out to the patio and explained that champagne was going to be the order of business as soon as everyone was assembled. Then I offered them nonalcoholic beer or wine. They were, after all, underage.
They said they were both in athletic training, thank you very much. La de da. The oysters were calling.
When I reemerged with a tray of crudites, the teens appeared to have resolved their differences. Sissy was holding one of the crystal glasses up to the light, as if she were looking for a price tag. I tried to remember what it was I had needed as a teenager, and decided it was more compliments.
“You look lovely,” I said as Sissy reached for one of the gold-trimmed crudite plates, then turned it over.
“Buckingham by Minton,” I told her. “Very expensive English bone china.”
She said, “How about the crystal?”
“What? Are you casing the joint?”
She wasn’t amused. “I’m just interested. Those glasses look expensive.”
“The pattern is called Star of Edinburgh. Scottish crystal that, to tempt fate, they use on the White House yacht. And no, it’s not cheap.” I smiled. “That’s a becoming dress.”
She shrugged. At the library she had been inscrutable. There, perhaps the mention of sexuality had embarrassed her. But if she did not want to encourage interest, she was wearing the wrong outfit tonight. The shirred white bodice of the dress was strapless, showing off superbly tanned shoulders and some cleavage. The above-the-knee black skirt hugged her hips and thighs.
“Thanks,” she said.
Julian said nothing. I wondered briefly if you could see someone blushing through a Mohawk.
After a moment Weezie floated out. A diaphanous red chiffon gown billowed around her as she walked. “Oh hello, hello,” she sang out. She stopped dead when she saw Sissy. “Nice
“This is Miss Stone,” I said lamely. “Er, Julian’s date. She works at the library and she did an internship with—”
“I know all about her internship,” said Weezie.
“How about something nice and cool to drink,” I offered in a rush, to fill the silence.
“Why not?” said Weezie in the same frosty voice. “Johnnie Walker Black, no mixer.”
So much for her being able to taste the nuances of the dinner. I poured the scotch over lots of ice and handed it to her. From the house came a wave of approaching voices. Brian Harrington was escorting the general and Adele out to the terrace. The general looked spiffy in a navy-blue suit that fit him like a uniform. Seeing me, he broke into his patented wrinkled smile. Behind him, Adele, elegant in a daffodil yellow linen coat-dress, let go of Brian’s arm and lightly tap-stepped her way along behind her spouse.
“Now what have we here?” asked General Farquhar as he paced off steps to the bar. He picked up liquor bottles and examined the labels, then took the tops off and gave each a healthy sniff.
“New way to get a buzz, General?” asked Julian.
“You have to be careful, son, you never know when substitutions can be made,” he replied seriously. Julian pulled his mouth into a smirk-grin that might or might not have been friendly. Hastily, I started another round with the crudites.
Brian assumed the role of gracious host. He popped the champagne cork and then flitted from person to person like a honeybee attending flowers. Weezie’s increasingly loud voice pierced the cool evening air. Once the champagne was dispensed, the host, hostess, and four guests arranged themselves into two groups. Brian appeared engrossed with Sissy and Julian, and Weezie held forth to the Farquhars. At one point Weezie nodded to me, which I took to mean that we should start dinner. I also could not help but notice how she shot several furtive glances in her handsome husband’s direction, and how her voice seemed to grow louder each time she noticed Brian moving closer to Sissy.
Inside, I removed the torta from the warming oven and readied the mushrooms for their brief sauteing. I had put the foil packets of lamb chops in the other oven; the guests would open them at table. I lit the candles and called the assembly to dinner with a set of tiny bells Weezie had given me for that purpose.
“Aye aye, Captain,” I said clearly.
“Let’s avoid navy terms, shall we?” said the general with a wink.
“Sissy, darling,” said Weezie, “come and sit down next to me.”
No, I wanted to say, that’s not the way the seating is supposed to . . . But I let Weezie arrange things in her own way. With a toss of her silver-blond mane she put Sissy on her left and the general on her right. This put Adele on Brian’s right and Julian across from her, which was correct enough in the end. But keeping Sissy away from Brian, not etiquette, had been Weezie’s top priority.
“What lovely flowers, dear,” Adele confided to Weezie. She leaned forward to admire the arrangement of white rosebuds, ruffle-edged pink tulips, and fragrant purple hyacinths. “Utterly, utterly reminiscent of love.”
“Why, thank you,” said Weezie, without acknowledging the caterer who had ordered them. She did look up and give me another of her withering looks, however, which I figured meant that it was time to start suggesting.
“Food for love,” I began, “has a long and illustrious history.” All eyes were on me. I picked up the chardon- nay and began to circle the table, filling the crystal glasses as I spoke. “In the 1400s the Arab sheikh Nefzawi wrote the first known treatise on the subject. Among other recommendations, he mentioned a number of foods,” the wine bottle teetered over Adele’s glass as I paused, “to excite passionate desire.”
There was an audible collective sigh. I served the oysters to enthusiastic approval from all but Julian, who nibbled unobtrusively on carrots, looking sullen.
“Next is Shrimp Dumpling Soup,” I said as I ladled delectable little mouthfuls into each white-and-gold bowl along with the broth. When I had finished passing them around, I said, “The myth surrounding Aphrodite’s birth holds that she was borne to dry land on the crest of a wave. The word
“Mm,” said Weezie after her first spoonful. “Positively sensuous,
Brian did not look at his wife but instead gave Sissy a wink. He tilted his soup plate to catch the last dumpling, then noisily sucked it down. After a moment he said, “I’ve heard of this Nefzawi. Seems to me he says one of the things that turns a man on is ‘various women’s faces.’ I can buy that.”
Sissy said nothing, only turned over an ornate silver fork to see who had made it.
“When a man ages,” Julian said flatly, “maybe various women are what he needs to turn him on.”
Weezie gave me an icy look.
I wanted to say, This is not my fault.
“Now let me tell you something about oysters,” said the general. “Well, actually, it has to do with pearls. Did you know that Mussolini’s mistress absolutely refused to wear pearls after she heard about the Nazi experiments to coat the things with poison chemicals? The poison would be absorbed through the skin.”
Adele cleared her throat, as in, Shut up.
“I’m serious now!” cried the general. “And Ceausescu wore a new pair of shoes every day because he had heard about how the CIA could introduce poisons through the soles. His wife refused to have her hair bleached because she had heard that peroxide could be used for cheap torture on exposed nerve cells. It’s the truth!”
“General Bo,” said Julian, “you’re great.” He reached over and gently braided his fingers through Sissy’s limp ones. Brian slid a look across to the teenagers’ clasped hands. Weezie visibly stiffened.
I began to clear the plates. I said, “Mussolini and Ceausescu may not have known that the word for love potion in Latin is
But they didn’t want to talk about poison. The conversation settled uneasily into local politics while I sliced the torta. A meeting of the county commissioners was coming up, where projects approved by the planning commission would get final approval or denial. Sissy said that Protect Our Mountains would be involved in several of the hearings. Adele beamed at her. I remembered Protect Our Mountains, a conservation group that led various crusades against development, was another of Adele’s favorite charities.
Weezie signaled for another glass of wine. “Speaking of Protect Our Mountains, I’m so upset about this
