Was now the time to break the habits of eighteen years of marriage? Was now the time to tell Benny to look after his own dinner, for crying out loud, and feed the kids, too? Danielle put down her fork. “You could take the kids out to eat at the diner in town.”
“And what about me? What am I supposed to eat?”
She pushed her plate away. “Do you think you could look after your own meal that night?” For a radical change.
Benny sighed. “If I have to, I have to. I just wish I knew why you want to go to this dinner club. Why suffer through everyone else’s mediocre cooking when you could stay home and feast on your own?”
Two days before the first dinner club meeting, Tom told Kate that he hadn’t yet decided what to bring. “What do you think?” he said. “Would a fresh ciabatta loaf from Sullivan Street Bakery do?”
Kate felt her shoulders hunch up at the mere mention of the dinner club. Or was it Tom’s apparent eagerness to attend it that made her crabby? “Do that if you want people to think you can’t cook. I’m the type who brings bread.”
“Maybe I should make a coulibiac of salmon, with a whole salmon.”
“Because that would take no time at all. Have you considered roasting a suckling pig?”
“Surely you jest.”
“How about a baked Alaska?”
“Kate.”
“You could always do individual wild rice timbales, with asparagus stalks sticking straight up out of the top.”
“What bothers you about this?”
“Nothing.”
“I can tell.”
Why was she so bugged? “I just think that if these people lived in the city, they could find more meaningful activities to occupy themselves with than competing with food. They could go to a restaurant.”
“You think that because you don’t cook.”
“I have better things to do.”
“Speaking of people who don’t cook, Hallie Smith appears to be attending the first meeting. Her name was on the reminder email I received today.”
“She’ll probably get her nanny to cook something.”
“Perhaps I should make steamed pickerel with ginger and oyster sauce.”
“Drive that out there and your car will stink for days,” Kate said. “Now leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.”
The next day, she called Hallie at her office. “Tom’s been invited out to a dinner club in Oakdale this weekend,” she said, “told not to bring me, and now he hears you’re going.”
“Tom’s coming to Mary Ann Gray’s dinner club? How bizarre. I assumed it would be only women.”
“What’s the story?”
“To tell you the truth, I was surprised to be invited. We working mothers don’t mix much with the stay-at-home moms, and Mary Ann Gray is a real Mother Superior out here.”
“Doesn’t she work for Tom’s computer guy?”
“Does she? I can’t keep up with these women’s little part-time jobs.”
“Can you tell me what’s she like, at least?”
“She’s okay-looking, if you’re into the hearty athletic type. Sam’s friendly with her: they talk on the sidelines at soccer games.”
“And what food are you bringing to this occasion?”
“Vietnamese salad rolls. There’s a place near my office that makes them. I’ll buy them Friday and bring them home, pass them off as my own.”
“That’s my Hallie.”
“You’re not worried, are you?”
“About what?”
“About a horny housewife making a play for Tom.”
“I wasn’t, no. Should I be?”
“No. Tom seems oblivious to the lure of extramarital sex.”
“How would you know?”
“All I’m saying is that in general, his eyes don’t rove. You know whose do, though? This Mary Ann’s husband. His name’s Bob, or Bill, or something. And he was giving me total bedroom eyes at the last country club dance. The guy has thinks-he’s-a-player-but-he’s-not written all over him.”
That was her Hallie, all right. “So you represent the lure of extramarital sex? Is that what you’re saying?”
“To people of a certain type, yeah. And Tom’s not that type.”
“Tom does have his little affectations of speech, that verbal overcompensation he makes for having grown up working class. Some women might misconstrue that as flirting.”
“Tell you what. I’ll keep an eye on him for you at the party. And if I see any predators closing in, I’ll intervene. Though he’s probably as innocent as Sam would be in that situation.”
“I’m glad to hear Sam doesn’t have a roving eye either.”
“Of course not. He’s married to me, isn’t he?”
Alice joined the line for the supermarket express lane holding a basket that contained a carton of eggs, a package of sliced mushrooms, a bunch of arugula, and a tube of goat cheese. In fifteen minutes, she’d pick up Lavinia from daycare, take her home, whip up a mushroom omelette and a salad for them both, and dinner would be taken care of. Provided the lane would live up to its name and move along.
The man in front of her placed his one item, a cellophane-wrapped bunch of lilies, on the conveyor belt, and she caught a glimpse of his profile. He looked familiar.
He was bald, and fortyish, and on the thin side, and he was wearing a leather jacket over a T-shirt, jeans, and Vans. Was he a worker from the station site? A hardware store clerk? Her mailman, out of uniform? She took a step to the side, checked him out from that angle, and still couldn’t place him.
When she finally figured it out, she stifled a gasp, leaned into his line of sight, and said, “Jake? Is that you? Jake Stewart?”
He turned around. “I’m afraid so. Hi.” He smiled at her, raised his arm, and placed the palm of his hand on the top of his head. As if to see if any hair had grown back since the last time he’d checked.
That was why she hadn’t recognized him right away — because he no longer had his flowing blond locks, his alpha male mane. That, plus he was twenty-odd years older. But did he remember her? “It’s me, Alice Maeda,” she said. “From kindergarten and elementary and middle and high school.”
“I know who you are,” he said.
“Yeah? Prove it.”
“You were my partner in eighth grade for the deathless swing dance performance our class did to ‘In the Mood.’ The most awkward, embarrassing dance performance ever.”
Alice had forgotten about the swing dancing until that moment, forgotten he’d been her partner. But as soon as he mentioned it, she remembered an old photo her mother had filed away somewhere. The picture was of a gawky, pre-pubescent Alice, in costume — wearing a sweater, a homemade poodle skirt, and white sneakers. Her eyebrows were thick and unplucked and caterpillarish, her hair untamed. How shy she’d been then, and how ignorant of tween social norms. How mortified to be partnered with Jake, who was already popular, to have to touch him, and pretend to be comfortable touching him.
But wait — he’d felt awkward and embarrassed too?
The cashier rang up the lilies. Jake handed over some cash, and he said, “I’m here to see my mother.” He held up the lilies. “These are for her. What are you doing in town?”
“I moved back four years ago, from England. I work in Manhattan, and live out here with my daughter. I’m about to pick her up from the daycare at Oakdale Elementary.”
“So you get to relive your life all over again through her? At the same schools, in the same neighbourhood? That should be a trip. I wonder if the middle school still makes eighth graders learn how to jive. Probably not, huh.” His hair was gone, but he still had a mischievous grin.
Alice paid for her groceries, they walked out to the parking lot together, she asked Jake what he was up to these days, and he told her he lived in Brooklyn, and had a job leading bike tours in Europe and Asia for an adventure travel company.
“I haven’t followed a typical or ambitious career path,” he said, “but I l
ike travel, and I’ve never wanted a desk job. Even if some people — most people — think I’m pissing my life away.”
“Pissing your life away? It sounds to me like you’re living the dream.” And living a life that was better than being mired in Oakdale. Alice looked at her watch. “Shit, I have to run, I’ll be late to pick up Lavinia. It was good to see you, though.” She meant it. The years had tempered him well, softened his hard edges.
“Good to see you too.” He touched his head again. “We should have lunch sometime, in the city, and continue the conversation.”
“I’d like that.”
They exchanged numbers — entered them into each other’s cell phones — and parted, but not before he said, “You look great, by the way. And like you haven’t aged a day since you were the pretty hippie girl who got suspended for smoking in class.”
She warmed herself with that compliment all the way to the daycare and home.
Mary Ann called Alice at the five o’clock on the date of the first Dinner Club meeting. “Can you come over early,” she said, “before anyone else?”
“As soon as Lavinia’s finished eating her dinner, we’ll leave. Are you okay?”
“No. I’m a basket case. I was never this nervous when I entertained Bob’s clients. I’ve already sweat through two shirts.”
“Take a few calming breaths and tell me: is the table set?”
“Yes.”
“Is Melina on her way?”
“Due at six-thirty.”
“Is Bob out of the house?”
“He’s safely on the road to basketball with Josh.”
“Are you buffed and polished?”
“I spent a full hour on the hair and makeup.”
“And created a natural healthy glow?”
“No, I created a deathlike mask, what do you think? I didn’t overdo it. Did I? Shoot. I’ll go scrape off some foundation right now.”
“Sounds like you have the situation well in hand, and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, but am I a total fool to be doing this? Will either of the males present find me remotely attractive? Will Hallie Smith figure out that I meant to invite her husband, not her?”
“You’re going to have a swell time.” Alice crossed her fingers behind her back. “Everyone is.”
“Just get here as soon as you can.”
8
Danielle had been apprehensive about the dinner club meeting — about what to wear and what to bring, and should she park the truck around the corner where no one would see it?
Benny didn’t understand. “It’s just dinner with a bunch of women,” he said. “What are you worried about?”
Yes, Mary Ann was welcoming and warm when Danielle walked in — she oohed and ahed over her platter, asked where she’d found the beautiful baby vegetables, and expressed amazement that Danielle had grown them herself. But then she’d gone off to greet Lisa and Amy, two school moms so alike Danielle couldn’t tell them apart, and left her alone, surrounded by interior-design-magazine décor and people wearing dress-up clothes. Danielle had known enough to leave her jeans at home, but she wasn’t prepared for the chicness of Mary Ann and her friends, of the tall, elegantly attired man who could have walked out of the Sunday Styles pages, or the glossy blonde in business attire who Danielle ended up beside during the drinks part of the evening.
The blonde introduced herself as Hallie Smith, threw back some wine, and said, “Are you a stay-at-home mom?”
“Partly,” Danielle said. “I also run a produce-growing business. I just told Mary Ann about it. I’ve known her for years, and she never knew I had a farm.”
Hallie smiled in a way Danielle didn’t find friendly. “You’re a farmer?”
“Of a kind. I grow heirloom vegetables, flowers, a variety of lettuces and greens. All organic.”
Another gulp of wine. “How fascinating.”
“It’s satisfying work.”
Hallie said, “I’m a firm believer in the rewards of hard work. I only wish Sam, my husband, felt the same way. He used to be in the food business. He was the Samosa King before he sold out.”
Danielle wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Sam the Samosa King? And sold out how? She pictured compromised samosas, stuffed with substandard fillings. “What does he do now?”
“Nothing. Hangs around the house all day and pretends to be writing a novel called Murder in the Kitchen. Stupid generic title.”
Danielle wondered how Hallie’s underlings handled being spoken to so dismissively. Because there had to be underlings. “And what do you do?” Danielle said.
“I’m the director of finance at Morris Communications.” When Danielle showed no sign of recognizing the company name, Hallie said, “We publish magazines.”
“How interesting.”
“What did you say your job was again?”
Danielle stammered, “I grow vegetables. And lettuces?”
Hallie walked away. “Of course. Nice talking to you.” She held up her glass. “I have to get a refill.”
Mary Ann came up next. “Have you met people? I’ve been telling everyone you grew the food you brought. I can’t believe I never knew you did that. Are you having a good time? Don’t answer yet. Tell me after you’ve eaten.”
Danielle said, “That woman Hallie said something about her husband that I didn’t understand.”
“He’s Sam Orenstein. Do you know him? He’s around the school a lot — he drives his kids to and from. They have two girls — Jessica and Annabelle. And a black Portuguese water dog.”
“What did she mean when she called him the Samosa King?”
“That was the name of his company, out of Philadelphia. Still is, but it doesn’t belong to him anymore. He sold it before moving up here. It produces a whole line of Indian foods — samosas, pakoras, breads, curries.”
“And here I thought every man in Oakdale except Benny was an investment banker or lawyer.”
“What does Benny do?”
“He’s a vet, and a dog breeder.”
“He is? I never knew that, either. Excuse me a minute, would you? It’s almost time to serve.”
“Can I help?” Danielle said, hoping not.
“No, I’m fine, thanks. But have you met my mother yet? She’d love to talk gardening with you, I’m sure. Let me introduce you.”
Alice helped Mary Ann lay out the food in the dining room. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay so far.” Mary Ann set down a large platter of shrimp on the sideboard. “Is my face flushed?”
Mary Ann’s face was flushed. A bright pink spot of anxiety burned on each cheek. “Your face is fine,” Alice said. “And the party is going well. People are talking to each other. I always find that incredible.”
“Have you met everyone?”
“I think so. I like Phoebe. She’s very direct.”
“And young.”
“Drew seems nice, too.”
Mary Ann pointed to the dish Alice had brought — fine egg noodles, covered in a brown meat sauce and garnished with julienne slices of cucumber and carrot. “What’s that called, again?”
“Chinese Noodles with Meat Sauce. I got the recipe from an English cookbook I bought years ago.”
“What’s in it?”
“Ground pork, ginger, hoisin sauce, and lots of garlic. You might want to avoid it if you plan to get close to Tom or Drew later.”
Twenty minutes later, Alice joined the buffet line behind Tom and heard him introduce Drew to Hallie. “He’s the local computer expert,” Tom said. “When not busy with the set-up and maintenance of home and office computers, he consults for me on the Main Street project.”
Hallie looked Drew over and placed a hand on his arm. “We’ve been having trouble with the kids’ computers at home. I think they need more memory. Do you handle problems like that?”
“I could tell you what to buy and talk you through the installation over the phone.”
“But that�
�s not the only thing. My husband’s printer is also acting up. Have you got your food? Come sit beside me at the table, we’ll talk about it. Do you work weekends?” She led him away.
Alice and Tom reached into the basket of napkin-wrapped forks at the same time.
“What did you contribute to this bounty, Alice?” Tom said.
She pointed. “The noodles.”
“Do you know I’ve been searching for a specific variation on that dish for years? It forms the basis of some Proustian memories of mine that were formed in a Szechwan restaurant in Montreal in the early eighties.”
“Really? The closest thing I have to a Proustian food memory is the recollection of a very fine batch of fish and chips I once ate in an English seaside town. But I bet fish and chips are too mundane to qualify as Proustian, huh.”
“You like to mock me, don’t you?”
Alice winced. “No, I’m just bad at social chit-chat. That was my feeble attempt to be amusing. No mock intended. Let’s change topics. Ask me about the station.”
They made their way to the table and sat down where their place cards were set, side by side.
“How is the station faring?” Tom said. “I haven’t been by in a few days.”
“The drywall’s all down, the plasterers are starting in a few days, and the clean-up crew found some seventy-year-old lost-and-found boxes tucked away in the basement.”
“An archeological find, as it were?”
“Of a sort. I haven’t gone through the boxes yet, but I thought I would see if there’s anything interesting we might be able to set up in a display case once we’re done. Like a first edition of an old novel, or a vintage sweater.”
“Your noodles are delicious. Exactly how I remember them. The piquancy of the sauce makes a delightful contrast with the crunch of the cucumber.”
“Thanks. Do I have the okay to go through the lost and found stuff?”
“Do you need my okay?”
“The building and contents belonged to you last time I checked.”
“To the company.”
The Oakdale Dinner Club Page 8
