Cindy and Jerry came to dinner last night, and it was awful. First off, Nani, my wife invited them behind my back, and she didn’t tell me a thing about it.
Kind of like going to the dentist when you’re a kid. You know how it is, how you’re going to hate the experience, so your parents don’t tell you you’re going to get drilled and filled until they’re practically dragging you through the door. Last night, I could have kicked and screamed, but I’m an ‘adult’ now, Nani, my wife says, so I can’t do things the way a kid would, can’t act like a child.
I should have known something was up from the four place settings on the table, but at the end of the day grading papers, I’m too tired to play Sherlock Holmes, and Nani would never allow me to think of her as a Mr. Watson. No, if there’s a second fiddle in my house, it’s me.
So the bell rings. “I wonder who that could be?”
Nani says, “Wonder no more, just get the door.”
I go to the front door, swing it wide open as if I were welcoming President Biden, and try to keep a smile pasted on my face as I behold the two beaming Ken and Barbie dolls blinding me with their pearly whites.
“Aloha, Christopher,” says, Jerry, proffering a well-tanned hand.
I barely shake it, wanting to withdraw like a swimmer being attacked by a moray eel.
Cindy throws her arms around my neck and hugs me like I’m her BFF. Which I am not.
I step aside and gesture them in with a slight bow. Just enough of a tilt so as not to suggest some kind of obeisance to them which I neither feel nor owe.
Nani comes flowing from the kitchen in all her hostess with the most-est glory, embraces the two as if she’d not seen them in decades, and after exchanging gushing pleasantries, asks them if they’d like something to drink.
“White wine, if you have it,” says Cindy.
“A beer which I know you have, Christopher. You’re never too far from a bottle or can, right?”
Nani sends me on my snarling way to bring out the beverages. While I pour the wine I mumble curses, and take a small sip from Jerry’s bottle, sticking my tongue in it so he’ll have to drink some of my saliva. Hopefully, I’m carrying something that will affect him. Not death. But close.
Passing through the doorway back into the front room, I am nauseated to see the three of them staring out at my impeccable garden. That is for me to enjoy, and Nani, of course. But not these two.
“Some yard,” says Cindy, blinding me with those teeth again.
“You’re still making progress out there,” says Jerry, grabbing the beer from me and instantly swilling at it.
Cindy and Nani take their wine glasses from me, clink them, and sip. I settle into my Lay-Z-Boy and hold my beer. I won’t give Jerry the satisfaction of seeing me go at it like the alcoholic he’s always thought I am.
The others take seats as well, and the way they’re sitting makes me feel like they’re focused on me. Nani gets just like them when they’re here. To all three it’s as if I’m some kind of exhibit. Like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes.
“So what you been up to?” Jerry asks, the first of the triumvirate to launch into me. “Aside from trying to do something with that yard of yours.”
Still not sipping my beer and trying to keep my emotions in check, I say, “Nothing much. You?”
“Just made another killing,” says Jerry. “No more mortgage for us. Burned it the other night on the hibachi. New car coming too.”
“For both of us,” adds Cindy. “I want a convertible. I’ve always wanted a convertible.”
“And you will get it, my love, first thing we can find what you want.”
They lean into each other and touch like they’re doing a shoulder high-five.
“You two are so lucky,” says Nani. “I wish we didn’t have to worry about money all the time. But with Christopher teaching English, and with me not working now, well, it’s hard to make ends meet.”
“Why aren’t you working?” asks Cindy.
“Yeah, what happened?” Jerry asks.
“Oh, I just got so sick of my job. So last month I quit.”
“That’s too bad,” Jerry says.
“That’s so sad, dear,” says Cindy.
“Well,” says Jerry, “no worries. With your background and work ethic, kiddo, you’ll get a job eventually.”
Shaking his head, he turns to me. “Geez, Christopher, you’ve always had the worst luck, huh?”
Okay, here we go.
“I mean, another bad break here. Sometimes I think you’re one of the unluckiest people on the face of the planet.”
Now I start taking big swigs. Not only to get my head out of this reality space but to keep my mouth shut.
“Geez,” says Jerry, sipping his beer. “I think this bottle is stale or something. It tastes kind of skunky.”
“Oh,” says Nani, “go get him another beer, Chris.”
I go back into the kitchen cursing. It’s what he calls bad luck, but not me. I’ve made choices that favored other things over money. Like going into teaching. I like working with kids, helping them get ready for the real world. I think that’s valuable. Jerry thinks stocks and bonds are valuable. People, he could care less about. It’s money for him. Everything is about money.
This time I spit into the bottle, and stir it with a chopstick.
“Here you go.” I hand Jerry the bottle. He takes a tentative swing. “Ah, man, this stuff is terrible. Don’t you have anything imported?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Jerry, that’s all I got.”
He asks Cindy, “How’s the wine, Cin? Is it decent?”
“Yeah, well, it’s okay,” she says.
What enthusiasm.
“Christopher, get him some of that white wine,” says Nani.
I pull out the box from the refrigerator and pour. Now, I’m thinking, what can I put in this one?
“Here’s your white wine,” I say. “Enjoy.”
Jerry takes a tentative sip. Smacks his lips. “Yeah, okay, this, ah, well.”
He takes a bigger sip. He coughs a bit. “Geez, this stuff tastes like piss, Chris,”
I smile. “Oh really? I’m sorry about that. Cindy, it’s okay for you though, right?”
“Oh, sure, it’s good, Chris. Honey, it can’t be that bad. Let me try.”
She reaches for the glass and takes a small sip.
“Ah, well, hmmm, it doesn’t taste like mine.”
I say, “Yes, Jerry, yours is from a new bottle. Maybe that one went bad too, like the beer.”
Jerry looks up at me. “Hey, Christopher, did you put something in my wine?”
I give him a stunned look. “What? What do you mean?”
“I mean,” says Jerry, standing up to face me at eye level, “did you put something in my glass.”
My facial expression wants to crack like an egg, but I remain in check. “What?” I say, giving him the look I use on my students when they ask if they can go to the bathroom in the middle of class. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know why you’d do that,” says Jerry, “but if you did do that I want to know.”
I am trying so hard not to laugh that tears come to my eyes and start down my cheeks.
“Oh, hey, look,” says Jerry, “I’m sorry about that. No need to get emotional.”
He thinks I’m tearing up because I feel bad about being accused of doctoring his drink.
“Look here,” he says. He puts the wine glass to his lips and then swallows all of it in a couple of gulps. “There you go. No problem. Hey, Chris, I’m sorry about what I said. I . . . I –”
Jerry drops the glass on the table and runs for the bathroom. We listen to him throw up. Both Cindy and Nani make their way over there offering words of condolence and comfort.
While all that went on last night, I sat sipping my beer and smiling. Nani and I didn’t eat until after Cindy drove Jerry home. Nani speculated about what might have made him ill. I sat silently chewing.
“Why’d you tell him it was a bottle?” she asked. “It was the wine box, right?”
“Because if I’d said it was a box, he’d have made some snooty comment about it.”
“Snooty?” said Nani. “Well, yes, I know my dad can be like that sometimes.”
Lanning Lee 