Chapter 41

NORMALLY WHEN WE ATE TOGETHER at my place, Susan and I sat at the kitchen counter. But it was Christmas, so Susan set the table at one end of the living room: tablecloth, crystal, good china, good silver, candles, and napkins in gold napkin rings.

“What do you think?” Susan said.

“Zowie,” I said.

“Zowie?”

“You heard me,” I said.

“Would Martha Stewart say ‘zowie’?”

“If she wouldn’t, she should,” I said.

I had a fire going, and Pearl the Wonder Dog was in front of it on the couch, resting up after the rigors of the ride from Cambridge.

“What’s for eats?” Susan said.

“I was thinking pizza,” I said. “How ’bout you?”

Susan looked at me without expression.

“Or Chinese?” I said. “I bet PF Chang’s is open. Pork fried rice?”

Susan’s expression didn’t change.

“I suppose subs wouldn’t do it, either,” I said.

“The baby and I are going home,” Susan said.

“Boy, are you picky,” I said. “Okay, how about we start with bay scallops seviche, then we have slow-roasted duck, snow peas, corn pudding, and brown rice cooked with cranberries?”

“And dessert?” Susan said.

“Blackberry pie.”

“With ice cream?” Susan said.

“Ice cream or cheddar cheese that I bought at Formaggio.”

“Or both?”

“Or both,” I said.

“Oh, all right,” Susan said. “We’ll stay.”

“Good girls,” I said. “Would either of you care for some pink champagne?”

“Pearl’s underage,” Susan said.

“In dog years she’s middle-aged,” I said.

“She is still a baby,” Susan said.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll drink hers. How about you, little lady?”

Susan smiled, which was worth traveling great distances to see, and said, “It would be foolish not to.”

I poured us each a glass of Krug rosé, put the ice bucket on the coffee table, and Susan and I squeezed onto the couch beside Pearl. Pearl looked a little annoyed, which was hardly in the spirit of the season, but she readjusted her position and went back to sleep with her head on Susan’s lap. Which was what I had been planning on.

“So,” I said. “Do Jews go to hell for celebrating Christmas?”

“Jews don’t go to hell,” Susan said.

“None?”

“And in particular,” Susan said, “none who were cheerleaders at Swampscott High.”

“And still retain their skills,” I said.

“Several skills,” Susan said.

“I know.”

We drank our champagne. The fire enriched itself as the logs settled in on one another. Pearl sighed in her sleep.

“Do we love each other?” Susan said.

“We do,” I said.

“And were you thinking of celebrating that love with some sort of holiday rendezvous?”

“I was,” I said.

“If I have a heavy meal, as I expect to,” Susan said, “my libido will be dysfunctional for hours.”

“I’ve noticed that about you,” I said.

“However, if we were to drink a bit more champagne and retire to your bedroom before dinner, we could celebrate Christmas in our own ecumenical way,” Susan said. “And then eat the big meal.”

“Brilliant,” I said. “You’re amazing.”

“Hot, too,” she said.

I nodded.

“Hotter than a pepper sprout,” I said.

“So shall we do that?”

“You bet,” I said.

“Okay, pour me another glass of champagne,” Susan said. “And we’ll proceed.”

“Zowie,” I said.


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