Read Online Gilded Age by Claire McMillan - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire McMillan
Tags: United States, Literary, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, American, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction
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On the one hand this was a rather flattering portrayal of Gryce’s family’s hoarding artifacts; on the other it implied Gryce had been handed his life on a silver platter. You’re a privileged bastard, Selden was saying. Shut it.
But Gryce didn’t get it.
“True, not everyone has a family like mine,” Gryce said with obvious pride and a complete lack of guile.
I thought I heard Selden groan. Jim rolled his eyes at me across the table.
“Or yours,” Gryce said, turning to me.
I was mortified to be implicated in his snobbery. My family may be old and decently well-off, but I detested talking about it. My three options whenever put in this situation depended on how much I liked the speaker. If I really liked the speaker I could 1) make a joke, preferably self-effacing, if I could think of something witty fast enough; if I didn’t know the speaker I often 2) changed the subject, which alerted everyone to my discomfort and usually put the topic aside permanently; or if I didn’t like the speaker I could 3) say absolutely nothing and let everyone marinate in the weird discomfort of the silence.
I chose option three.
The table was silent for two full beats before Gryce swallowed a bite of vegetable and then turned to Ellie.
“Ells knows what I’m talking about,” he said, and smiled adoringly at her. “How foraging makes one feel self-sufficient. Gives you pride in yourself. More people should do it.”
Ellie smiled a tight, close-lipped smile at him and nodded.
“These mushrooms are heaven,” Julia interrupted then in a forced cheery voice, spearing a mushroom on her fork. “Now, tell me again where you found them, P. G.” Excellent hostess that she was, she easily steered us back to calmer waters. “I’ve found blueberries, but never very many as the birds get them all.”
And Gryce was off recommending books and discussing bird nutrition. Dan mentioned his new binoculars, and the table was then on to a safe subject.
Selden got up from his seat and walked to Ellie with the third bottle of Perrier-Jouët to go around the table. He gestured toward her glass, and she shook her head. He frowned and leaned in close to whisper something in her ear.
“Just water,” Ellie said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Come on. Share a glass with me,” I thought I heard him murmur. The voice of Bacchus could not have been more seductive with its promise of pleasure and abandon. For an instant Ellie had a look in her eye that I hadn’t seen since we’d been living in New York.
“A taste,” I heard her say. Selden, I noticed, poured her glass to the rim. And then he set the bottle down next to her place with a jaunty wink behind his glasses.
I wondered at his forcing champagne on her. Surely he’d heard she’d had struggles. Perhaps it was Gryce’s priggishness that brought out the rebel in Selden.
Diana Dorset smiled a bright hateful smile at Ellie.
At first Gryce didn’t notice Ellie sipping. But midway through his polenta with special mushrooms, it became clear to everyone at the table that he kept a continual eye on Ellie’s diminishing glass.
When dinner was over, we sat in the living room for dessert. Ellie refilled her glass herself. I started to worry. The whole room was tense watching her.
I think Selden wanted to diffuse the tension. Because after Julia had served the apple pie, he left and came back with a polished ebony box.
“Treats?” Diana asked, animated for the first time since Ellie had come downstairs.
Selden opened the dugout to reveal a stash of very green, very fragrant marijuana and a narrow pipe—a one-hitter used for medicinal purposes—the instruments of an adept and tidy pothead. Was it me or had he directly looked at Gryce after he’d opened it?
“Who’ll smoke?” he asked.
I saw Viola and Gryce stiffen. The Dorsets were enthusiastic yeas. Gus Trenor eyed the pipe resignedly and Julia laughed. “I
On the one hand this was a rather flattering portrayal of Gryce’s family’s hoarding artifacts; on the other it implied Gryce had been handed his life on a silver platter. You’re a privileged bastard, Selden was saying. Shut it.
But Gryce didn’t get it.
“True, not everyone has a family like mine,” Gryce said with obvious pride and a complete lack of guile.
I thought I heard Selden groan. Jim rolled his eyes at me across the table.
“Or yours,” Gryce said, turning to me.
I was mortified to be implicated in his snobbery. My family may be old and decently well-off, but I detested talking about it. My three options whenever put in this situation depended on how much I liked the speaker. If I really liked the speaker I could 1) make a joke, preferably self-effacing, if I could think of something witty fast enough; if I didn’t know the speaker I often 2) changed the subject, which alerted everyone to my discomfort and usually put the topic aside permanently; or if I didn’t like the speaker I could 3) say absolutely nothing and let everyone marinate in the weird discomfort of the silence.
I chose option three.
The table was silent for two full beats before Gryce swallowed a bite of vegetable and then turned to Ellie.
“Ells knows what I’m talking about,” he said, and smiled adoringly at her. “How foraging makes one feel self-sufficient. Gives you pride in yourself. More people should do it.”
Ellie smiled a tight, close-lipped smile at him and nodded.
“These mushrooms are heaven,” Julia interrupted then in a forced cheery voice, spearing a mushroom on her fork. “Now, tell me again where you found them, P. G.” Excellent hostess that she was, she easily steered us back to calmer waters. “I’ve found blueberries, but never very many as the birds get them all.”
And Gryce was off recommending books and discussing bird nutrition. Dan mentioned his new binoculars, and the table was then on to a safe subject.
Selden got up from his seat and walked to Ellie with the third bottle of Perrier-Jouët to go around the table. He gestured toward her glass, and she shook her head. He frowned and leaned in close to whisper something in her ear.
“Just water,” Ellie said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Come on. Share a glass with me,” I thought I heard him murmur. The voice of Bacchus could not have been more seductive with its promise of pleasure and abandon. For an instant Ellie had a look in her eye that I hadn’t seen since we’d been living in New York.
“A taste,” I heard her say. Selden, I noticed, poured her glass to the rim. And then he set the bottle down next to her place with a jaunty wink behind his glasses.
I wondered at his forcing champagne on her. Surely he’d heard she’d had struggles. Perhaps it was Gryce’s priggishness that brought out the rebel in Selden.
Diana Dorset smiled a bright hateful smile at Ellie.
At first Gryce didn’t notice Ellie sipping. But midway through his polenta with special mushrooms, it became clear to everyone at the table that he kept a continual eye on Ellie’s diminishing glass.
When dinner was over, we sat in the living room for dessert. Ellie refilled her glass herself. I started to worry. The whole room was tense watching her.
I think Selden wanted to diffuse the tension. Because after Julia had served the apple pie, he left and came back with a polished ebony box.
“Treats?” Diana asked, animated for the first time since Ellie had come downstairs.
Selden opened the dugout to reveal a stash of very green, very fragrant marijuana and a narrow pipe—a one-hitter used for medicinal purposes—the instruments of an adept and tidy pothead. Was it me or had he directly looked at Gryce after he’d opened it?
“Who’ll smoke?” he asked.
I saw Viola and Gryce stiffen. The Dorsets were enthusiastic yeas. Gus Trenor eyed the pipe resignedly and Julia laughed. “I
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