The Dinner Party by Howard Fast Page B

death. Death—the cold, cold breath of death.
    Jenny babbled on. “Believe me, nothing I’d like better than to take both you darlings with me and show you off to some people we know in Switzerland and France. Nothing ups the status like two gorgeous grandchildren, and I’m at a point where I don’t hide my age—in fact I am not a little proud of it, and no face-lift. Ugh. Disgusting thought, taking your flesh and stretching it out until you look in the mirror and you truly don’t know who you are. You remember Maggie Blakely—the one from Virginia whom your mother used to invite when we visited in Georgetown—well, her face job turned her into an utter stranger, I mean her own mother wouldn’t recognize her, and while the new face was rather decent looking, the confusion of explaining who she was became a nightmare to her—”
    Elizabeth began to cry.
    â€œWill you shut up,” Augustus told her. “Will you please shut up.”
    â€œIt’s nothing,” Elizabeth said. “I’m just silly emotional, and it’s all of us being here together today—”
    â€œI understand,” Jenny said. She was sitting in the back seat with Elizabeth, while her husband sat next to Leonard, who was driving. “I do understand, my dear,” putting an arm around Elizabeth and drawing her over against her breast. Jenny could remember how fretful and maudlin she herself would be during her menstrual periods; long gone, but she could still remember. Certainly the same thing. When Augustus turned to stare at her questioningly and worriedly, Jenny nodded wisely to reassure him.
    â€œShe’ll be all right,” Leonard said thinly. “Don’t worry, Gramps. She’ll be all right.”

FOURTEEN
    M acKenzie came into the dining room with a basket of flowers from the garden. He had selected white lilacs and peonies of white and pale rose, a great mass of sweet-smelling and beautiful blooms, and at the sight of them, Dolly clapped her hands in delight. “How wonderful! But, Mac, what am I to do with them? It would break my heart to cut them back, yet they’re much too big for the table. They’ll make a fine bouquet for the sideboard. But then, what shall I do for a centerpiece? I remember when I was a little girl, reading a story about some great Italian chef who worked for a grand duke or some such person, and simply ran out of ideas for centerpieces. Then his nephew talked him into giving him a tub of butter which he carved into a splendid lion. Do you know, the boy became a famous sculptor, and I can’t for the life of me remember his name and we don’t have a tub of butter or a sculptor. What then? Come, Mac, be creative.”
    â€œDo you recollect that glass eagle made by the Corning people that the Red Cross gave to the senator for heading up their drive?”
    â€œWonderful! Order of Cromwell or something.”
    â€œMa’am?”
    â€œI’ve just decorated you. Come on, Mac, to work. Get the eagle and then the big Wedgewood vase for the flowers. Then wine and water—three glasses for each setting.”
    MacKenzie went into the kitchen to dress the flowers and fill the vase, a lovely piece of pale blue and white china.
    â€œHow is it going?” Ellen asked him.
    â€œI haven’t seen her like this in ages. She’s high as a kite.”
    â€œThank goodness, the way it’s been.”
    â€œAny reason for it?”
    â€œNone that I intend to gossip with you concerning it. Here, be useful.”
    â€œUseful. I live my life like a goddamn screwdriver, which is useful and screws now and then.”
    Nellie Clough came into the kitchen on the last note, and she broke into giggles.
    â€œAnd what is so funny?” Ellen demanded coldly.
    â€œNothing, Miss Ellen, absolutely nothing.”
    â€œI got to take this vase in to Miss Dolly, and then I’ll return and be useful.”
    He