Talking in Bed by Antonya Nelson Page B

Great Salt Lake and said, 'This is the place,' right? He thought it was the ocean?"
    "The ocean?" Zach said. "He thought a lake was the ocean? Kind of lame, huh?"
    Rachel laughed. "I always thought Mormon men must have got together and said, 'Hm, maybe if we tell the women God wants them to stay home and breed, they'll believe us. We'll just have us some harems, and go hang out together in the temple.'"
    Didi had laid down her silverware. Her face was red. Rachel realized that she'd gone too far and felt humiliated by her rudeness. Didi said, "Well, polygamy has been frowned on for some time now," then stared at her plate, at her untouched hen and mushrooms. The stems of sage seemed to be giving her problems. Ev hadn't cleared her place when he had the others, and now there was hardly room for her dessert plate.
    "Frowned on?" Rachel said.
    Paddy pretended to be chewing his brownie, overmasticating to avoid filling the gap.
A pall fell,
Rachel thought, dreamily imagining the conversation she might have later with her ironic friend Zoë.
    Finally Ev said to Marcus, "Give us some imitations, son."
    Marcus shook his head, tucking a slim brownie into his mouth.
    "Marcus does impressions," Ev explained. "He's very talented. Show them George Bush, son."
    "Do Arnie," Zach encouraged with his mouth full.
    Marcus did not really require much prodding, especially from his father.
    "O.K., here's George Bush," he said, swallowing, then tilting his head sideways and pulling his lower teeth in, flattening the air before him with his slender hands. "Now, folks, let's be reasonable here about this economy thing," he whined, shaking his head, smiling hollowly, letting the light from the overhead chandelier catch the surface of his eyeglasses. Ev applauded. Rachel smiled. Paddy and Didi sat, bewildered. Marcus launched into others without pause, moving from Sylvester Stallone to Barbara Walters to Larry King to William F. Buckley. He did a savage British accent that Rachel was quite proud of. Their guests, watching him and frowning as if he might be insulting them in another language, did not appear to appreciate Marcus's talents. Didi didn't seem to recognize any of the impressions; her openmouthed, quizzical expression remained unchanged through them all. She was revealed as not having a clue as to who the secretary of state was or why Marcus's imitation of Jim Lehrer's phony ingenuous lower lip was so perfect.
    Rachel laughed until tears came to her eyes. The evening was ludicrous. She retrieved the liqueur tray from the buffet and poured herself a stiff brandy, then passed the clinking bottles around the table. No one else had any, and once more she sort of wished Ev would take up his old habit. After dinner, he used to enjoy sipping port. The effect of having a Mormon in the house was to make Rachel feel guilty about drinking, a response she supposed Mormons intended, and guiltiness made her want accomplices.
    Marcus finished his repertoire and excused himself. Zach invited Melanie to play Nintendo, but Melanie was hanging on her mother.
    "Maybe it's time for bed?" Didi said plaintively to Paddy. They made their goodbye noises—the gratitude and apologies, the compliments on the food they hadn't enjoyed, the apartment they'd found confusing, the company that had offended them, the promise to return the hospitality—then hurried away to the elevator. Didi's small bottom was the last thing Rachel saw before closing the door.
    "If she's a Mormon, why doesn't she have a dozen children, like all the rest of them?" she asked Ev as they cleared the debris of the evening.
    "You're just mad because you put your foot in your mouth," he said.
    She followed him through the swinging door into the kitchen. "Fuck you. I'm serious, how was I supposed to know? What kind of intelligent human in the final hours of the twentieth century is a Mormon?"
    Marcus, who'd appeared from his room and begun helping as a way of eavesdropping, said, "Who says