Uptown Girl. Olivia Goldsmith

Elliot, standing, began to pour wine in the waiting goblets. Michael picked up his glass and almost ostentatiously set it upside down.

      ‘None for me,’ he said.

      Kate winced. She should have seen this one coming. Michael didn’t drink at all. He just said he didn’t like it. Given her father’s bad habits, it seemed a good trait to Kate but she knew it wouldn’t go down well with Elliot. He prided himself on his wine cellar – even though it was actually in the linen closet – and must have taken pains selecting this Pinot Grigio. Elliot raised his eyebrows.

      ‘Don’t you drink?’ Brice asked, his voice, rather than his eyebrows, slightly raised. Kate could imagine the talk afterward – ‘Is he an alcoholic, is he in AA? No? Then he’s a control freak or a born-again Christian.’ Oh, it would be endless.

      ‘I prefer to keep a clear head,’ Michael answered.

      ‘Yeah. You never know when someone might need to see through it,’ Elliot muttered beside Kate’s ear as he filled her glass.

      Once they all had their plates and the drinking crisis was past, they began on Brice’s famous appetizer: a beautiful, multicolored vegetable terrine. There was some cursory conversation but the tension seemed thick in the air, especially between Elliot and Michael. Of course Elliot was always very protective of Kate. And he had already made his dislike of this accomplished and nice-looking new boyfriend clear. The fact that Michael was a bit priggish and overly fastidious wasn’t lost on Kate, but he did have other, compensatory traits. He was clever, he was generous in bed, and he seemed very, very stable.

      ‘There’s a good chance I’m going to get that Sagerman grant,’ Michael said to Kate as they finished the first course. ‘I saw Professor Hopkins and Charles told me that the committee discussions seemed to be very, well, promising.’ Kate saw Elliot and Brice exchange a look. It was rude of Michael to ignore them, even briefly, but he was a single-minded academic.

      Kate held back a sigh. Even when she and Michael were alone it was sometimes difficult to remember all the cards in his academic deck. Now, to make the conversation general, it would be necessary to explain to the others about the Sagerman Foundation, Michael’s interest in a postdoctorate appointment, and his complicated relationship with his mentor Charles Hopkins. It was the kind of thing that made a difference to a couple, but didn’t make for good dinner talk.

      ‘Great,’ Kate said. No one else spoke. Elliot refilled their glasses and Brice passed around the second course. Kate looked at it and knew that her friends had spared no expense to impress Michael. This was Brice’s risotto with truffles and she knew what the price of truffles was. They all took a bite of the steaming rice. As the awkward silence stretched out, Kate turned to Brice in an attempt at light conversation. ‘Brice. This risotto is really delicious.’

      ‘Very good,’ Michael agreed.

      Brice beamed at the compliments. He was proud of his cooking, his design sense, and his extensive collection of pristine Beanie Babies. Those were arranged meticulously on a series of long floating shelves over the credenza. Kate had watched Michael notice them and avert his eyes. He was not, she had to admit, very playful in his attitude to décor or dining chat.

      ‘So, what happened at the salon this afternoon?’ Elliot inquired of Kate. She smiled. She knew him so well: he was taking pity on her and trying to make the dinner less painful. And because he figured she’d spill her guts more readily just to keep the conversation going. Nice try, she thought, but it wouldn’t work.

      ‘Oh, I just had my nails painted,’ she said. She showed ten gleaming fingertips and still managed to hold the fork. ‘Do you think Mr McKay will feel they’re subversive?’ The previous semester the principal had declared toe rings subversive and all the kids had to remove their socks and shoes to have contraband foot jewelry confiscated.

      ‘That and cock rings,’ Elliot said.

      ‘Elliot, please!’ Brice reprimanded. ‘Not in front of the Havilland.’ He flashed a smile at Kate and Michael. Their conversation continued in fits and starts but Kate knew Michael was not a hit. Of course Elliot had really liked Steven and that hadn’t worked out, so … perhaps Elliot’s first impression was not as important as she had thought it was.

      ‘Salad or cheese and fruit before dessert? I have lovely Bosc pears,’ Brice asked.

      ‘No thanks, Brice,’ said Kate.

      ‘None for me,’ Michael agreed. Across the table, Elliot stood up and began to clear away the dishes. ‘It was very good,’ Michael added.

      Even to Kate it seemed a bland thank you. ‘Wasn’t the terrine terrific?’ Kate prompted. She looked at Michael who in turn looked at the empty serving plates with an expression of confusion.

      ‘Which was the terrine?’ he asked.

      Kate’s face flushed pink. She knew how much effort Brice had put into the dish. ‘The vegetable pâté,’ she explained to Michael.

      Elliot, still picking up plates, circled around behind Michael. ‘With your head so clear you probably just call that “thick dip”, huh?’ he asked.

      Kate winced. From behind Michael’s back, Elliot held his nose and gave Kate a thumbs-down sign, almost dumping the plates he had gathered.

      ‘Watch out for the Havilland!’ Brice warned again.

      ‘Elliot, you don’t have to do that,’ Kate said, referring both to his comment and the clearing.

      ‘Oh, but I do, I do,’ Elliot replied, his double entendre obvious.

      She gave him a look. Clearly they needed some private time in the kitchen. ‘I’ll help you clear,’ she offered, noticing Michael didn’t even attempt to help.

      Brice began to protest and rise as well, but Elliot shook his head and looked pointedly at Michael. Brice gave him a pleading look, but Elliot leaned close and whispered, ‘Somebody has to talk to him.’

      Brice gave Michael a weak smile. ‘So, what’s new in anthropology?’ he asked Michael in a bright voice. ‘Is the Sugerman grant a sure thing?’

      ‘Sagerman,’ Michael corrected. ‘From the Sagerman Foundation for the Studies of Primitive Peoples.’

      Kate sighed, picked up some glasses and followed Elliot into the kitchen. It was small but efficient, with black and white floor tiles, red walls and cabinets, and the latest stainless steel appliances. Kate tried to steel herself. Elliot was silent as he put the dishes in the sink. Then, as she knew he would, he turned to face Kate, his hands on his hips like an accusatory nun. ‘Where did you dig him up?’ he demanded. ‘This guy’s the worst of the lot.’

      ‘Oh, Elliot! He is not,’ Kate protested. ‘And keep your voice down.’

      ‘Come on, Kate. Wake up and smell the primitive peoples. He’s dull, he’s pompous, he lacks humor and, aside from his haircut, I don’t see anything superior about him,’ Elliot said.

      Elliot would like that haircut, Kate thought. She whispered, ‘Oh, come on, Elliot. You never like any of my boyfriends.’

      ‘Neither do you,’ Elliot retorted. ‘Not since Steven. And this one is not only boring, but also self-involved, pompous and a homophobe.’

      ‘Oh, Elliot! He is not!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘You blame everything on that.’

      ‘Kate, the guy didn’t address a single word to either of us through the whole meal.’

      ‘That doesn’t make him a homophobe. Maybe he’s just shy. Or doesn’t like you personally,’ she added. ‘It could happen.’ She put the wine goblets – one of them clean, on the counter.

      ‘Doubtful. And he’s probably an alcoholic. That’s why he doesn’t drink. Anyway, coming here to dinner is like meeting your family,’ Elliot explained as he rinsed a plate. ‘He should at least pretend to like us, since we’re in loco parentis.’