“I’m having a little get together Thursday night and you’re
welcomed to come,” my brother Denny said.
We were talking on the phone. I’d gotten back into Oklahoma
from Colombia and called him to say hello.
“A get together?” I said.
“Yes, I am an honorary member of a woman’s group. And it’s
my turn to host the monthly meeting. It’s all very informal. They all know each
other from networking. Somehow I got invited into the group. There will be six
or seven women.”
“They won’t mind if I show up?” I said.
“I think you’ll be safe. We can marinate some steaks with
Daddy Hinkle’s Marinade. I’ll be serving
my new house wine, Red Diamond.”
“I’ll stop by Sam’s Club and get some steaks and bring some
wine then.” I said.
“Thursday at seven,” he said. “I buy the wine by the case,
so you don’t need to bring wine, but get some croutons when you pick up the
steaks.”
I stopped and bought three packaged of sirloin and a big bag
of restaurant style croutons at Sam’s on the way out to my brother’s house in
South Tulsa. Two members of the group
had arrived before me.
Celeste was tall and only slightly overweight, attractive,
and blonde. Amanda was not as tall, looked to be fit, but not pretty. My
brother introduced me as the Colombian.
“You’re from Colombia?” Celeste said.
“My wife is Colombian. We live in Bogotá.” I said. “I just
got back. I only get to stay in Colombia half the time.”
“You leave your wife alone in Colombia?” Amanda said.
“I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” I laughed.
“I don’t think I could live like that,” Celeste said.
“My wife, the real Colombian, says she likes the idea of
five honeymoons a year,” I said.
“How long have you been married,” Amanda asked.
“Six years. Thirty honeymoons.” I laughed. “What about you
Amanda?”
“Divorced,” she said. “Two kids. One is just starting
College.”
“Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a kid in College,” I
said. “What about you Celeste.”
“Married, but no kids,” she said. “You call your wife the
Colombian?”
“Well, not always. Sometimes I call her Mi Vida, My Life or
Mi Amor. We don’t use our names unless we are angry.” I said.
“You only use your names when you’re mad?” Amanda said.
“I was joking, but lately we don’t use our names very often,
Amanda.” I laughed. “Almost never in the last couple of years.”
“You never use your names?”
“We are almost never angry, at least I’m not. I have learned
not to ask hard questions.” I laughed. “No griping and no nagging. The
Colombian told me she didn’t like sarcasm either.”
“You always do what your Colombian asked you to do?” Celeste
said.
“Well, she gives great incentive.” I laughed and reached for
the bottle of Red Diamond. “More wine, girls?”
The doorbell rang as I was refilling our glasses.
“I think the rest of our group has arrived,” Amanda said,
“but I want to know more about your wife, the Colombian.”
Three women walked into the kitchen. Denny introduced them. Soon
the newcomers had glasses of wine and were working to catch up to the rest of
us. We were all gathered around the big center island in the middle of Denny’s commercial
sized kitchen. He was marinating the sirloin in a large tray and the wooden
bowel he had set out was surrounded by the fixings for a Caesar salad.
“We’re having steaks courtesy of my brother and Caesar salad
for dinner. The grill is heating up, so when you all are ready, I’ll throw the
steaks on and make the salad. All the women raised their glasses and toasted
me. I stood in between Celeste and Amanda. Two of the late arrivals were
chatting at the end of the center island.
“I don’t think
it’s right to kill babies,” one of the women said raising her voice. She looked
to be the youngest of the group. “Abortion is wrong.”
“You don’t think
a woman has a right to control her own body?” her friend, a small, older woman,
asked her.
“Women need to
keep their legs together and not get pregnant in the first place,” She young woman
said. “If they do, the fetus has rights. Abortion is murder.”
“I don’t agree,”
the older woman said. “A woman should have a right to control her body inside
and out.”
“What do you
think?” the woman asked me.
“Me? Well, I
certainly don’t think women should keep their legs together.” I laughed. The
woman didn’t think I was so funny. I don’t
know if abortion is a good topic for me to get into, I thought.
“Seriously. . .
I think a lot of people have a problem with having an abortion, but a woman has
the right to make a decision for herself, except when it comes to opening her
legs.” I laughed again.
“It’s not a
joking matter,” the young woman told me.
“I don’t know about that, if I’m with her.” I laughed and
refilled my glass with merlot. It’s good
Denny buys the Red Diamond by the case, I thought.
“How long have you been a member of NOW,” I asked the young
woman.
“I can see why
your wife, the Colombian, needs a break and wants you to fly back to Oklahoma
once in a while.” Celeste said and finished off her third glass of Red Diamond.
“What about her rule of no sarcasm?”
“You’re right,”
I said and turned to the indignant young woman. “Please accept my most profound
apology.”
“You are going
to have to work on that no sarcasm business.” Celeste said. “Denny, break out a
couple more bottles of that house wine of yours and throw those steaks on the
grill.”
“I’ll help make
the salad,” I said.
.
