The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted

by Elizabeth Berg

  Oh, if I could get my mind to stop wandering I surely would get a lot more done in the days I have left to me. I pray the Lord.

  The first thing I have to tell you is about my first dinner party. I wasn’t but twenty-one years old. My husband asked if he could bring the boss and his wife to dinner. We did that then, you know, had the boss and the wife over, and the women would have on their nice dresses and high heels and sparkly earrings and the men wore their suits same as they did in the office. I still say there’s something to getting dressed up nice. Do you know I see people walking around now in their pajamas in the middle of the day right out in public and I always feel like they just rolled out of bed and couldn’t be bothered getting dressed. It must be that, because otherwise they would stand deliberating in their closet to pick out a pair of pajamas to put on for the day and that is even crazier. But when people wear their pajamas right out on the street like that I see it is the beginning of the end of civilization. And it’s not just young people, you know, with their fads that you excuse and to tell the truth they are often entertaining. No. I see middle aged women in the supermarket in flannel pajamas with dogs or coffee cups on them.

  I know I complain about things that just aren’t my business. My husband used to tell me that. What business is it of yours, he would say, in a nice way, and I would say but it is my business because I have to look at them! And he would say, Hmm. I wonder if they aren’t but saying the same thing about you. It would make me a little upset when he said that but you know he was right.

  Now see how I have gone off again. Dinner parties, that’s what we’re on.

  First off, I think you have to realize most people are just exactly as insecure as you are. So if you are cooking for your boss and his wife, first before you even pull out the cookbooks to find a recipe, try to imagine that they might be nervous, too, wondering if the hostess gift is silly, or if there will be enough to keep the conversation going or some such thing. If I have learned one thing in my long life, it is this: The best thing with other people is to just have mercy. But. That said, I must be honest and tell you that I got over my fear of having the boss and his wife over to dinner because I got into a fight with the boss’s wife the first time I had them over. I did! The very first time! It was a bad fight and I nearly snatched that woman bald-headed, and you know the men didn’t know a thing about it because they had gone out on the porch for cigars and scotch.

  Well, I am sorry. I was fixing to go on and tell you everything when the need for sleep came over me like lust. I lay my head down on the table to rest for one minute and I just woke up now from the heat of the sunshine, stiff as a drunk on Sunday morning. So I will have my toast and jam and medication and then finish up expeditiously.

  I am back and let me here and now put in a word for toast and jam. You must have good bread, and you must have good homemade jam and then why you could eat toast and jam for every meal. If I am ever on death row and they ask me about my last meal, it’s going to be toast and jam. And coffee.

  It’s a beautiful day today, unseasonably warm, the colored leaves spinning down off the trees, and the robins forming big flocks and gathering on my neighbor’s lawn, getting ready to fly south. I hate to see them go but you know there is nothing like the sight of them coming back in the spring. You see the first robin and you think you have just about got it made. Some people say fall is a sad time, but for me it was always a time of great industry. The lifting of the heat used to bring a big surge of energy and I used to tie a kerchief in my hair and fall clean, all us women used to fall and spring clean. It’s still a good idea but I don’t think there’s but a handful left who do it, for one thing who would even care anymore about the handfuls of change you find behind the seat cushions, though I’ll tell you something it used to give me a bona fide thrill to come upon them. And I would save those coins in a jar and when it was full, why then I’d get me a new bedspread about busting loose with flowers. I’m too old to deep clean anymore but I do buy myself a new set of towels every season, and you know some towels these days even have ribbon and beads on them like they were made for the Queen of Sheba. It might be silly to set such store by towels but new ones do give me a lift.

  You’ll have to forgive my running on, I guess I miss talking to someone more than I thought.

  My husband’s boss was named Henry Jergen. And his wife was named Eleanor and don’t even think of Ellie, she was one of those. If she could have thought of a way to make her name have more syllables, believe thee me, she would have done it. But anyway, here they came up the porch steps for dinner that night, and wasn’t she wearing a fox stole. I didn’t hardly know what to do with it when she handed it to me, it wasn’t like a coat you could hang up, it was just a line of those poor little dead creatures with their glass eyes, posed to be like they were biting each others’ tails. A gruesome style that I am happy to see has gone by. Although those pajamas in the grocery store are in a healthy second place to them.

  Anyway, I lay Eleanor’s stole and Henry’s coat and hat on our bed neat as a pin. And then I came out and offered my silver tray of spam and pineapple and maraschino cherries on confetti toothpicks while my husband offered cocktails. And then we sat in the living room chatting about this and that and then it was time for dinner. I had made roast beef and mashed potatoes and string beans and apple pie. It wasn’t fancy but it sure was good, I do have a way with gravy, and I could tell from the way Eleanor’s eyes slid sideways over at her husband with her mouth turned sour that she was mad that he liked it so much and kept on saying so. I think she heard you, Henry, she finally said, and I said, Oh, that’s all right, because I felt sorry for a man being called out by his wife in front of everyone.

  Well, that got her Highness even madder, I could tell, but I just looked away like I had no idea, just passed the potatoes around once again and a mean thought in my heart was, Well, Eleanor, if you think he liked the roast beef, wait until he tastes the pie, you are going to flat out die when you see his face after he tastes that. And didn’t that sure enough happen. Henry tasted my pie and he put down his fork shook his head and he said to my husband, Say, Terrence. Do you have an extra room you could let out? Because I am moving in!

  Terrance laughed, but no one else did. I was nervous and Eleanor was fit to be tied. She said something about she hadn’t realized Henry was so fond of things that were so awfully heavy and well we all just let that slide.

  Now, after dinner the men went out on the porch as I said. And Eleanor sighed and said she would help me tidy up. I said, oh no need, I would do it later. As is the custom. And she said snippy that when she had a dinner party, she liked to get the dirty dishes out of the way. That was plumb wrong but she said it like an order and I thought well fine. So we did the dishes together and I tried so hard to make conversation and the little she responded, it was like she’d had some sort of procedure done where her jaws were wired shut. Finally, I said, Eleanor, did I do something to offend you? And she said no. I said it seemed like she was unhappy about something. She said, I am perfectly happy but if you must know the truth I have had more scintillating evenings in my life. I thought well so have I, I have had more pleasure watching dust motes, but I only said, well I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself. Eleanor said, I know one has to do these things, but I hope you’ll understand if I tell Henry we really must go now. I said, Well, you know, the men are enjoying their cigars and we might could just let them finish. No, she said, I’m getting our things.

  Well, I just stood there. And off she went click-click-clicking to the bedroom and then next thing I heard her screaming. Screaming! How those men didn’t hear it I will never know, or come to think of it maybe they did. Maybe they heard it and Terrence started to leap up and Henry put his hand on my husband’s arm and said, Don’t. She does this all the time.

  But I went running, sure enough. And when I got to my bedroom, I saw that my little cocker spaniel Fiddle was lying on Eleanor’s stole and had thrown up on it. I’d h
ad Fiddle since I was a girl and she was so old then, half blind, purt near deaf, too, and having a few problems with her digestion. Isn’t it funny, I’m like that now, too. But anyway, she had thrown up a bit on the stole and Eleanor stood pointing at the mess with her blood red talons and then didn’t she rush over and grab my dog by the back of her neck and lift her high up and Fiddle yelped out so piteously and I saw stars, just like people say. I saw stars. In addition to that dog being with me since I was a teen, Terrence and I couldn’t have children, so Fiddle was our child. Add to that I have always loved animals and especially dogs who have such concern for their masters, they are always putting their people before themselves. In those last days, it would hurt Fiddle so much just to get up but you would call her name and she would struggle to her feet with her tail wagging and glad in her eyes just to serve you. I still don’t know how she managed to get on the bed that night, maybe she saw fur and thought it was a friend come to call and her excitement propelled her forward. But after Eleanor hurt her like that, I snatched my dog from her arms and I told her, I said, You get out of my house and don’t you ever come back here, I have never met such an ungrateful and deliberately cruel person such as yourself. And then I said, Outside on that porch is your husband who is my husband’s boss. But inside here is just us two women and I am the boss because this is my house. And I am telling you to leave it and never come back. And if you want to run and tattle on me to your husband you go right ahead. But while you’re tattling be sure to tell him that you hurt my dog who has a better heart than you’ll ever dream of having. And do you know, she busted out crying. And I stood there in shock and then I got her a nice hanky out of my dresser drawer and then we just set at the edge of Terrence’s and my bed and talked. And she told me Henry had a girlfriend and she didn’t know what to do. Well, I had some ideas but on account of charity I kept them to myself.

  By the time the men were ready to go, Eleanor had calmed down and washed her face and even apologized to me. I sent home the left-over pie with them and as they were leaving Eleanor said thank you and looked me right in the eye and I said It’s all right and I meant everything and she knew it.

  I got to rest now, Ruthie, and then I will tell you part two. It is a simple joy of being this old that I can lie down whenever I like for a good twenty minutes which makes a world of difference for the spirit and for these old hands.

  Now look here, how it is clean two days later. I had a little spell after I wrote the above, and didn’t my neighbor end up taking me to my doctor who looked me over high and low and discontinued this medication and added that one and now I am good as new. Well, not that good, but okay. So I will finish up.

  I guess you can see that what with my first dinner party going the way it did, I didn’t have much to fear. But shortly after that party, something else happened, which is I had another dinner party, this one for six people, and once again I made apple pie because I’ll tell you what, who doesn’t like it? Well, the party was about half an hour away and I had the pie in the oven and I looked in to check on it with my heart full of pride, which right there was a mistake. Pride does not serve you. Feeling good about something, that’s all right, but pride is one of the seven deadly sins for a reason, the fellers that put that list together were onto something. Sometime take a look at that list with a still heart and an open mind see if you don’t agree. Anyway, I peeked in and what did I see but the juice running out like a volcano in Hawaii. I thought, oh my word, I forgot to put in the thickener. And I very nearly busted out crying because now I had no dessert and you know from a distance it was one of those things of Oh, who cares? but right then I was standing in the kitchen in my organza company apron and it just about seemed like the end of the world. I found Terrence in the bathroom getting ready and I said, Oh Terrence I have ruined the pie. And he said, I still remember this exactly, he turned to me with Old Spice shaving cream on one side of his face that smelled so nice and he said, Impossible. Oh no, I said, I have ruined it and you are going to have to run over to Guttman’s Bakery and get me something or we’ll have no dessert. And he said he couldn’t do that, there wasn’t time.

  I went back out in the kitchen and when the pie crust was evenly brown I took it out. It looked fine but I knew as soon as I cut in the juices would run all over and it would be pie soup. I told Terrence that and he said, Well, just call it pie soup, then. Terrence, I said, and it was one of those great divide moments when a woman knows a man is made different from her.

  The company came and we had our beef stroganoff over rice and our parslied carrots and then it was time for dessert. And I had a plan. I brought the pie to the table and I put it down and it looked just as beautiful as can be and the guests ohhhed and ahhhhed. I said, Now wait, there is something I have to tell you. When you make a quilt, it is a tradition to leave an error in it, to remind us that life is not perfect. Well, this here is quilt pie, because I clean forgot to put the thickener in it. There was a silence. And then Beany Sullivan—her name was Beatrice but she hated that name—anyway Beany, bless her heart, said, Well, hell, it’ll still taste good. Serve me some up! And then everyone laughed and I cut the pie and then I had to run and get a big old serving spoon because my pie server wouldn’t work, it was sure enough soup. Well, we all ate that sloppy apple pie with great relish and laughter. And if you had walked past our house that night and looked into our lit-up dining room and seen a table of people just laughing and eating you would have thought, My aren’t they having a good time and maybe even felt that pinch in the heart that you would have liked to be there too. So you see that all my big mistake did was to make for a better party because that’s how mistakes are, they make for a kind of relaxation, at least on the part of those not making them.

  So that is all I wanted to say and once again I will thank you for making an old lady feel visited even if I did do all the talking, ha ha.

  I am going to water my geranium and watch my day shows, there aren’t many left that I enjoy. I hope you and yours are well and happy, and just remember, Ruthie, old people like me will tell you to try to enjoy your life even with all its sorrows because snap! it’s over like that. I might send you another letter sometime soon, we’ll see how it goes. Meantime, this comes with love and a wish that you will never sacrifice joy for fear if you can possibly help it, and you can probably help it more often than you think. I believe I will send you a little present with this, my old company apron, which I think you will enjoy even if you give it to your children to play dress up. You might could take the sequins off so that they don’t eat them or some such thing.

  Your friend,

  Flo

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Kate Medina, my editor, and Suzanne Gluck, my agent. They are stars in the industry, and it’s no wonder. Thanks for your guidance and support.

  I am lucky indeed to be published by Random House, where everyone seems to do their job with joy and extreme competence. Barbara Bachman, Susan Brown, Barbara Fillon, Gene Mydlowski, Beth Pearson, Abigail Plesser, Robin Rolewicz, and Jane von Mehren: thank you.

  The following read some or all of these stories and offered kind and perceptive criticism: Amy Bloom, Veronica Chapa, Nancy Drew, Leah Hager, Alex Johnson, Judy Markey, Mary Mitchell, Pam Todd, Jessica Treadway, Michele Weldon, and Betsy Woodman.

  A special thanks to Phyllis Florin, not only for being a terrific reader and writer, but for being a friend who can be counted on to always tell me the truth, even when it’s hard.

  THE DAY I ATE

  WHATEVER I WANTED

  ELIZABETH BERG

  A Reader’s Guide

  A CONVERSATION WITH

  ELIZABETH BERG

  Random House Reader’s Circle: After reading The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted, I was ready to jump up and shout, “Hallelujah, sister!” Particularly after the line “I’m carrying the banner for all of you who cut off a little piece wanting a big one …” (this page) Have you had that response from many readers? What do y
ou think people are reacting to?

  Elizabeth Berg: I think other people have felt that way, they have wanted to leap up and cheer for this character who has just had it with dieting, and for once, for once, engages in rampant excess all day long. I also think people are curious about what someone else’s guilty pleasures are.

  RHRC: How would you describe the women you write about? Do you know women like those in your stories?

  EB: The women I tend to write about are, for the most part, women like me and my friends. And as such, yes, I do know them! They tend to be sensitive, honest, funny, and sincere. And they make a lot of mistakes.

  RHRC: Where do the ideas or characters for your short stories come from?

  EB: Sometimes it’s the smallest thing: a remark I overhear, a look I see pass between two people. A story or photograph I see in a newspaper. An issue I can’t stop thinking about. A poem I read. The way someone is walking out of a building. A memory that expands and then changes clothes, so to speak; and by that I mean a memory that is grounded in truth but then converts itself somehow to help shape a story that is absolute fiction. Notions of regret, of loss, of overcoming something you worry you might never overcome. I like to celebrate the things in life that make it worth plowing through each day. Sometimes stories happen because a character just starts talking. So the impetus for stories changes all the time. What does not change is that I never start out with very much. It’s a wisp of an idea that substantiates itself, legitimizes itself, along the way, in the revelatory act of storytelling. I often finish something and think, Oh! So that’s why I wrote this.