Sarah clenched her teeth. Sylvia had never invited Joe’s parents over for any dinner, much less a holiday dinner, and now she wanted things to be “elevated” for the family of a boy her sister has just met.
“I have the wine right here,” Sylvia said.
“Great, thanks,” Sarah replied. She glanced at the label: Opus One. Sarah’s teeth slowly came together, about to grind, when she thought, Adult retainer. Adult retainer.
It wasn’t so much that Sylvia had purchased a very expensive bottle of wine on account of the Rothschilds coming to dinner. It was that she’d done her research in doing so. She hadn’t bought just any old Rothschild wine, even if it was the most expensive. That would be too easy for Sylvia Gold. No, her mother had obviously taken the time to learn all about the wines of Baron Philippe de Rothschild and how Opus One was his masterpiece collaboration with Robert Mondavi. Becca had been dating Henry Rothschild for only three months and already Sylvia knew all about his family and their various business concerns. Did she even know the first names of Joe’s parents?
Sarah took a second to enjoy the Opus One. No point in rushing a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine, even if she was seething.
“So, what is that thing?” Sylvia asked, pouring herself a glass of wine.
“What thing?” Sarah asked, taking a sip of wine, pretending that she didn’t know where her mother was going with this line of questioning.
“That thing around your boyfriend’s neck.” Sylvia did not like to mince words.
“Oh, it’s a lariat,” Sarah said, quickly finishing her first glass of wine. She nodded at Chef Michael and he poured her another.
“A lariat?”
“A tie substitute,” Sarah said, as nonchalantly as she could muster.
“Excuse me?” her mother asked.
“It’s instead of a tie.”
Sylvia smiled warmly. “You’ll have to tell him to take it off.”
“He’s wearing it,” Sarah said.
Sylvia regarded her daughter for a moment. She was lapping up her wine like a cat would a bowl of warm milk.
Sarah closed her eyes. She would really like to think that her mother does what’s best for her, wants what’s best for her. But she often thinks that what Sylvia wants is what is best for Sylvia.
“I’d really prefer that he not wear it. This is a Seder, after all.”
Sarah looked at the fois gras, and the professional chef, and then up at her mother. “This is no longer a Seder. It’s a goddamned dinner party.”
“An important dinner party.”
“You’ve never invited Joe’s parents to an important dinner party.”
“Didn’t Joe’s mother tell you?” Sylvia asked, innocently. “She’s coming tonight. I invited her. I was so sorry to hear about her loss.”
Sarah hadn’t known that Joe’s mother was invited. She decided to stick with what she did know: “Joe’s dad isn’t dead.”
“I saw Valentina in the market two weeks ago and she just couldn’t stop tearing up about how she’d lost her husband.”
“Don’t you think that if Joe’s father had died, I would have told you about it? Wouldn’t you have gone to the funeral?” Sarah asked.
“I just thought you didn’t mention it because you know how much I dislike death,” Sylvia said. She whispered the word death. “So, she’s bringing Joe’s father? I only have the table set for nine.”
“Joe’s father isn’t coming,” Sarah said.
“He left her?” Sylvia asked, ears suddenly perking up at the suggestion of salacious gossip.
“No, Mom,” Sarah said. “Joe’s father is in jail.”
“Oh dear God,” her mother said. “That’s worse.”
“You’d prefer it if he was dead?”
“What are we going to tell the Rothschilds?”
“We’re not going to tell them anything,” Sarah said.
“What did he do?” Sylvia asked, taking a large swig of wine, fortifying herself for the news.
“It’s nothing, really,” Sarah explained. “He was out hunting with a cousin, they were both a bit drunk, and he accidentally shot his cousin in the shoulder. His cousin pressed charges for some reason. ‘He used malice aforethought!’ is what he said, so now Joe’s father is serving time. He’ll be out soon enough.”
“He was hunting?” Sylvia asked. “And drinking? That is so blue collar.” She took a big swig of wine for effect.
“Actually, they were hunting, so they were probably wearing plaid.”
“You think this is funny?” Sylvia asked.
“No,” Sarah said. “I do not think this is funny.” But she was very much enjoying the effect the news was having on her mother.
Twenty-Four
“Joe and I were just talking about the shop,” Alan said. “Very exciting stuff.”
“I’m so happy for him,” Sarah replied, and Joe kissed her cheek.
“I couldn’t do it without this one,” Joe said, putting his arm around her.
What he couldn’t do without Sarah was this: open his own auto body shop. And it was true—he couldn’t. At least not without the money that Alan had offered. (Alan is a silent partner in the deal.) Joe was turning his father’s place into a high-end auto body shop that would do custom jobs on luxury cars. The transition was supposed to happen slowly over the next two years, but with things being what they were, Joe was speeding up the process.
The venture thrills Alan. It embarrasses Sylvia, who sees it as a personal affront.
“It’s important to be supportive of your partner,” Alan said, glancing toward the kitchen. Sarah’s eyes followed his. She noticed the curve in his lip when he caught a glance of Sylvia, bossing Chef Michael around. Sarah wondered why her father was so delighted by this behavior. Sarah, herself, didn’t appreciate it. But as she caught a glimpse of Chef Michael, bowing to Sylvia’s every whim, she realized that he didn’t seem to mind it, either. Found it charming, even. Perhaps Sarah was the only one who buckled under the strain of the “Gold Standard,” as Sylvia called it.
“Hell-oooo!” Valentina’s voice broke through Sarah’s train of thought. Sarah hadn’t realized that her father and Joe were having an in-depth conversation about the subprime mortgage crisis and what that would do to small businesses. And she hadn’t heard the door open.
Valentina Russo was nothing if not distracting. She always looked like she was in the center of a tornado—all wild, curly black hair blowing in the breeze, and a frenetic aura that would make your blood pressure speed up just from standing next to her.
“Tina, you made it,” Alan said, rushing to take her wrap and the bottle of wine she’d brought.
“It’s kosher,” she said. “I went to three different places to find the right one for Passover.”
“That is so kind of you,” he said, as they kissed on the cheek.
“Joey!” she called out, grabbing Joe for an enormous bear hug. He was her only child and it showed.
“Hey, Ma.” Joe let his mother hug him for a long time. Longer, in Sarah’s opinion, than was necessary.
Then, she turned to Sarah. “My daughter!” she called out and enveloped her in a hug.
“They’re not married yet,” Sylvia trilled from the kitchen.
“Oh, right,” Valentina said, winking at Sarah. “I just wish she were my daughter. You are so lucky, Sylvia.”
“Thank you, Tina,” Sylvia said. She gave Valentina a tiny peck on the cheek, as if she were afraid of getting too close. “You’re very sweet.”
“Sylv, Tina brought kosher wine,” Alan said, holding up the bottle. “Wasn’t that thoughtful?”
“It was,” Sylvia said, her face straining to smile. “But, unfortunately, we’re serving the wine that the Rothschilds produce.”
She said it as though this were a restaurant and the decision was simply out of her hands.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Valentina said, seemingly unoffended by Sylvia’s lack of social grace. “We can drink it ne
xt year!”
Twenty-Five
“What is that?” Sylvia asked, even though she knew. The smell was singular, for one. And there was simply no mistaking what was on the plate.
“Frog legs,” Chef Michael said, smiling, as he poured a gentle butter sauce onto his creation.
Sylvia stared at the serving platter. The legs were arranged artfully, splayed out as if ready to jump. They looked suspended in motion, as if they’d hopped into the deep fryer that way. Sylvia grasped the kitchen island; she felt unsure on her feet.
“Frogs were one of the plagues inflicted on Pharaoh,” Chef Michael said. He did not notice the reaction Sylvia was having to his starter course. Frog legs were a delicacy, surely a woman like Sylvia knew that?
“I know why you did it,” Sylvia said. “I just don’t know why you did it.”
“I thought it would be fun to be playful with the menu.”
“I did not tell you to be playful with the menu,” Sylvia said. She sat down in a chair, certain she would faint.
“When we discussed the menu,” Chef Michael said, “I mentioned that I’d prepare a few little surprises for you. When you’re the hostess, it’s hard to be surprised. But you should get to be a guest at your own party, too.”
“I’m the hostess precisely because I don’t want any surprises,” Sylvia said.
Chef Michael did not know how to respond. Sylvia continued: “I thought the little surprises would be things like gribenes, those crispy chicken and fried onion bits my mother used to sneak into the middles of matzoh balls.”
“I have matzoh balls.”
“With gribenes?”
“No,” Chef Michael said. “What are they again?”
“Never mind,” Sylvia said. “Get rid of the frogs.”
What Sylvia wanted to do was to march out of the kitchen for effect. To walk right out on Chef Michael, mid-conversation. Frog legs! What sort of sick joke was that?
But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
What’s more, Valentina had just walked in and she seemed to think that this year’s invite to the Seder meant that she now had a standing invitation to attend the Gold family Seder every year, from here on out. What was that expression about no good deed going unpunished? Sylvia should never have been so kind.
* * *
Valentina took a look around the house. So, this is what they’ve been hiding from me all these years, she thought. It’s not so special. Everything was beige. The walls were beige, the couches were beige. Even the rug was a slightly darker shade of beige. She watched enough HGTV to know that you needed to have a pop of color in every room. Surely Sylvia knew that as well? Valentina made a mental note to buy Sylvia an orange throw blanket for the living room this year for Christmas.
“Your home is beautiful,” Valentina said to Alan. It was the appropriate thing to say in the situation. Classy people didn’t say anything about their hosts dying a slow death amongst the beige.
“Can I show you around?” Alan asked. “I just realized that you’ve never been here before.”
“No, I haven’t,” she said, still looking around the entryway. From the vestibule she could see the living room, the dining room, and a tiny bit of the kitchen. How much beige could one person look at before losing her mind?
Valentina couldn’t think of a nice way to tell Alan that she’d seen quite enough, thank you, so she let him guide her around. She was careful not to touch anything. Sylvia, it seemed to her, was the type who would have a “you break it, you bought it” policy.
Each room had a story, some old piece of furniture that Sylvia had “discovered” while they were antiquing in some far-off land. Valentina knew that this was the part where she was supposed to be impressed, but she really couldn’t understand what was so great about taking old stuff that had once belonged to someone else. They did that in her family all the time and they never made a big stink about it.
Every room was pristine—it looked like no one really lived there. Valentina much preferred a house that looked lived in. That had soul. The only soul that Sylvia’s house had was by way of an antique sewing machine she had on display in her bedroom’s sitting room. Sylvia didn’t even sew.
Alan was proud of his home. It was as if he thought Sylvia had invented the concept of putting a rug on a hardwood floor.
“I’d love to have you over to my house one of these days,” Valentina said. She knew Sylvia would never accept her invitation, and she just couldn’t resist asking.
“That would be lovely,” he said. “I’ll let you and Sylvia work out a date.”
As they made their way downstairs, Valentina could smell dinner cooking. That was one thing that Sarah always bragged about—her mother’s cooking. Valentina couldn’t wait to try her brisket. She was certain it wasn’t better than her own pot roast, even though whenever she asked Joe about it, he would say that there was no way to compare, they were just too different.
“I have a surprise for everyone,” Valentina announced as they approached Sarah and Joe in the living room.
“What kind of surprise?” Alan asked.
“Well, then, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now, would it?” Valentina replied, putting her index finger out to tap him on the nose, as if he were a toddler. But he didn’t mind. Valentina spoke breathlessly, as if she was Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy birthday, Mr. President.” It had an effect on men of a certain age. Valentina knew this.
“I suppose it wouldn’t,” he said. “Wine?”
“Yes,” Valentina, Joe, and Sarah all said in unison.
“Did I hear something about a surprise?” Sylvia asked, rushing out from the kitchen, glass of wine in hand.
“Well, I really wanted to wait until everyone was here,” Valentina said, barely suppressing her joy. If she were a balloon, she would have burst.
“You don’t have to wait,” Sylvia said. Her face was a stone. Her eyes were set, angry even, and her lips formed a straight line. The tension she held in her mouth was so full, so deep, that Sarah thought it could only be released if Valentina announced that the surprise was that she was leaving the house this very minute.
“I have an idea,” Joe said. “Why don’t you tell me privately and then I’ll decide if we should tell the group now. Or even at all.”
“Why don’t you tell us all now,” Sylvia said, only it didn’t come out as a question, more like a command.
“Well, I’ve been talking to the warden.”
Sylvia gasped.
“And he’s agreed to let us do a video chat with Dominic before the Seder tonight!”
“Oh my God,” Sylvia said. Her face lost its color.
Joe looked at Sarah with a face that said, I promise I had no idea about any of this.
“I think it’s lovely,” Alan said. “If Dominic can’t be with us for the Seder, the very least we can do is try to bring the Seder to him.”
“I agree,” Sarah said as she gave Joe’s hand a little squeeze.
“Then, it’s settled,” Alan said.
“Settled,” Sylvia replied. “Right.”
“Great,” Alan said.
“Although,” Sylvia said, slowly, tentatively, like a lion stalking its prey, “we wouldn’t want to make the Rothschilds uncomfortable in any way.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” Valentina agreed.
“How would this make the Rothschilds uncomfortable?” Sarah asked.
“You know,” she said. “All of the lawsuits.” She whispered the word lawsuits as if it were something communicable, like smallpox.
“What lawsuits?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, Sylv,” Alan chimed in. “What lawsuits?”
“I’m not even sure we should be talking about this,” she said. “I mean, it’s simply rude to talk about other party guests before they’ve arrived.”
“Make an exception,” Alan said, the smile leaving his eyes.
“Some people are saying that the Rothschilds are connected to that whole Bernie Mado
ff mess,” she said. “I wouldn’t want them thinking about jail when they could be going to jail themselves!”
“I completely understand,” Valentina said, and made a big show of hiding her iPad under her sweater.
“Thank you.” Sylvia grabbed Valentina’s hand. “Thank you for your discretion.”
Sylvia may have thought this conversation was over, but it was not.
“There is no pending litigation against the Rothschilds,” Alan said. “Who told you such utter nonsense?”
“Google,” Sylvia said, shrugging her shoulders. Valentina watched, wondering who would win this battle of wills. She had a sense that Sylvia ruled this house, but this argument would determine who was really in charge.
“May I please speak with you privately?” Alan didn’t give his wife a chance to respond. He cupped his hand under her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen.
But they didn’t get very far. Halfway across the family room, the doorbell rang.
Twenty-Six
And then it happened. The air suddenly changed. Everyone held their breath for a moment. The night was about to start.
The Rothschilds had arrived.
“They’re here!” Sylvia screamed, breaking free from Alan’s grip. “They’re here! Everyone…”
“Should we hide?” Joe whispered to Sarah. “Are we supposed to yell ‘surprise’?”
Sarah quietly giggled as Alan tried to calm Sylvia down. “How wonderful!” he said, his hand still firmly placed on her elbow. “Everyone, just relax as we go and answer the door.”
Sylvia and Alan walked toward the door, Sylvia wiping imaginary dust off every surface she passed.
“Is it the queen of England?” Valentina whispered to Joe, who immediately looked to Sarah. Sarah smiled at him—permission to laugh. She felt for him at times like these.
Becca ran to Sarah with a bear hug that nearly knocked her older sister down.
“Sarah! I haven’t seen you in so long,” she said.
“It’s so good to see you, Rebecca.”
And then, the introductions. First Edmond, the Boyfriend’s father. He made it a point to introduce himself to everyone in the family room and to shake each hand, look each person in the eyes.
The Dinner Party: A Novel Page 6