Non-Jews, okay? Jews don’t do alcohol. Not well. Have you ever been to a Jewish wedding?”
Ed shakes his head. Lila never fails to make him smile with her stories and her forthrightness.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about the food, never about the alcohol. You’re lucky if you get a glass of kosher wine. At my cousin’s son’s bris the table almost collapsed there was so much food, and when someone suggested proposing a toast, my cousin suddenly realized she’d forgotten to order anything to drink.”
“So what did you do?”
“Milk and water. That was all she had.”
“Well at least we’ll be okay with the food tonight,” Ed says.
“If Steffi ever gets here. Even if she doesn’t I’ve made enough hors d’oeuvres to feed a small advancing army of hungry teenage boys. I can’t help it,” she adds with a shrug. “It’s hardwired into my genes.”
“You make me laugh,” Ed says affectionately, reaching down and kissing her. “I think you are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met.”
“But do you fancy me?” Lila uses the English expression that she always finds so amusing.
“I fancy you rotten.” He raises an eyebrow and gestures upstairs.
“Ew!” Lila pushes him away. “You can’t seriously be suggesting we run upstairs for a quickie in my best friend’s house while we’re getting ready for her surprise party and her eight-year-old and six-year-old are downstairs watching TV?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He laughs.
“Well the answer is no. But if you behave well you may get lucky later tonight . . .” She reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss, just as they hear the sound of a car.
Lila looks out of the window. “Yay, she’s finally here. But Jesus Christ, what the hell is that ?”
“This is Fingal,” Steffi pants, pointing to the huge, skinny but shaggy, horse-like animal standing next to her. “I have him for the weekend.”
“You haven’t rescued another creature that will be sent off to one of your mom’s poor friends again, have you?” Lila looks suspiciously at her after releasing her from a giant bear hug. “Because I think your mom may not do it again.”
“No, I haven’t. He’s really not mine. He belongs to a customer. I’m thinking of maybe dogsitting him while his owner goes to London, so I’m just taking him for this weekend to see if we like each other.”
“What is he?” Lila asks. “He’s enormous.”
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Scottish deerhound.” Ed walks over and bends down to give Steffi a kiss, then scratches Fingal behind the ears. A delighted Fingal leans into Ed for more attention. “They’re wonderful dogs. Very aristocratic.”
“That’s not a dog, that’s a pony,” Lila says cautiously.
“He’s very mellow.” Steffi leads him in. “Surprisingly easy.”
Lila peers out toward the car. “Where’s Rob?”
“Not here.”
“Uh-oh. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” Steffi walks over to the sofa at one end of the kitchen and points to it. “Load up,” she says to Fingal, who leaps up and curls into a surprisingly compact ball, then rests his head elegantly on his paws to survey the room.
“That’s impressive,” Lila says.
“I know!”
“So . . . Rob.”
“Men,” Steffi mutters, quickly shooting an apologetic glance at Ed. “Sorry. Not all men, obviously.”
“Men named Rob?” Ed offers.
“Exactly. So I’m mad at him because he brought all his stoner friends back the other night and when the munchies hit they ate all the chili I’d made for tonight, and then he never even apologized but just said if I wanted to save food for something I should keep it in the fridge at work.”
Lila shakes her head in disgust.
“I told him about the chili and he said he didn’t remember, so I said that was because he was so stoned all the time the weed had fried the few brain cells he had left, because, God knows, guitarists weren’t exactly known for their
Ed shakes his head. Lila never fails to make him smile with her stories and her forthrightness.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about the food, never about the alcohol. You’re lucky if you get a glass of kosher wine. At my cousin’s son’s bris the table almost collapsed there was so much food, and when someone suggested proposing a toast, my cousin suddenly realized she’d forgotten to order anything to drink.”
“So what did you do?”
“Milk and water. That was all she had.”
“Well at least we’ll be okay with the food tonight,” Ed says.
“If Steffi ever gets here. Even if she doesn’t I’ve made enough hors d’oeuvres to feed a small advancing army of hungry teenage boys. I can’t help it,” she adds with a shrug. “It’s hardwired into my genes.”
“You make me laugh,” Ed says affectionately, reaching down and kissing her. “I think you are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met.”
“But do you fancy me?” Lila uses the English expression that she always finds so amusing.
“I fancy you rotten.” He raises an eyebrow and gestures upstairs.
“Ew!” Lila pushes him away. “You can’t seriously be suggesting we run upstairs for a quickie in my best friend’s house while we’re getting ready for her surprise party and her eight-year-old and six-year-old are downstairs watching TV?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He laughs.
“Well the answer is no. But if you behave well you may get lucky later tonight . . .” She reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss, just as they hear the sound of a car.
Lila looks out of the window. “Yay, she’s finally here. But Jesus Christ, what the hell is that ?”
“This is Fingal,” Steffi pants, pointing to the huge, skinny but shaggy, horse-like animal standing next to her. “I have him for the weekend.”
“You haven’t rescued another creature that will be sent off to one of your mom’s poor friends again, have you?” Lila looks suspiciously at her after releasing her from a giant bear hug. “Because I think your mom may not do it again.”
“No, I haven’t. He’s really not mine. He belongs to a customer. I’m thinking of maybe dogsitting him while his owner goes to London, so I’m just taking him for this weekend to see if we like each other.”
“What is he?” Lila asks. “He’s enormous.”
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Scottish deerhound.” Ed walks over and bends down to give Steffi a kiss, then scratches Fingal behind the ears. A delighted Fingal leans into Ed for more attention. “They’re wonderful dogs. Very aristocratic.”
“That’s not a dog, that’s a pony,” Lila says cautiously.
“He’s very mellow.” Steffi leads him in. “Surprisingly easy.”
Lila peers out toward the car. “Where’s Rob?”
“Not here.”
“Uh-oh. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” Steffi walks over to the sofa at one end of the kitchen and points to it. “Load up,” she says to Fingal, who leaps up and curls into a surprisingly compact ball, then rests his head elegantly on his paws to survey the room.
“That’s impressive,” Lila says.
“I know!”
“So . . . Rob.”
“Men,” Steffi mutters, quickly shooting an apologetic glance at Ed. “Sorry. Not all men, obviously.”
“Men named Rob?” Ed offers.
“Exactly. So I’m mad at him because he brought all his stoner friends back the other night and when the munchies hit they ate all the chili I’d made for tonight, and then he never even apologized but just said if I wanted to save food for something I should keep it in the fridge at work.”
Lila shakes her head in disgust.
“I told him about the chili and he said he didn’t remember, so I said that was because he was so stoned all the time the weed had fried the few brain cells he had left, because, God knows, guitarists weren’t exactly known for their
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