Read Online Menage by Alix Kates Shulman - Free Book Online Page A

room while I bring the bags.”
    She led Zoltan to the study, where the last rays of sunset cast a brick-gold glow on the ivory walls.
    â€œThis will be your room—if it suits you.”
    Zoltan stopped and slowly turned to take in the grand view, the bouquet of mums and asters on the desk, the laptop, thesaurus, dictionary. “If!” he repeated, as the clenched fist of his life seemed to open into airy opportunity.
    Heather began opening drawers and doors, like a hotel porter, displaying the bureau, the closet. “This sofa converts to a bed. I hope it’s long enough for you,” she said, taking in his body, immediately embarrassed at her words.
    â€œI’m sure it’s perfect. Thank you.”
    She led him into the sparkling bathroom with its fresh towels and small bowl of floating mums. “This is your bath.”
    â€œMy own?”
    â€œYes. Mack used to be known for his bathrooms,” she tossed off amiably.
    â€œSplendid, splendid.”
    â€œDownstairs near us there’s a guest room larger than this, but you’d have to share a bathroom with the children and our cat. This room may be small but it has the better view.”
    At MacDowell too there were trade-offs, Zoltan recalled. One cabin was small but had a porch; another was a long walk from the main house but had a large picture window; one was drafty, another cozy, another had a flagstone fireplace. “Yes, view is splendid.”
    Mack puffed in, carrying all three suitcases, and set them heavily on the floor. “Well? Will it do?”
    â€œI hardly know what to say,” said Zoltan.
    â€œThen don’t say anything. Come on, babe. Let’s let Zoltan wash up. He’s probably exhausted from the trip.”
    Mack wrapped his arm around Heather’s waist to guide her toward the door, but she quickly slipped out of his embrace.
    â€œCAN I SERVE?” ASKED Chloe when Heather began ladling soup into bowls.
    â€œCan I?” asked Jamie.
    â€œNot the soup,” whispered Heather. “It spills. Later, maybe.”
    For several minutes the smooth soup of white beans and cress was ingested in contented silence. “Splendid soup,” said Zoltan finally, inaugurating a slow blur of table talk.
    Every time Zoltan spoke, Chloe, seated beside her mother, stared at him with widened eyes. His beard, his accent, and his daring to leave chunks of bread on the table, kept her silent and rapt. “Soup okay?” whispered Heather, to remind her daughter of its existence. But no soup could begin to compete with the absorbing stranger talking to her father, and despite sporadic efforts, Chloe barely ate, failing to respond even to Jamie’s rhythmic under-table kicks.
    With the main course (roast lamb accompanied by fettuccine with a lemon-flavored sauce copied from a restaurant in Rome, and olive bread, to be followed by a salad of baby greens) came the main topic. Zoltan dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin, European style, and began. “I will try to be as little trouble as possible. You probably won’t see me till late afternoon.”
    â€œNonsense, Zoltan, if you’ll pardon me,” interrupted Mack, refilling the wineglasses. “We want you to feel at home here, just like any member of the family. Consider it your house. Right, Heather? When you’re ready for breakfast, you’ve got to go into the kitchen and have it. Or whatever. Otherwise, we’ll all be tiptoeing around each other. No, we’ve got to act like an ordinary family; that’s the only way it’s going to work. There’s plenty of room here so no one has to get in anyone’s way. I’m gone every day by eight anyway, sometimes earlier, and the kids are up then too. So don’t worry about disturbing anyone. We want it to be completely relaxed. Isn’t that right, Heather?”
    â€œI’m sure he doesn’t get up at eight o’clock, Mack. Do