There were two cheeses, neither of which looked like anything I’d seen before (they were white), and there was a long loaf of bread. I must have been staring at the food, because Leslie came up behind me and said, “I recognize the olives and the almonds.” She took one of each.
Leslie had on her favorite sweater, which was blue-green and had a boatneck. She was wearing it with very dark blue wool pants that I had never seen before—buttons came up one side, crossed under the waist, and went down the other side. I said, “Where did you get those pants?”
“They’re navy surplus. They’re what sailors wear.”
She stepped back. The bell-bottom legs were so big it looked like she could trip on the hems. She turned around. A string like a shoestring was threaded through holes that ran up the back. And they did fit her nicely. She said, “If I fell off my ship, I could get these off over my shoes, and then tie the legs, throw them upward to capture some air, and use them as sort of a life raft. Then I would take off my shoes.” I was sure that she would survive. She did look good—willowy and “understated,” as Stella would say.
Alexis made introductions. Other than Sophia, Leslie,Lucia, Leah, and me, there was Diana (Alexis’s roommate from school); Ingrid, a cousin of Diana’s from Norway; and another girl from school who hadn’t gone home for vacation, Marie. Marie was French. I did not dare say
bonjour
, even though I’d been taking French for three years. Marie was staying for a couple of days, until she left to meet her parents in Aspen, Colorado, to go skiing. Sophia said, “I went to Paris once, with my mom and dad. I can’t remember it very well, though.”
Marie smiled, and said, “I am from the South. From Toulouse. My father teaches in the university there.”
None of us had maybe ever heard of anywhere in France except Paris, and wherever it was Joan of Arc was from. Alexis said, “Marie is a great skier.” Marie shrugged slightly, then helped herself to a piece of the white cheese. Ingrid, as it turned out, spoke German, French, and Norwegian but not English, so she chatted with Marie in French. Neither of them sounded at all like our French teacher, Madame Desmond—or Madame Defarge, as she was called behind her back. Sometimes, when she was being very strict, a couple of the boys would pretend to be knitting.
Diana and Ingrid had come down from San Francisco just for the party because, as Diana said, “Every time I tell my folks about Alexis and Barbie, they roll their eyes as if I’m making it up. I had to bring an independent witness.” I started liking her right then. Diana’s talent was math. The Jackson School had already given up on teaching her, and she went three times a week to UCLA for classes. She said, “There was a school I could have gone to in SF that had high-level mathclasses, but my folks also wanted me to learn how to tie my shoes and put the cap back on the toothpaste.”
Alexis said, “We’ve been working on that. If I were your mom, I would settle for you not sitting on your glasses every other day.”
Diana laughed.
Mrs. Goldman came out carrying another dish—this one was a metal frame with a pot sitting on it. Under the pot was a flame. In the pot was something thick and liquidy. Marie said,
“Ah, très bon! Fondue au fromage!”
A moment later, Mrs. Goldman came out with another plate, this one of pieces of carrots and broccoli and green beans. Marie and Ingrid sat down at once and started tearing apart the loaf of bread, sticking pieces onto the prongs of long forks, and dipping them into the cheese (I did know what
fromage
was). The rest of us sat down with them. Surprisingly, Sophia, who hardly ever ate anything, dipped three pieces of bread and ate them, then tried a carrot and a green bean. Leslie and I looked at each other—we spent a lot of lunch hours watching Sophia eat and offering her things we thought she might (should) like.
Mrs.
Leslie had on her favorite sweater, which was blue-green and had a boatneck. She was wearing it with very dark blue wool pants that I had never seen before—buttons came up one side, crossed under the waist, and went down the other side. I said, “Where did you get those pants?”
“They’re navy surplus. They’re what sailors wear.”
She stepped back. The bell-bottom legs were so big it looked like she could trip on the hems. She turned around. A string like a shoestring was threaded through holes that ran up the back. And they did fit her nicely. She said, “If I fell off my ship, I could get these off over my shoes, and then tie the legs, throw them upward to capture some air, and use them as sort of a life raft. Then I would take off my shoes.” I was sure that she would survive. She did look good—willowy and “understated,” as Stella would say.
Alexis made introductions. Other than Sophia, Leslie,Lucia, Leah, and me, there was Diana (Alexis’s roommate from school); Ingrid, a cousin of Diana’s from Norway; and another girl from school who hadn’t gone home for vacation, Marie. Marie was French. I did not dare say
bonjour
, even though I’d been taking French for three years. Marie was staying for a couple of days, until she left to meet her parents in Aspen, Colorado, to go skiing. Sophia said, “I went to Paris once, with my mom and dad. I can’t remember it very well, though.”
Marie smiled, and said, “I am from the South. From Toulouse. My father teaches in the university there.”
None of us had maybe ever heard of anywhere in France except Paris, and wherever it was Joan of Arc was from. Alexis said, “Marie is a great skier.” Marie shrugged slightly, then helped herself to a piece of the white cheese. Ingrid, as it turned out, spoke German, French, and Norwegian but not English, so she chatted with Marie in French. Neither of them sounded at all like our French teacher, Madame Desmond—or Madame Defarge, as she was called behind her back. Sometimes, when she was being very strict, a couple of the boys would pretend to be knitting.
Diana and Ingrid had come down from San Francisco just for the party because, as Diana said, “Every time I tell my folks about Alexis and Barbie, they roll their eyes as if I’m making it up. I had to bring an independent witness.” I started liking her right then. Diana’s talent was math. The Jackson School had already given up on teaching her, and she went three times a week to UCLA for classes. She said, “There was a school I could have gone to in SF that had high-level mathclasses, but my folks also wanted me to learn how to tie my shoes and put the cap back on the toothpaste.”
Alexis said, “We’ve been working on that. If I were your mom, I would settle for you not sitting on your glasses every other day.”
Diana laughed.
Mrs. Goldman came out carrying another dish—this one was a metal frame with a pot sitting on it. Under the pot was a flame. In the pot was something thick and liquidy. Marie said,
“Ah, très bon! Fondue au fromage!”
A moment later, Mrs. Goldman came out with another plate, this one of pieces of carrots and broccoli and green beans. Marie and Ingrid sat down at once and started tearing apart the loaf of bread, sticking pieces onto the prongs of long forks, and dipping them into the cheese (I did know what
fromage
was). The rest of us sat down with them. Surprisingly, Sophia, who hardly ever ate anything, dipped three pieces of bread and ate them, then tried a carrot and a green bean. Leslie and I looked at each other—we spent a lot of lunch hours watching Sophia eat and offering her things we thought she might (should) like.
Mrs.
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