that my mother thought it prudent to include my eighty-two- year-old grandmother and her eighty-nine-year-old sister to this bacchanal. Surely she realized that such novelty items as a penis-shaped straw and a stripper jumping out of a cake would be lost on two elderly eastern European women.

Lisa and I both turn around. Sure enough, it’s the thick Polish accent of my father’s mother and her sister, Devorah.

At this moment in time, I am extremely grateful that most of my great aunts live out of state.

In my shock and awe at the arrival of my grandmother and Aunt Devorah, it barely registers that Miranda Foxley seems to have come into Mangia e Bevi, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her place her lei on top of her head, like a crown on her blaze of fire-red hair. She begins dancing to the music as she walks in and greets everyone with a big fake Southern-fried smile on her face.

Not like I’m jealous of her or anything.

“Now, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Lisa says, eyes still glued on my grandmother and Aunt Devorah, adjusting their leis and accosting the waiter with the pigs in blankets.

I rush over to my mother: “Have you lost your mind?”

“What?” she says, fluffing out the silk flowers on her lei. Needless to say, she’s got her lei of choice for the evening color-coordinated with her outfit.

I don’t respond. I merely bob my head in the general direction of my grandmother and Aunt Devorah.

“You don’t know your grandmother and aunt like I do,” she says, “You see them as old women. I happen to know that they are going to have more fun than anyone here tonight.”

“There is something wrong with you,” I say and my mother laughs.

“Time for appetizers, BB,” my mother says. “Let’s start sitting everybody down.”

My mother rushes over to the bar, and the bartender hands her a microphone. She announces that it’s time to begin our appetizers and the assorted party guests begin finding their chairs. I see her order a drink from the bartender and then leave the bar with three champagne cocktails.

“Where are we sitting?” Vanessa says. “I tried to commandeer the table in the middle but Jack’s sisters are there now.”

“Let’s sit with Jack’s sisters,” I say, and Vanessa stares back at me. “We’re going to try something different tonight.”

“We’re pretending we’re mature?” Vanessa asks, “I’m so impressed.” We walk over to the table where Jack’s sisters are all seated, every other seat, just waiting for Vanessa and me to fill the gaps. As we pass by my mother’s table, I see my mother handing my grandmother and Aunt Devorah each a champagne cocktail. They all clink their glasses together—I could swear I hear one of them make a toast that involves the word finally!—and then take a sip.

In the opposite corner of the dining room, Jack’s mother, Joan, is holding court at a table with her friends.

“I Want Your Sex” comes over the sound speakers just as Vanessa and I get to our table, and guests immediately start jumping up on chairs.