Anything Goes

anyone else is joining me.”
    Lily had noticed Robert eyeing the liquor cabinet and knew he was just making sure he got the best there was to offer. If there was a wine cellar at Grace and Favor, they had yet to find it.
    “Nice selection,“ Robert said, as Major Winslow opened the cabinet. “Where do you get it?“
    “I have a ‘connection’ locally,“ Winslow said. “That would be the only good thing if Roosevelt wins this election. He would repeal Prohibition.“
    “Isn’t he by way of being a local chum?“
    “Oh, he lives quite near, but being as he’s a Democrat,“ Winslow said, “we don’t socialize with them.“
    “I’d vote for him on the strength of repealing Prohibition alone,“ Robert said.
    Winslow looked like he was going to have a stroke. “You would? I’m shocked. Frankly shocked.”
    The men—Robert, Claude and Major Winslow—sat down to hash over politics and drink their wine. Lily accepted a tiny crystal glass of sherry and gingerly sat down in a chair next to a table covered with expensive knickknacks. China shepherdesses, little ivory bowls and a nest of silver ashtrays, which could have used a bit of polishing. She tried very hard not to listen to Robert expounding, since she knew for a fact that he took absolutely no interest in politics and was quite certainly making a great fool of himself. Possibly deliberately. Finally, there was no avoiding listening in.
    “But even Eccles and Foster have come around to the liberal view,“ Robert was saying. “The government has taken things into its own hands before—during wartime, for example. And this is turning into a class war that can devastate the country. It could be the end of democracy unless—”
    So Robert had been listening to Charles Locke. And had thoroughly understood the concept he’d propounded. Would Robert never stop surprising her? Sissy finally appeared, her mass of curly red hair in some disarray. It looked as if it had all fallen down and been carelessly jammed back together. Her face was pink, sweaty and sullen. “Dinner is ready,“ she said.
    This was a sad exaggeration. It might have been ‘ready’ in her eyes, but was a disaster. The jacketed baked potatoes were rock-hard on the outside and dried almost to powder inside. The peas had cooked so long they were virtually paste. The roast, on the other hand, was so undercooked that it was bloody and revolting. At least there was a salad. It was cut so finely it looked like confetti and swam in little individual bowls of dressing. Lily tasted it cautiously and discovered that the dressing seemed to be a very strong vinegar with a dollop of downright belligerent horseradish.
    Her throat closed, her eyes watered and she was saved from disgrace only by the fact that Claude had tasted it at the same time and was having a violent coughing fit and had to leave the room to recover. Had he any sense, he’d have just kept going right out the door and home.
    Everyone pretended to have extremely delicate appetites and picked at the food while aggressively discussing almost anything else that came to mind to avoid having to comment on the meal. Lily was seated facing the inside wall, upon which there was a truly vast portrait of the family. It had a lush garden setting and had probably been done about the time she and Sissy were in school together. Major Winslow was seated on a garden bench with a cane across his knees, not, Lily noticed, the one he carried now. A younger Sissy was standing to his right, and Mrs. Winslow was standing between and behind them, holding a bunch of flowers. Lily decided if she ever got money again, she’d hire the painter. He’d done a lovely job on the people, the flowers and the shafts of sunlight filtering through. Best of all, it saved her from having to eat dinner. She made small talk about the painting, which let Sissy complain about how the painter had gotten her hair all wrong and it had taken forever for them to pose for it.
    Meanwhile, Major Winslow was loyally attempting to clean his plate, but got only halfway through a slice of almost raw beef before he excused himself and disappeared for quite a long while. It was assumed this was the result of a digestive upset that wasn’t polite to talk about. Or perhaps he was only pretending to be ill so he could avoid eating any more.
    At one point Mrs. Winslow, in her effort to contribute to the cover-up, blurted out that Claude and Sissy were engaged.
    “No, Mummy. Not yet.