kitchen, on the balcony, as she went to the
refrigerator. Larry and his grandmother were soon talking loudly
through the open doors in their oddly familiar and yet
completely-foreign language.
“You know,” Lori said to Larry, as the
grandmother set three frosted glasses on the table, “I still have a
hard time figuring out when one word ends and another begins.” The
grandmother set a Perrier in front of Lori, and a Carlsberg next to
her glass and another for Larry, who used the tip of a spoon, with
his index finger as the fulcrum, to open his own and then his
grandmother’s bottle.
“Spanish, no problem,” continued Lori.
“Picked that up around home.”
“See? There’s an advantage to being the only
white girl on your block,” said Larry.
“Arabic, in the war,” Lori said, “playing
backgammon between convoys with the translator.”
“That’s a lot of backgammon,” said
Larry.
“I don’t see pickin’ up Danish,” she said.
“And you learned it over there in, what, a summer?”
“A few,” said Larry, pouring his beer into
the glass. “I can’t read it... can only speak it.”
“Oh,” said Lori. She pointed to her bags,
sitting alongside the table. “Can I run those?”
Larry and his grandmother talked briefly.
“Actually, she’s doing linen,” said Larry. “Has tablecloths and
place settings running now, but she’s making us some food.”
“A huge place with servants and shit,” said
Lori, “and she doesn’t get help with laundry.”
“Well,” said Larry, anger in his voice, “my
dad won’t let anyone help her.”
“Asshole,” said Lori.
Larry promptly, gleefully translated the
opinion to his grandmother, who replied, simply: “Nej.” Larry
looked at his cell phone. “Actually, he’s supposed to be here in
like an hour, so we should be out’ta here soon.”
.
Larry drank from his beer as his grandmother
brought out a basket of dark and white bread slices, crisp breads
and crackers. Turning, the grandmother smiled and put her hand
softly on Lori’s cheek and whispered sweetly. Larry finished
pouring his Carlsberg, and the bottle swiftly disappeared, as his
grandmother returned with it to the kitchen. Lori drank her mineral
water and looked out at the setting sun.
A knock loud enough to be heard from the
balcony prompted Larry to look with panic at his cell phone. “He’s
not supposed to be here for 45 minutes.” A moment later,
ruddy-faced Calvin was being walked to the balcony by Emma, who
wordlessly waved with her hand for him to be seated.
“You always know where to pick up a free
meal,” Calvin said to Larry. “And look, another hungry mouth to
feed.” He sat, his legs apart, leaning back, and reached across to
snatch the still untouched bottle of beer next to Emma’s place
setting. Calvin sat back and drank directly from the bottle,
swiftly draining it and setting it back next to Emma’s plate.
“Pig,” said Larry.
“I love you, too, son,” replied Calvin.
Emma swept away the empty beer bottle
alongside her setting, gave a fresh bottle to Larry and collected
the Perrier bottle. She set them down on a rolling tray on which
were plates that she transferred to the table. She set down a
platter of herring in a cream sauce, a baked liver pate, a plate of
salami and cheeses, olives, pickles, mustard and an assortment of
thinly-sliced vegetables. Larry had opened his fresh bottle and
poured half into his grandmother’s glass and the remainder in his
own. Calvin reached across for the glass half full. Larry used his
fork to poke his hand away.
“Don’t you poke me, boy,” said Calvin, as
Emma returned to the table with another Carlsberg. Seeing her own
glass half full, she set the bottle down. Calvin swiftly snatched
it and searched the table for an opener. Larry growled.
Lori reached for the bread, cheese and
vegetables she had placed onto her plate.
Calvin reached across the table for the
plate of fish, pulling two fillets off the platter
Martha Stewart Living Magazine