“All seems smart and positive.” He takes a sip of the hot, spicy, sweet tea.
“My goal for her was to broaden her palate, since ninety percent of what she eats and feeds her family is Italian, and the rest is burgers and American fare. Apparently her eldest went to a friend’s house for a sleepover and they went out for Thai food and he ordered a burger. So I’m going to take her on some foodie adventures around town and teach her to cook some fun stuff.”
“An open mind and an adventurous spirit are gifts you can give your children. I like that one. What was Lynne’s for her?”
“To get more involved in the financial end of her life. She is one of those wives who has no idea how much money her husband makes, where their investments are, or how they are doing on saving for retirement and the kids’ college, so she has to take a course on basic household finances and financial planning and learn how to fully participate in managing those parts of their life.”
“Very practical. A good list. And for Lynne, queen of all the massive successes?”
“Well, for herself, she of course wants her business to grow, so she set a goal to land at least one seven-figure client. She also has been thinking that she should put down roots, since she hasn’t ever owned her own home. In California she rented; then when she was married, she moved into his house; and now she is renting again. So she has to buy a place. And she wants to give back more, so she has to join the board of a charity.”
“Wow. I like it—make no small plans.”
“That’s Lynne. But I think she has some of the hardest stuff. Teresa has her signing up for one of those top-end executive matchmaking firms, and I have her getting a dog!”
“You didn’t.” Lawrence claps his hands in delight.
“I did. I said she needs someone to be accountable to, and some source of unconditional love in her life while she is waiting for the matchmaker to find her a man.”
Lawrence whistles under his breath. “These lists of yours certainly are ambitious. You couldn’t have thought of anything simple? A bit of dandelion fluff on the wind?” He does know how to turn a phrase.
“Well, each of us at our own level. Lynne will probably have her whole list knocked out in the next month, knowing her. More tea?”
“Please.” He hands me his mug and I take it into the kitchen. I love this kitchen. It is small but perfectly appointed, with a stunning Aga range and hood in a lovely pale lavender, with charcoal gray cabinets that have polished-nickel hardware and white marble counters. I refill both of our mugs with the spicy, sweet elixir and rejoin him at the dining table.
“Okay, down to business,” I say, handing him the mug and pulling open my notebook. “What are you thinking for Halloween this year?” We just have a couple of weeks till the holiday, and Lawrence is famous for his Halloween parties. I get to plan and execute all the catering prep, but then hand it off to hired help the night of so that I can be a guest at the party. He always hires Marcy’s friend Alex to do the night-of cooking, and he and I work really well together, so I never have to stop enjoying myself to help in the kitchen.
“I think last year we went for spooky elegant. We should go the opposite direction, and instead go for fun versions of street food! What do you think?”
“I think I love you. Especially since I won’t have to make eight thousand black blinis with orange salmon roe.”
“They were delicious . . .”
“Of course they were. They were also a pain in my substantial ass. How many are we this year?”
“Probably thirty to forty over the course of the night.”
“Okay, and is there a costume theme?”
“Classic Chicago. Whatever that means to someone, from Al Capone to Michael Jordan to Marshall Field and the Everleigh sisters, to dressing up like one of the lion statues from the Art Institute.”
“Terrific. So we should celebrate Chicago street food. Mini Chicago dogs, mini gyros, mini Italian beef sandwiches, little deep-dish pizzas . . .”
“Exactly my thinking, smart girl. But be sure to acknowledge the diversity of our fair city—we have Chinatown and Pilsen and Little Italy and the South Side . . . with street food we can do little tastes from all of our wonderful cultures.”
“True enough. Let me play with some ideas and send you a menu to look at in the next day or so.”
“And dear Marcy will come, yes?”
“Of course. She and I will have to figure out our costumes.”
“Well, for once, maybe be a pretty girl? Your costumes are always hilarious, but now that you are on the dating market, it wouldn’t kill you to wear a dress. Just for practice.”
“I’ll think about it. Anything else you want me to do for the party? Special requests?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Will it be the usual suspects?” Lawrence has a wide rotation of friends that he cycles through for his monthly dinner parties, but Halloween is special. I often think he uses it as punishment if someone has offended him in some way; it is a clear dig to not get an invitation. And he is always gathering new people, so sometimes there is fresh blood to liven things up.
“Mostly. You’ll probably recognize at least three-quarters of the guests from the dinners or last Halloween. I’m not inviting any of the ones with the boring spouses this year . . .” Last year there was a strange black hole of boredom right at the center of the party where a group was gathered making awkward small talk and listening to one wife monologue about her terrible job, while someone else’s bland husband talked about lawn maintenance. I myself was cornered for the better part of an hour listening to some blowhard who fancies himself a natural-born chef tell me about all the amazing twenty-course dinner parties he is always having, where everyone tells him he is better than any fine-dining tasting menu in town. Lawrence told me later he got sucked into one of the ghastly events last year, and that the guy’s food is as inane as his conversation. Guess the fun ones will have to stay home with their dull spouses this year.
“Can’t say I’ll be disappointed with that.”
“None of us will, darling, none of us will. Good Lord, dog, you are giving my lap pins and needles.” He puts Philippe back onto the floor with a thud. “What do you have for the rest of your day?”
“I’m taking dinner to Mrs. O’Connor’s husband tonight—just going to check in on him.”
“You are a kind girl. I know he will be glad for the food and the company.”
“I hope so.”
“Well, I think we have all we need here . . . thank you as always for the provisions, my darling. I will look forward to the menu for the party, and will see you next week, same time?”
“Same Bat-time, same Bat-station,” I say with a grin. Lawrence once confessed to a fantasy about Adam West in his blue Batman outfit.