Phrodi finished her first cup of tea, and poured a second from the tiny pot to the right of her plate. “Hol, you do remember the Inheritance Unlimited meeting tonight, don’t you?”
From the depths of his morning paper, Hollsworth Fensby ascended to the surface and squinted across the dining room table at his wife. “What?”
“The Inheritance Unlimited meeting is tonight.”
“I'm not going, Phrodi. If you're interested, you go ahead, but you know I can't see any point to it! It's just my sister railing against how Dad disposed of his money.” He descended again.
Why couldn’t they ever have a decent conversation? Phrodi tapped lightly on her tea cup. “Hol, you have to attend!”
This time he didn’t even look up. “Look, it's not my fault that Diana’s money's under lock and key and mine isn't. If Dad wanted to try to protect her from herself, it was his choice. I can’t help it, and I'm not going.”
“If you’d let me finish, maybe you’d understand. Hol, I’m speaking to you!”
He ascended again, removing his glasses. “What is it, darling?”
“You have to attend, because we are hosting it.”
“Damn it, Phrodi!” He threw the paper down on the table.
“There is no need for that kind of language, Hol, not if you're talking to me. And get that newspaper off the table before the tablecloth is totally smudged!”
“The tablecloth is fine,” he grumbled, picking up the paper again.
“Don’t I even have the right to entertain once in a while? You don’t have to arrange it, so I don't see your problem. All I’m asking is that you come home and be civil to our guests.” Phrodi sniffed into her teacup. They hadn't argued in at least a week, and Hol had it coming to him. Heaven knew, she overlooked enough.
“Aphrodite, I'm not disputing your right to entertain. I don't even quibble about the bills.”
“But you never fail to mention them!” she countered.
“It’s not the entertaining. It’s Inheritance Unlimited. They’re a pack of whiners whose gripe is that someone left them money with conditions attached. If they'd picket the cemeteries, I'd have no complaint with them, but they’re always blaming banks, and I work for a bank. Could you could try, for once, to consider my position?”
“That works both ways, you know. How often do you think about what my life is like?” Two points for my side, she thought.
“I can't help but think about it. You keep me constantly updated with your reports of the crazy cause of the week!”
“I wouldn’t be proud of myself for talking that way; are you?”
He paused. “Phrodi, look, I'm sorry. That was off the subject.”
“You always do that. You insult me, criticize me, and then change the subject. My therapist has pointed that out to me, and she said I shouldn't let myself be undermined.”
“Your therapist hates everything about me except my checks.”
“There you go, flaunting your money! My mother warned me that your family was like that. You are so hostile to my being in therapy that you don't care what you say!”
“Your old therapist was bad enough, but this one! I give up!”
“I don't think you even know what we're arguing about!” As Phrodi stood and reached for Hol’s plate, he grabbed the piece of toast he hadn’t finished.
“Whatever we're arguing about, I do not want that meeting in my house. I work for a bank. I want to keep my job!”
“Hol, you know you don't need the job,” Phrodi said. “We have plenty of money. If you did volunteer work like I do, you might find your self-esteem again. Do you know that yesterday I read to a blind man who doesn't even own a can opener?” She carried the plates to the kitchen and put them into the sink.
Hol followed her with his empty coffee cup. “I like my job, Phrodi. I take people to lunch, I take people to dinner, and I represent the bank on lots of committees, all of which have meetings over meals. It’s good public relations for the bank, and I'm good at it.” He refilled his cup. “For months, I’ve been pretending not to see Roy Hetton, a senior trust officer at my bank, carrying on with a member of my own family. It's been damned embarrassing, but I’ve tried to rise above it. Now you’re telling me that I’m going to have anti-bank organizing going on in my own home. And you want me to attend, and to be – what did you say? – civil? No! You have to cancel, and don’t do this to me again!”
“Maybe this worked for your father, that kind of browbeating and shouting and waving fingers, but I am not going to put up with it. I can't possibly cancel. We're having a caterer doing coffee and desserts, and I don't even know how many people would have to be called. And I expect you think I would call them. Well, it's your sister who's organized the group, and if that’s your attitude, I wash my hands of it. I'm not going to embarrass myself by rescinding an invitation. If you don’t want them to come, you call everyone and cancel!”
“Oh, do what you like this time, but I will not go to this meeting. I will not!” He drained his coffee cup and put it into the sink.
“That would be rude to our guests, Hol! How could you embarrass me like that? If you just say hello, and then excuse yourself, I could say you’re very busy, and you could go watch television upstairs.”
“If I agree, you must promise me that this will never happen again.”
“You never appreciate what I'm doing for you. I'm trying to mend fences with Diana. I had no idea you would be so upset! I don't understand either of you.”
“I'm running late; I've got to go.” Hol leaned to kiss her.
“You always do this to me; start a fight and then run out on me before I get my turn!” She pulled away angrily.
“I'll be home for dinner.”
“Don't do me any favors,” she pouted.
As the door closed behind him, Phrodi sighed. He took her for granted. Men! If he only realized all the organization it took to coordinate the house! Let him try it for a week and see what it's like. Nothing like a good fight to clear the air! He deserved it!
And Diana never showed her any appreciation either! With all Phrodi did for her, it really wasn't much to ask in return: just a simple testimonial dinner honoring Phrodi Fensby in recognition of her outstanding contributions as a tireless volunteer, a devoted mother, a loving wife, and a caring sister-in-law; proceeds to benefit the Off Center. In July, the kids would be on break from college, and a French theme coinciding with Bastille Day would make menu planning a snap. She'd work out the details and make all the arrangements herself. The only thing Diana had to do about the party was to agree to host it.
Phrodi straightened her scarf, picked up her pen, and carried a pile of fundraising letters back into the dining room. It wouldn’t take too long to get them all signed. And each time she scribbled an almost illegible signature, she thought: this time Diana will not squirm out of it. This time she’s going to pay me back!
No comments:
Post a Comment