The Oakdale Dinner Club

by Kim Moritsugu

  As soon as the waiter had taken away their menus, Tom said to Kate, “I may have erred in my order. Do you think the chef here truly comprehends ossobuco?”

  “Probably. How was work today?”

  “We closed the deal on the New Jersey mall.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “It’s not what I’d call thrilling news.”

  “No? What would be?”

  “Nothing I can think of at the moment. How was your day?”

  “The usual. But then, I’m not seeking thrills.”

  “Perhaps I should have ordered a veal chop. Veal chops require less understanding.”

  “Are you seeking thrills?”

  “If I were running this restaurant, I’d have had the table next to us cleared five minutes ago.”

  The waiter brought over a square glass vase filled with rosemary crackerbread, Tom asked some questions about the ossobuco that were answered to his satisfaction, and the waiter left.

  “Maybe you should open your own restaurant,” Kate said.

  “Am I obsessing too much about the food? I apologize. I’ll desist.”

  “You used to talk about going into the restaurant business, years ago. Do you ever wish you had?”

  “No. I think my passion for good food can only remain alive at a remove from the industry of its production. I’m far more suited to be a demanding consumer than an accommodating proprietor. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Kate broke off a piece of crackerbread. “Maybe.”

  “Would you like to open a restaurant?”

  “Me? No. Never.”

  “Why are we talking about this, then?”

  “Oh, look. Here come our salads.”

  Danielle came by to return Sarah’s cake stands and brought with her two pots of flowers as a thank-you gift.

  “What beautiful nasturtiums!” Sarah said. “And so late in the season.”

  “Isn’t the colour strong and bright? I thought you might like them — to look at, or to eat.”

  “Thank you. As long as they bloom, I’ll feel I’ve kept the cold weather at bay. I’m dreading winter this year.” She set the pots down on the porch, on either side of the door. “Won’t you come in?”

  Danielle followed Sarah inside and placed the cake stands on her kitchen counter. “I can’t stay, but thanks again for the cakes. They were a big hit. My mother asked what bakery they’d come from — she was shocked to find such quality out here in the country.”

  “Isn’t she kind? I do enjoy baking. I volunteered to bake for the New Year’s Eve dance I’m helping organize at the country club, but the committee said no. All the food has to come from the caterers.”

  “Someone from your committee called me to ask about flowers for the dance. Was that your idea?”

  “Yes.” Sarah had stepped behind the counter and was cutting into a pan of lemon squares. “That would be Sandra. I gave her your name. I wanted to help with the decorations, but Sandra has been in charge of flowers for years. I’m glad she called you, at least.”

  “If they wouldn’t let you do decorations or food, what are you looking after?”

  “Here’s a joke for you — I’m in charge of music. I have CDs to listen to from the bands I’m supposed to be considering.”

  Danielle tried and failed to imagine having the spare time Sarah had to volunteer for tasks like this. “How are they?”

  “Terrible. And the committee insists on a live band to maintain the club’s party-giving standards. Honestly. If retirement means I have to spend all my time with people so set in their ways, I’ll have to go back to work.”

  “And what will you do about the music?”

  “Wait until the last minute and book the best of the worst, I suppose. But how are you now that your family party’s done with? How’s business? How’re the kids?”

  “We’re all good, thanks, but I should get going. I have to pick up some groceries. And cook them.”

  Sarah handed her a baggie containing four lemon squares. “Let me give you these to take home. In case you want to let your family eat dessert for dinner.”

  Danielle sighed. “If only.”

  17

  November 2010

  Alice may have been the nominal hostess for the third meeting of the dinner club, but Mary Ann set the date and ordered the plates, silverware, and glasses from a party-rental store — her treat. She coordinated the menu, notified the guests, and provided babysitting for Lavinia and the Orenstein girls in the form of a slumber party at Mary Ann’s place, to be presided over by Melina.

  “Here’s how we’ll do it,” she said to Alice a few days before. “I’ll spend the afternoon at your house on Saturday helping you set up, and drive home around four-thirty or five to get myself ready.”

  “The whole afternoon? You think it will take that long?”

  “Yes. At six o’clock, you come to my place, drop Lavinia off with Melina and my kids, and drive me back to yours. We get there at six-fifteen, the guests arrive at seven. And have you considered inviting your mystery man? That would spice up the proceedings.”

  “Forget it.” Jake had not called Alice back, the bum. And she’d been trying very hard to paint over the picture that had become her mind’s constant companion since their lunch, the image of him singing, on stage, head thrown back, eyes closed.

  “What do you say to a double date sometime?” Mary Ann said. “We could go park by the river, make out in the car. I could really get into making out in a car.”

  Any fantasies Alice had done her best not to entertain had centered on smoky nightclubs, nowhere near cars. “We’re not teenagers anymore, Mary Ann.”

  “Maybe you’re not. But I’m sure as hell going to act like one, at your place, on Saturday night. And no more playing Betty. From now on, I’m Veronica.”

  “Bob’s still away?”

  “So is Hallie. Why do you think I picked this specific Saturday? Not to mention booked Melina overnight. And arranged it so I won’t have my car?”

  “I’m standing here in awe.”

  “Thank you. All accolades on my organizational skills will be accepted. And with Lavinia sleeping over at my house that night, this could be your big chance, too. If you don’t want your new guy to come to the dinner club, why don’t you make a date with him for after?”

  “You have this way —”

  “Of solving all your logistical problems? That’s what I’m good at, darling. That’s what I do.”

  “Darling?”

  “I’m practising new endearments in anticipation of seeing some action this weekend. Did it sound natural?”

  “Goodbye, Mary Ann.”

  “See you Saturday, babe.”

  Jake called Alice on the Thursday night, at nine-thirty, just after Lavinia had fallen asleep. He sounded casual, friendly, and made no mention of the message she’d left him over a week before. “I’m in the neighbourhood, at my parents’ place. I thought maybe you could come out for a cigarette, walk around the block with me. Or have you already smoked your quota for the day?”

  Thoughts bumped around in Alice’s head. Like, How do I look? And, What if Mary Ann decides to drop over unannounced? And, If he knew he was coming out here, why didn’t he call in advance? Plus the omnipresent, What about Lavinia?

  “Sure,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t had a cigarette today. But we’d have to do it here. On my porch. Smoke, that is. I have to stay with Lavinia. She’s asleep.”

  Jake seemed to understand this sorry attempt at communication, and said he’d be over in twenty minutes, giving Alice just enough time to comb her hair, decide against eyeliner (too contrived for the hour), brush her teeth, wash her mouth out with orange juice so she wouldn’t smell like toothpaste, pick up the clothes lying on the floor and shove them into Lavinia’s room, take a few deep breaths, and remind herself that she wasn’t sex-crazed like Mary Ann.

  When she opened the door she hoped to hell her smile wasn’t tremulous. She winced when she h
eard how much noise he made coming up the stairs behind her — what would Sarah make of that? She offered him a beer.

  He accepted, she handed him a cold one, grabbed herself a jacket, an ashtray, and her smokes, and led him out to the porch, which was storm-windowed for the winter, but unheated.

  And drafty. When she couldn’t light her cigarette off his lighter on the third try, he held her hand to steady the flame, and she felt minor sparks that she tried to ignore. “It’s cold out here,” she said.

  “Nice and quiet, though. And peaceful after my parents’ place. Man, they’re irritating.”

  “What’d they do?”

  “Nagged me about when am I going to find someone and settle down. At my age. My mom just doesn’t understand how anyone could not want to live the whole homogeneous married suburban bullshit dream.” He blew his smoke out sideways, away from her face. “No offence.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t live that life. I may be back in Oakdale, but I take major stands against its dominant culture on a daily basis.”

  He grinned. “Like?”

  “Like that I’m a single mother, my child’s in daycare, I don’t own diamonds or cashmere, I live in an apartment, my car’s old. And I’m extremely principled about not joining the country club. I’m less principled about going there on a guest pass.”

  “Why are you single, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “It’s an aptitude thing. You’re either suited to marriage or you’re not. I’m not.”

  “Clearly, I should have paid more attention to you when I was young and had hair.”

  “I like you better without hair.”

  “Yeah, sure you do.”

  “And there was that one time you hit on me in high school.”

  “I did? When?”

  “At a grad party at Mary Ann’s house.”

  “Why don’t I remember this?”

  “Because nothing happened. You made an overture, and I passed on it.”

  “Let me guess: I acted like an entitled jerk.”

  “You were very smooth, actually. In an annoyingly cocky way.” No need to let on how close she’d come to going over to his house that night, jumping into his arms, and fucking him all night long.

  “And now?”

  “Now the only source of possible cockiness is this singing that you do.”

  “A source of humiliation is more like it.”

  “How? I picture you coming off stage and being mobbed by groupies.”

  “Groupies? We barely draw an audience. You should see the venues we play in. And I’m nobody anyway. The star of the band is a young guy named Tristan. He has the best voice of any of us. He’s good-looking too, and built. Goddamn guy is twenty-six years old.”

  “What’s your band called?”

  “Rhythm and Blues. A real original name.”

  “I’d like to come see you sing sometime.”

  “Yeah? We’re playing this Saturday night at a bar in Booth — our first gig in months. Remember that honky-tonk joint, Chuck’s? It’s still around, and it’s the reason I came out to Oakdale tonight. To bring down our amps. On Saturday, I’ll drive out the rest of the equipment.”

  “Not this Saturday?” The night of the dinner club meeting.

  “If you have other plans, that’s cool.”

  “My other plans shouldn’t go too late. Maybe I’ll come by after. Would you introduce me to Tristan if I put in an appearance?”

  “I’d tell him to wear a tight shirt so you can see his awesome body.”

  “I’m kidding about him.”

  “Yeah, but did you mean it about my hair?”

  Alice reached over and touched the top of Jake’s bare head for a second. “I meant it.”

  A fraught pause, then Jake stood. “It’s late. I should be going. It’s a long drive home.”

  Alice showed him out, didn’t ask him to stay, didn’t linger in the doorway, offered no cheek for kissing, was breezy and off-hand, said she’d see if she could make it Saturday night, she wasn’t sure.

  But tomorrow, she would go buy condoms. First thing.

  There’d been much discussion about the naming of the new puppy in Mary Ann’s house. Kayla wanted to call her Bridget, after the heroine of a book she was reading. Griffin wanted to call her Sport. And Josh, who had become, since turning seventeen, the family member least likely to express himself on any topic, surprised the rest of them by coming out strongly in favour of the name Honey.

  “I don’t mind that,” Mary Ann said to him. “But what made you think of it?”

  Josh bent down and petted the dog. “I don’t know. Because she’s the colour of honey.”

  “I guess Bridget is more of a person’s name,” Kayla said.

  Griffin knelt on the floor and held out his arms. “Come here, Sport. Here, boy!” The dog didn’t move.

  Kayla said, “She’s a girl, stupid, not a boy.”

  Mary Ann rubbed the dog’s head. “Let’s try Honey for a few days, see how it goes.”

  Alice went to a drugstore she’d never set foot in before, ten blocks away from her office, walked in, located the condom display, and stood staring at the array of choices available, none of which looked familiar. Had safe sex always been this complicated? All the options sounded awful. She didn’t want thick, ribbed, lubricated, or hot — hot, for god’s sake? Though maybe lubricated with spermicide might be good. Yeah. She needed protection from pregnancy and disease. And she’d buy some spermicidal foam for good measure. Where was that? Down on the lower shelf. How much was it? Fifteen dollars? Expensive. Oh well. She picked up the foam box, dropped it into her shopping basket. So. Back to the condoms. How many? Twelve? Twenty-four? An urge to flee was pulling her away from the shelf. She forced herself to focus. Okay. A lubricated with spermicide twelve-pack. Only nine bucks. Cheap. She placed the condom box in her basket, walked quickly to the front of the store, paid the cashier, and left, convinced her purchases were unnecessary.

  She didn’t need twelve condoms. She didn’t need one. The only sex she was going to have would be in her mind.

  “But Mommy,” Kayla said, “I don’t want to walk Honey now.”

  “Kayla, you agreed when we got the dog that you’d walk her every day. Get moving.”

  “I’m about to beat the game I’m playing. Can’t I go later?”

  “No.”

  “It’s too boring, walking Honey.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I’ll still be bored.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Can’t you take her by yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Can I invite a friend along, at least?”

  “Don’t make such a big deal of this. Let’s just — someone like Jessica Orenstein, maybe?”

  “Okay.”

  “Jessica, I’ll allow. Go call her. Tell her to bring her dog, meet us at the park. She could bring her dad, too, if she wanted. So I won’t be bored.”

  Late in the day, Alice and Tom walked through the station building. The restoration — its conversion to a library — was almost finished.

  Alice said, “It’s amazing how quickly the project was completed once construction began, isn’t it? Thanks to you, I guess, Mr. Expert Developer.”

  “If the job was completed on schedule, it’s because it’s easier to marshal a labour force, to coordinate the trades, when they’re all on contract to one employer.”

  Alice looked up at the vaulted ceiling, the carved mouldings, the intricate woodwork on the railings. “I love the idea of kids like Lavinia growing up in this kind of library. Associating reading and learning with beauty and history. It’s a fine thing you’ve done, Tom.”

  “We still have to complete the rest of the Main Street job and find more tenants for the new retail spaces.”

  “And then?”

  “There will be other projects to work on.”

  Alice sat down on one of the old railroad station benches. “Do you like your wo
rk, Tom? Find it fulfilling?”

  He sat next to her, not too close. “Some projects more than others. How about you?”

  Alice shaded her eyes from an incoming shaft of sunlight. “I heard from a former colleague of mine the other day. He invited me to be part of the crew for a site he’s going to excavate in Italy next summer.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “I can’t go. Because of Lavinia.”

  Tom crossed his legs. “She’ll grow up one day, and move out. And you’ll be able to do anything you want again. Having collected years of love and affection in between.”

  Alice turned to look at him. “You have kids?”

  “Didn’t you know? Twin boys. They’re in college.” He told her where they were, what they were studying, about their passions for sports over anything arts-related.

  Alice digested all this, said, “And you keep on being a developer so that you can pay for their education?”

  “No, Kate and I have invested safely over the years — those expenses are covered.”

  “So when do you start doing what you really want to do?”

  “What would that be?”

  “I don’t know. I thought everyone had something they’d rather be doing.”

  Tom pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed at a spot on the arm of the bench. “When I started the Oakdale job, I thought it would be different from the others. I hoped that the preservation of some of these fine architectural specimens might prove to be more stimulating, more satisfying an undertaking than my usual projects.”

  “But no?”

  “It’s been a fascinating job in many ways, and has allowed me the undeniable benefit of making your acquaintance, and that of the other Oakdalians, but — as you so succinctly put it — no.”

  “What’s missing?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Maybe we’ve all just become bored and boring.”

  Tom folded his handkerchief. “Forgive me if I’ve bored you.”

  “Oh, Tom. That’s not what I meant. You know what you and I need? To be more like Mary Ann. When she’s unhappy about something, she acts on it. She makes a change, makes things happen.”