boredom.
“Remember,” I said, “I’m from New Jersey. There, people wear cowboy clothes up to fourth grade. But suit yourself.”
He was walking away. He held his hand up in mock salute. “I’ll do that.”
I looked at the food spread out on the table, then scanned the room for Patty Sue. She was talking to Pomeroy the beekeeper. At least someone was having a decent conversation with a man. Fritz Korman was sidling up to Patty Sue himself. Didn’t he see her enough with the twice-weekly visits? I also noticed Vonette watching Fritz.
Not a student of social interaction, I put myself to work. Besides, I didn’t want to seem to be looking for John Richard.
“Come and eat,” I invited a new gaggle of people eyeing the salmon. “C’mon, Trix,” I said because she was once more near me.
Trixie’s right arm—
“Asparagus?” I asked her.
“Of course,” she said. “But no bread.”
“Were you a friend of Laura’s?” I asked.
“I knew her,” she said vaguely, as I topped her coral-colored mound of fish with a dollop of mayonnaise. Trixie looked at me, dark brown eyes in a face framed with streaked blond hair. She said, “Not too much mayo.” She thought for a minute. “Laura used to come to class. Sometimes we talked afterward. She was funny, a little wacko, I thought, but not … She never came to the club’s parties. She was like you, didn’t really go out with men.”
I mm-hmmed and averted my eyes to end the conversation. This was not the assessment of my current social life that I wanted John Richard to overhear.
The aunt came up and asked how everything was going, then complimented us on the food, which she had yet to taste. She was a short woman with pale makeup and too-black hair cut severely short around her face.
“Thank you,” I said. “Will you be around long?”
She shook her head. “I’m flying back to Chicago tonight. The house is going up for sale Monday. She left her goods to me, but I certainly don’t know what to do with them. I’ll be back in November to finish things up.” She gave me an ingratiating smile. “Your son is just a little darling. And how nice of him to help you with the business.”
I nodded and fixed her a plate, then glanced in the direction of Arch, who was talking to John Richard, or rather, being talked to. Arch was nodding, his face full of pain. I could imagine the questions. Did you try out for soccer? Are you going to play football? Have you thought about basketball? Why not? The Jerk had never accepted the fact that his son was not destined for the NFL.
I reassured the moneyed aunt that the catering business was very important to me, as well as to Arch. She gave me a sympathetic look and slid away.
Now I could sense John Richard, hear him, see him shuffling along in what had become a fairly long food line, maybe ten people. With that kind of backup I was now preparing the plates in advance, whether the guests wanted asparagus or not. I heard him again and looked up. He was talking to Fritz. A medical conversation, no doubt. Beside the Jerk was the new girlfriend, a nondescript brunette whom my memory could only vaguely identify as a teacher.
I counted out the plates to John Richard’s. Eight. I drew out the mushroom packet. No sense in making him sick with tomatoes, thus risking more wrath, although the thought made me giggle. I sprinkled the mushroom bits on top of John Richard’s asparagus vinaigrette and kept going with plate preparation. I looked back at the line. For heaven’s sake. The girlfriend had stepped in front of the Jerk, so now she would get the mushrooms and he would still get tomatoes. I clanked the plates into their proper order, and that was my mistake.
John Richard sidled up to the front of the line and again straightened the bolo as he peered at the dishes. Then he raised a thick wrist to dramatically count the number of people in line.
“Okay, Goldy,” he said with a deep sigh, as he picked up the plate with the mushrooms. “What are you trying to feed me?”
“It’s not for you. It’s for your girlfriend. An aphrodisiac. She may need it.”
He said, “Then you won’t mind if I send this down to a lab and have it analyzed.”
“Don’t be so paranoid.” I grabbed the edge of the plate. “It’s just mushrooms instead of tomatoes, because I didn’t want you to get sick.”
He pulled the plate toward him. The salmon made a precarious slide toward the silk cowboy shirt.
“Will you stop?” I said through clenched teeth. “Just let me get you a new one.”
“Like hell,” he said. He pulled the plate as I let go. The vinaigrette splashed down the silk.
John Richard cursed.
I met his withering look and said, “Send me the cleaning bill.”
He muttered something and moved off.
I wasn’t having a very good day.
Patty Sue appeared next to me and complained that no one was ready for dessert yet.
“Take over the food line,” I commanded. “I need a break. Funerals for the wrong people depress me.”
Once she had taken my place, I stared at the wall of photos. When it was my turn at the coffeepot I let the dark liquid gush into two of the deep Styrofoam cups with my logo on them. One was for me and one was for Vonette, who probably would be needing caffeine about now. But before I could deliver it I saw Fritz Korman chatting with Patty Sue again. This meant Patty Sue had slowed down in serving the food. I strolled back.
“Well hello, Goldy,” said my ex-father-in-law with his patented toothy grin. The light shone off strands of white hair carefully combed across his bald pate. His teeth gleamed as he directed his smile back to Patty Sue, the wolf welcoming Red Riding Hood. John Richard had inherited his hulking build from Fritz, which was shown off to good advantage in yet another silk shirt with fringed vest and pants.
I said, “Fritz, you look like you just stepped off the set of ‘Bonanza.’ ”
He chucked me under the chin, unruffled. Fritz was like a man who was perpetually running for office, and he always treated me as if we were old friends or lovers or both.
“Has Patty Sue told you,” I began as I set down the cups, “that her father is a doctor, too?”
“Why no,” said Fritz, startled.
“But he isn’t,” said Patty Sue.
“Oh yes,” I continued as I again began to flick out creamy glops of mayonnaise onto piles of salmon. “Patty Sue’s father, the doctor, works in Washington, D.C. Very important fellow. Proctologist, to be exact.”
“What?” said Patty Sue and Fritz in unison.
“The Pentagon proctologist,” I rolled on, “who also gives political advice. He tells the generals working on Iran policy, Shove it up there where it hurts.”
Success. A confused look passed over Fritz’s face before he walked away. After a minute, Patty Sue started serving again.
“You need to get more mayonnaise from the kitchen,” I advised as I handed her the bowl. “Quickly.” When she returned I took the lukewarm coffee over to Vonette, who was bending Pomeroy Locraft’s ear.
“It just makes me so sad,” Vonette was saying, true to form. The sorrier and sadder she felt, the more she drank.
I said, “What makes you so sad?”
“Oh hi, Goldy,” she replied. Pomeroy, tall, dark, thirty-ish, and flannel shirted, nodded at me.
Vonette went on. “Did I hear you talking to Fritz about Iran over there? Honey, Fritz doesn’t care about foreign policy.” A swig. “He didn’t even vote for Bush last time.” Another swig. “Hell, he’s still mad about Nixon going to China.”
“What?” said Pomeroy.
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh, you know how mad he gets,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “and those Red Chinese, I mean in addition to being Commies”—another swig—“have this forced abortion policy.”
Pomeroy shook his head, stood up, and walked away.
“I’m still out of honey,” I called after him. He turned. I handed Vonette her coffee and walked over.
