“More so,” Blaise said with a winning smile, as Simon’s father engaged Salima in conversation and was very sweet to her. “Your son is a fabulous chef,” Blaise complimented him, hoping to distract his mother for a while, and she smiled the moment Blaise said it.
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” she said in a matter-of-fact way, as she continued to comment on the furniture, the surroundings, her children, and whatever else came to mind, and she said Salima was a very pretty girl. Simon looked like he was dying, and his father was good-natured through it all. He was used to the sensation she made everywhere she went, and had for thirty-five years. She had been just like that when she was young. It was part of what he loved about her, her openness, and indifference to what anyone else thought. She was her own person, and had never been afraid to be. And he had been totally enchanted with her since the day they met and still was. He looked like a happy man. And Isabelle Ward commented on him too. She called his inventions “ridiculous,” but said they had been very lucrative, which had allowed them to buy a very nice house, far nicer than any of the other professors, or even the president of the university. She seemed pleased about it.
She asked Blaise then what interviews she was planning to do next, and Blaise said she was going to Israel before Christmas, to interview the prime minister.
“What an interesting job you have. I’m a poet, you know. I’m sure Simon told you. Actually, I brought you my new book,” she said, opening her purse and handing it to Blaise. She had autographed it and opened it and then offered to read one of the poems, which she promptly did, while Salima tried to keep a straight face. She was the most eccentric, outrageous woman Blaise had ever met, and she could see why Simon was embarrassed by her, but Blaise liked her anyway. In a funny way, she was refreshing. There was no artifice about her. You knew exactly what she was thinking at all times.
Simon looked as though he’d been released from prison when they finally stood up to leave. Salima said goodbye and disappeared while Blaise went to get their coats, and as soon as she left the room, his mother turned to him with a worried expression.
“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? She’s much too old for you.”
“In the first place, she’s not old. And in the second, I’m not sleeping with her. She’s an extremely famous woman, and an icon all over the world. The last thing she’d want is a little schoolteacher like me,” he said humbly, discounting his extreme intelligence, and unaware of how he looked.
“That’s ridiculous. You’re much better than she is. And your grandfather has a title, for heaven’s sake.” His mother looked disapproving, as Simon prayed that Blaise would come back with their coats quickly, so they could leave. He was already past his limit for what he could tolerate. “I’m sure she’s in love with you,” his mother said loudly, just as Blaise came back in the room and pretended not to hear. She thanked them profusely for coming, and they thanked her for the tea.
“Good luck in Israel. I hope nobody throws a bomb at you. That would be very unfortunate. Simon really likes his job,” his mother said to Blaise.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, I’ve been there before.” Isabelle Ward kissed her on both cheeks then. Her French accent and her customs were still noticeable even after many years in the States.
A moment later they left, his father still bobbing and smiling, and his mother looking respectable for once, but still not acting it. And Simon fell to his knees in front of Blaise the moment they were gone.
“I beg your forgiveness. My mother should have been muzzled at birth. My brother and I have volunteered to do it a thousand times, but my father won’t let us. He still thinks she’s cute, particularly now that he’s going deaf so he doesn’t have to listen to her. I swear, I will never bring them back. I’m sorry that I invited them, and I will never, ever do it again. I’m sorry about your hair and the curtains, the length of your skirt, and everything else she said. Ohmygod, I need a drink,” he said, getting up, as Blaise laughed at him.
“She’s very funny, and I like them. Don’t apologize. Your father is adorable. And your mother says everything the rest of us wish we could, but we don’t have the guts. She is one ballsy woman,” Blaise said admiringly. She could only imagine what it must have been like to grow up with a mother like her.
“She thinks we’re having an affair,” he said, looking miserable. He was mortified by everything his mother said. He always was. He felt fourteen again, but he was relieved to see that Blaise was undisturbed by it and actually amused, which he found hard to believe. She had been an incredibly good sport, in his opinion.
“What makes her think that?” Blaise asked, about the affair.