[Just when summer seems to reach its peak, it’s over … too soon, and before you are ready. SB SM]
August
A Hiram Road summer tradition is Ladies’ Night, in which the gentlemen of the road host the fairer sex for an evening repast. The guests of honor are seated at a banquet table festooned with a tablecloth and two bouquets that feature roadside tiger lilies, blue cornflowers, and Queen Anne’s lace. Despite a marked lack of finesse, the arrangements are colorful, jolly, and welcoming.
Willie Boye supplies the background music. For the occasion, he is subdued and mostly instrumental, except for melodic humming and an occasional whistled tune.
Manny delivers a round of Cosmopolitans. He sets one in front of Olive. “Dr. Willie has decreed that yours contain no alcohol.”
“I know,” says Olive with a grimace. “He won’t let me smoke dope, either.”
“Wild sex is still OK,” comes the voice from behind the guitar.
“Yeah, yeah,” she returns, “but three times a night?” A round of laughter and snark ensues… “Three times a year!”… “Pass the remote!”… “Maybe forty years ago!”… “In your dreams!”… “No, in my nightmares.”
“Here’s to you, Olive,” says Teresa. “We’re happy to have you for another ladies’ night.”
Little Ray delivers the first course—grilled Gulf shrimp with a lime-ginger dipping sauce. “Say what you will about Ray-Ray,” says Grace, “the man knows how to eat.” Everyone can drink to that.
Next, Emil delivers a Swiss chard and onion quiche, which he pronounces “kweesh.” It is accompanied by a massive garden salad that consists of every possible vegetable that can be grown in Zone 4b. Of note is the absence of red tomatoes, although mid-August would be optimistic for those in any year.
Leo has been recruited to present the main course, a giant platter of kebabs from the grill. He has outfitted himself in non-specific, yet formal, military attire. He also sports a newly cultivated mustache. It is not lost on the ladies that he has entered new territory regarding species reproduction.
“Ooo-o-o,” says Lorette, looking at Leo as if she is seeing him for the first time. “Tell us what we have here.” He is prepared.
“Our main course is brochettes of grilled légumes variés with noisettes de porchetta,” he says in a surprisingly low voice.
“I bet you don’t even know what a noisette is,” says Lorette, doing her best to look coquettish.
“No, and I bet you don’t either,” he answers dryly.
“Touché,” says Olive.
Oakley, spruced up but still scruffy, presents a covered dish. “Jasmine rice,” he mumbles.
“Speak up, honey,” says Muffy.
“Jasmine rice,” he re-mumbles.
“How are the guitar lessons going?” asks Grace.
“Great!” they concur.
“If we keep it up for a year, Willie says next summer we can go electric,” adds Oakley.
“When are you going to debut?”
“Labor Day,” says Leo.
“For sure?”
“Bank on it,” says Oakley.
Manny hovers, making sure that glasses remain full. Dessert is Henry’s “Parfait Perfecto.”
“It’s really just vanilla ice cream and raspberries,” Henry tells the men poking around the fire, “but when I put it in those frilly glasses and add a shot of Grand Marnier, everyone thinks I’m a genius—and when you think about it, I am.”
The men have acquitted themselves well, so the group adjourns to the firepit. Willie churns out a litany of songs with girls’ names: Carol, Julia, Martha, Gloria, Victoria, Peggy Sue, Sandy. As the evening passes, he begins ad-libbing ribald tunes about the ladies present. There’s “Grace, the Disgrace,” “Lorette Lost Her Bet,” “Teresa da Greasa,” and “Muffy in the Buffy.” Only Olive escapes the musical skewering, because, as Willie croons, “You can’t rhyme shit with Olive.”
