The Little Clan by Iris Martin Cohen

Author:Iris Martin Cohen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Park Row Books
Published: 2018-02-08T14:44:00+00:00

12

By the time they arrived upstairs, the crowd, no longer contained within the library, spilled into the hallway, rolling like lava. The noise had increased exponentially, and Ava, as she pushed between sweaty backs and laughing faces, was taken aback by the enthusiastic din. A man, a peony wilting in his lapel, tapped her on the arm. “Isn’t it just too Gatsby in here for words?” A woman in a party dress shrieked with delight. Ava smiled politely, glancing back to make sure Ben was following. He looked besieged and wielded the case of wine in his arms as if to ward off the clamor. Seeing that she was watching, he managed a weak smile. Everyone was smoking, and a thick anachronistic haze floated above the party. The windows were open, but the warm summer night disdained to enter, and the heat was intolerable. From across the room she heard George’s quavering baritone singing “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag.” She looked around for Stephanie, noticing empty and half-full cups on every surface.

As she followed the singing, she passed Aloysius gesticulating plaintively at Sam Bates. “I mean, the way people talk about the club, it’s like they don’t even know that W.E.B. Dubois once gave a talk here and even had lunch in the club dining room—well, maybe not in the dining room exactly, but pretty near it, I believe,” he said earnestly. Mrs. Bellamy hovered nearby watching Aloysius suspiciously. Sam Bates looked stupefied. Ava was pretty sure he wasn’t ever coming back.

They found George, and Ben deposited the case of wine at his feet with a rattle. “George, what is going on in here? It’s crazy,” Ava asked, horrified.

“We’re a long way from Sunnyside,” he agreed gleefully. George had lost his jacket, and his tie hung loose around his neck. He held out a bottle for her inspection. “The liquor guy showed up right after you left.”

“Marshmallow-flavored vodka? Are you serious?” A ring of crystals lined the neck of the bottle. “That looks vile.”

“They’ve already been through nine bottles of it.” He swung an arm at the room. “You may think it looks like something for Russian oligarchs, but this gang can’t get enough.” He drained the last of a clear liquid from his cup and grimaced. “It’s not that bad.” He took the bottle back to refill his glass and those of two giggling young women who appeared at his elbow. “Ladies.”

“Who’s behind the bar? And where’s Stephanie?”

“I haven’t seen her. Rodney’s bartending. Apparently my mores were not up to his professional standards, which is funny because it’s not like we even have anything to mix with this swill.” He took another swig and rolled it around his mouth. “It’s like the taste of a Tampa debutante.”

“How would you know?”

“Every Jew can dream, can’t he?”

Someone yelled compliments at someone else farther across the room. “Have people been complaining about all this noise?” Ava asked. “Club members?”

“Nonstop.” George nodded, pointing at Mrs. Bellamy who was in fact now yelling something angrily at Aloysius.

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