Read Online The Collected Stories of Lorrie Moore by Lorrie Moore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lorrie Moore
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he felt neither, then dumped everything on her kitchen table.
"Thank you," she said, and placed her hand on the small of his back. He was deeply attracted to her. There was nothing he could do about that.
"It smells good," he said. "You smell good." Some mix of garlic and citrus and baby powder overlaid with nutmeg. Her hand wandered down and stroked his behind. "I've got to run back out to the car and get the appetizer and the chair," he said, and made a quick dash. When he came back in, he handed her the appetizer—a dish of herbed olives (he knew nothing about food; someone at work had told him you could never go wrong with herbed olives: "Spell it out. H-e-r b-e-d. Get it?"). He then set the chair up at Zora's little dining table for two (he'd never seen one not set up for at least four). Zora looked brightly at him and whispered, "Are you ready to meet Bruny?"
Ready. He did not know precisely what she meant by that. It seemed that she had reversed everything, that she should be asking Bruno, or Bruny, if he was ready to meet
him
. "Ready," he said.
There was wavery flute-playing behind a closed door down the hallway. "Bruny?" Zora called. The music stopped. Suddenly a barking, howling voice called, "
What
?"
"Come out and meet Ira, please."
There was silence. Nobody moved at all for a very long time. Ira smiled politely. "Oh, let him play," he said.
"I'll be right back," Zora said, and she headed down the hall to Bruno's room, knocked on the door, then went in, closing it behind her. Ira stood there for a while, then he picked up the Screwpull, opened the bottle of wine, and began to drink. After several minutes, Zora returned to the kitchen, sighing, "Bruny's in a little bit of a mood." Suddenly a door slammed and soft, trudging footsteps brought Bruno, the boy himself, into the kitchen. He was barefoot and in a T-shirt and gym shorts, his legs already dark with hair. His eyebrows sprouted in a manly black V over the bridge of his nose. He was not tall but he was muscular, broad-shouldered, and thick-limbed. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall with weary belligerence.
"Bruny, this is Ira," Zora said. Ira put his wineglass down and extended his hand. Bruno unfolded his arms, but did not shake hands. Instead, he thrust out his chin and scowled. Ira picked up his wineglass again.
"Good to meet you. Your mother has said a lot of wonderful things about you."
Bruno looked at the appetizer bowl. "What's all this grassy gunk all over the olives." It was not really a question, so no one answered it.
Bruno turned back to his mother. "May I go back to my room now?"
"Yes, dear," Zora said. She looked at Ira. "He's practicing for the woodwind competition next Saturday. He's very serious."
When Bruno had tramped back down to his room, Ira leaned in to kiss Zora, but she pulled away. "Bruny might hear us," she whispered.
"Let's go to a restaurant. Just you and me. My salad's no good."
"Oh, we couldn't leave Bruno here alone. He's only sixteen."
"I was working in a steel factory when I was sixteen!" Ira decided not to say. Instead, he said, "Doesn't he have friends?"
"He's between social groups right now," Zora said defensively. "It's difficult for him to find other kids who are as intellectually serious as he is."
"We'll rent him a movie," Ira said. "Excuse me, a
film
. A foreign film, since he's serious. A documentary. We'll rent him a foreign documentary!"
"We don't have a VCR."
"You don't have a VCR?" At this point, Ira found the silverware and helped set the table. When they sat down to eat, Bruno suddenly came out and joined them. The spring spaghetti was tossed in a large glass bowl with grated cheese. "Just how you like it, Brune," Zora said.
"So, Bruno. What grade are you in?"
Bruno rolled his eyes. "Tenth," he said.
"So college is a ways off," Ira said, accidentally thinking out loud.
"I guess," Bruno said.
"What classes are you taking in school, besides music?" Ira asked,
"Thank you," she said, and placed her hand on the small of his back. He was deeply attracted to her. There was nothing he could do about that.
"It smells good," he said. "You smell good." Some mix of garlic and citrus and baby powder overlaid with nutmeg. Her hand wandered down and stroked his behind. "I've got to run back out to the car and get the appetizer and the chair," he said, and made a quick dash. When he came back in, he handed her the appetizer—a dish of herbed olives (he knew nothing about food; someone at work had told him you could never go wrong with herbed olives: "Spell it out. H-e-r b-e-d. Get it?"). He then set the chair up at Zora's little dining table for two (he'd never seen one not set up for at least four). Zora looked brightly at him and whispered, "Are you ready to meet Bruny?"
Ready. He did not know precisely what she meant by that. It seemed that she had reversed everything, that she should be asking Bruno, or Bruny, if he was ready to meet
him
. "Ready," he said.
There was wavery flute-playing behind a closed door down the hallway. "Bruny?" Zora called. The music stopped. Suddenly a barking, howling voice called, "
What
?"
"Come out and meet Ira, please."
There was silence. Nobody moved at all for a very long time. Ira smiled politely. "Oh, let him play," he said.
"I'll be right back," Zora said, and she headed down the hall to Bruno's room, knocked on the door, then went in, closing it behind her. Ira stood there for a while, then he picked up the Screwpull, opened the bottle of wine, and began to drink. After several minutes, Zora returned to the kitchen, sighing, "Bruny's in a little bit of a mood." Suddenly a door slammed and soft, trudging footsteps brought Bruno, the boy himself, into the kitchen. He was barefoot and in a T-shirt and gym shorts, his legs already dark with hair. His eyebrows sprouted in a manly black V over the bridge of his nose. He was not tall but he was muscular, broad-shouldered, and thick-limbed. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall with weary belligerence.
"Bruny, this is Ira," Zora said. Ira put his wineglass down and extended his hand. Bruno unfolded his arms, but did not shake hands. Instead, he thrust out his chin and scowled. Ira picked up his wineglass again.
"Good to meet you. Your mother has said a lot of wonderful things about you."
Bruno looked at the appetizer bowl. "What's all this grassy gunk all over the olives." It was not really a question, so no one answered it.
Bruno turned back to his mother. "May I go back to my room now?"
"Yes, dear," Zora said. She looked at Ira. "He's practicing for the woodwind competition next Saturday. He's very serious."
When Bruno had tramped back down to his room, Ira leaned in to kiss Zora, but she pulled away. "Bruny might hear us," she whispered.
"Let's go to a restaurant. Just you and me. My salad's no good."
"Oh, we couldn't leave Bruno here alone. He's only sixteen."
"I was working in a steel factory when I was sixteen!" Ira decided not to say. Instead, he said, "Doesn't he have friends?"
"He's between social groups right now," Zora said defensively. "It's difficult for him to find other kids who are as intellectually serious as he is."
"We'll rent him a movie," Ira said. "Excuse me, a
film
. A foreign film, since he's serious. A documentary. We'll rent him a foreign documentary!"
"We don't have a VCR."
"You don't have a VCR?" At this point, Ira found the silverware and helped set the table. When they sat down to eat, Bruno suddenly came out and joined them. The spring spaghetti was tossed in a large glass bowl with grated cheese. "Just how you like it, Brune," Zora said.
"So, Bruno. What grade are you in?"
Bruno rolled his eyes. "Tenth," he said.
"So college is a ways off," Ira said, accidentally thinking out loud.
"I guess," Bruno said.
"What classes are you taking in school, besides music?" Ira asked,
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