Cindy and Jerry came to dinner last night, and it was awful. First off, Nani, my wife invited them behind my back.
It was like going to the dentist when you’re a kid. You know how it is, how you’ll be traumatized by the experience, so your parents don’t tell you you’re gonna 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 act like a child.
Obviously, I should have known something was up from the four place settings on the table, but at the end of a day grading papers, I’m too tired to play Sherlock Holmes.
So the bell rings. “I wonder who that could be?” I ask, oblivious.
Nani says, “Wonder no more, just get the door.”
Swinging the front door wide open, as if I were welcoming Vice President Harris, I behold the two beaming Ken and Barbie dolls blinding me with their pearly whites.
“Aloha, Christopher,” says, Jerry, proffering a well-tanned and manicured 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 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,” says the male of the species, “which I know you have, Christopher. You’re never too far from a bottle or can, right?”
Nani sends me on my silent 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 some virus that will affect him. Not death, but close.
Returning to 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.
“I see you’re still making very slow, slow progress out there,” says Jerry, grabbing the beer from me and instantly swilling at it. “I sure hope you get a chance sometime to put in some quality work out there.” He lifts his glass to me, “Here’s to better progress out there, eh? Sooner than later, let’s pray.”
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 chug it like the alcoholic he’s always thought I am. It’s not hard to picture his remains feeding the flowers out there.
The others take seats as well, and the way they’re sitting makes me feel like I’m the center of focus. Nani becomes 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 struggling 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 in the market,” says Jerry. “No more mortgage for us. Burned the papers the other night on the hibachi. And how about new cars?”
“For each of us,” adds Cindy. “I want a convertible. I’ve always wanted a convertible.”
“And you’ll get it, my love, first thing tomorrow morning.”
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, honey?” Jerry asks.
“I just got so sick of my job. So last month I quit.”
“Well,” says Jerry, “no worries. With your background and work ethic, kiddo, you’ll get another job pretty soon.”
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, with Nani unable to bring home the bacon. 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 float me out of this space but to keep my mouth shut.
“Geez,” says Jerry, sipping his beer. “I think this bottle is stale. It tastes kind of skunky.”
“Oh no,” says Nani> “Go get him another beer, Chris.”
I head to 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. For Jerry, 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, I guess,” she says.
How I loathe her as well.
“Christopher, get him some of that white wine,” says Nani.
Back in the kitchen, 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. If it’s all you have.”
He takes a bigger sip. 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?”
“Yes, I guess, Chris.” The goddess turns to her god. “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?”
Giving him a stunned look, I say, “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 fake stunned 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’m trying so hard not to laugh that tears come to my eyes and start down my cheeks.
“Oh, hey, look,” says Jerry, his tone softening, “I’m sorry about that, Christopher. 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 this goes on, I sit sipping my beer and smiling. Now this, this is great progress.
Nani and I don’t eat until after Cindy and Jerry drive home to put Jerry to bed. As we sit at the dining room table, Nani speculates about what might have made him ill. I chew silently.
“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. Then she nods. “Well, yes, I know my dad can be like that sometimes.”
Lanning Lee 