What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (diy ebook reader txt) 📗

a nice chat. She seems even cheerier than ever and wants to get up another bridge evening, at her house. She seems quite concerned about Norris, and how lonely his evenings must be.”

“He’s always got that dog for company,” Bryan said. “God, it’s disgusting how fat they let her get. More like a pig than a dog.”

“Bassets are like that,” his mother said. “After a certain age, they sag.”

“I wouldn’t want a basset,” Patrick said. “I’d rather have a German shepherd.”

“Which you would be the one to take care of, I suppose,” Bryan said.

“Sure. Can we get one?”

“No. One pet is enough. Anyway, Twing would tear it to ribbons.”

“The Tromper kids each have their own pet,” Patrick persisted. “There are five of them—three dogs and two cats. They get along all right.”

“I’ve been in the Trompers’ house,” Maureen said, “and the answer is no, no a thousand times no. One thing you have to say about Twingy-poo is that she’s neat and clean as a pin.”

“Twing got in our room last night,” Michael said. “She slept on my bed and kept me awake. She kept playing with my toes through the blanket and digging her claws in.”

“Why didn’t you put her in the kitchen, Mr Lazy?” Bryan said.

“I was too sleepy. She didn’t wake me up that much.”

“Oh dear,” Maureen said. “I know Twing doesn’t have fleas, but I don’t like the idea that she might have, and have them got into the bed clothes. The catch on the kitchen door has to be fixed.”

“I’ll look at it,” Bryan said.

“I hope you’ll do more than look at it.”

“I can’t do much about it until I have looked at it. If you close it firmly, it catches.”

“I put Twing in the kitchen myself last night,” Biddy said. “And I closed the door and gave it a shake to test it. The latch just pops open of itself. I think you may have to rehang the whole door.”

“That will be fun,” Bryan said, “a wonderful way to spend my day off. Why don’t you call up Mr What’s-his-name the carpenter and have him look at it? He can probably fix it in a jiffy.”

“You’re the one who said you’d look at it. If I call the carpenter he says he’ll come and then he never shows up. They’re all like that.”

“In my day,” Biddy said, “there was always a handyman in town you could send for when anything went wrong. Mr Moxter was the one we used. A grim silent man, but he could mend anything—plumbing, the electric, hardware. I remember when he installed a new lock on the front door and come evening he wasn’t finished. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said, ‘I’m going to have to spend a night alone with my babies in an unlocked house?’ Bryan’s father was off somewhere on a business trip. All he said was, ‘If anybody’s determined to get in, they’ll find a way,’ and off he went with his tools. I pushed the upright piano up against the door. All the same, I didn’t get a wink of sleep. And the funny thing is, I never felt a bit frightened alone in the house when my husband was called away on business. Except that one time. The next day Mr Moxter finished the job. ‘Feel any safer?’ he said. ‘I certainly do,’ I said, ‘and if I’d known it was an all day job, I would have had you come in the morning instead of starting it after lunch.’ I said it right to his face, I was that peeved.”

“Biddy,” Maureen said, “you’re a fund of memories, it’s a marvel to me. Don’t ask me what I did last week: I haven’t a clue.”

“You played bridge with Mag and Norris,” Bryan said. “And we went to see that awful movie you’d been hankering about.”

“I loved it,” Maureen said. “A nice weepy. Though I think they should have told her right out, when they knew she had cancer.”

“Where are you going?” Bryan said to Patrick.

“To put the kettle on.”

“It’s already on,” Maureen said. “As long as you’re up, you can make the tea.”

“And don’t put all the tea there is in the pot,” Bryan said, “I don’t like tea you can float an egg on.”

“You don’t like it weak, either,” Biddy said. “None of us do.”

“I had coffee for breakfast when I slept over at Nick Tromper’s,” Michael said. “I didn’t like to ask for tea, special. Though I guess Mrs Tromper would have made it if I had. Asked for it.”

“No, that was the right thing. Always eat what your host offers you. Did you drink it black?”

Michael made a face. “No. I put in plenty of cream and sugar. It wasn’t bad. I liked it, I think.”

Twing leapt into the center of the table. “No,” Bryan said, “not on the table, kitty. Come sit in my lap.” The cat curled up there and allowed itself to be scratched behind the ear.

The evening sun came in through the sheer glass curtains and sparkled on the silver, the dishes and the glassware.

“Why look,” Biddy said, “there’s a rainbow in the water pitcher,” which was of Norsk crystal. “Isn’t that the loveliest thing!”

3

Group was in session, and Dr Kearney looked bored. “All right, Bertha,” he said, “you’ve made yourself the center of attention long enough. We’ve all heard your stories of marijuana, music and LSD. You’ve convinced us that you were a real swinger, and you swung yourself right in here.”

“You never talk about your problems, I’ve noticed,” Lottie said, “the things behind your actions. That might be more interesting—and helpful. To all of us, not just yourself.”

“My only problem,” Bertha said, “is that I have a family. They’re nice, but they bug me.”

“Bug you?” Mrs Brice said.

“They let me do anything I want, but all the time I can tell they secretly disapprove. They don’t know what to make of me, but I know what to make of them. Spineless. Nice, but spineless.”

“We haven’t