Bottle Green Daffodil

Chapter 7: Houdini

The achievers took the window seat of a family restuarant. Its classy decor- muted lights, wooden furnishings- suited the family gathering prompted by a celebratory occassion. So they did what any family would do: they ate, they drank, cracked clumsy jokes and congratulated the youngest lot for her new job. Infact, the first adult job bereft of serving coffee and taking orders from customers.

"Your old man," Mitsh Wolowitz said for the third time that evening "is so proud of you. So proud."

"Thanks, Paps." Israel wondered whether the repetition was an assurance to himself that he indeed was proud of her working in the lowest strata of marketing team of a conglomerate.  

Everybody looked happy.

To her left sat her mother and sister, each a young and old version of one another, colours creeping in their cheek, a shade of scarlet enhancing their features. Beside her was her father, his bumbling laughter earning curious glances from other diners. Slicked back hair, a crown of salt and pepper displayed with grace, face clean shaved, dinner jacker picked carefully to match the trousers he wore, these details borne in her mind and Israel knew how eager he must've been for today's dinner.

"Thank you very much," Israel repeated again.

"My grandmother would be outraged at the price of these dishes. 'Thirty pounds for five spoon of soup? No, thank you, mister.'" It was the humour and compliments passed generously by a potential future member which cheered the Wolowitzs more than Israel's recent employment.

Alexander Hassle, the outsider, was somehow at the family dinner and stole her thunder.

The others laughed at the imitation of a squeaky voice, possibly belonging to his grandmother. Israel played along. She opened her mouth, bared the pink of her tongue and said, "Ha, ha, ha."

There wasn't much she could do. Not when the evening championed him, spotlight drew towards him, his words hooking and enchanting the audience. Israel's audience. Israel's fickle audience.

"My graduat---"

"By the way, you've raised lovely daughters, Mr. and Mrs. Wolowitz."

Once again Alexander's words swallowed Israel's. It emerged victorious and cheered his audience.

"You are a fine gentleman, Alexander." Rebecca smiled. It wasn't the kind of smile she flashed regularly to her clients while showing them one house after another. The smile was gentle and... genuine. Her mother approved of him.

"I'll let my mother know about it. She thinks I'm a sod. Told me she would swim across the English Channel and go back to Sweden the day someone thought I was refined."

Chuckles applauded his story.

Sheba squeezed her beau's hand. A glow of contentment was on her face. She'd never looked at such peace.

Israel emptied her glass of wine and poured some more, wondering how long it would take before the food arrived. Noticing Alexander, who sat across her, and his observing eyes counting the glasses of wine she consumed, she smiled at him. It was of mockery and spite; to tell him that she could damn as well do what she pleased. His connections with Wolowitzs extended only upto Sheba.

Romantic atmosphere sidelined the senile atmosphere with the onset of an old French song playing in the stereos, hidden behind the wooden panelling and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

"Que me pas, que me pas," the male voice crooned into the speakers reaching out to every ears in the room, its melody and incomprehensive words vying for attention.