Peter Benchley - Jaws

“First of all, I think we should have Matt Hooper.”

“What for? He eats over at the Abelard, doesn’t he? It’s all included in the price of the room.”

“That’s not the point, Martin. You know that. He’s alone in town, and besides, he’s very nice.”

“How do you know? I didn’t think you knew him.”

“Didn’t I tell you? I ran into him in Albert Morris’s on Friday. I’m sure I mentioned it to you.”

“No, but never mind. It doesn’t make any difference.”

“It turns out he’s the brother of the Hooper I used to know. He remembered a lot more about me than I did about him. But he is a lot younger.”

“Uh-huh. When are you planning this shindig for?”

“I was thinking about tomorrow night. And it’s not going to be a shindig. I simply thought we could have a nice, small party with a few couples. Maybe six or eight people altogether.”

“Do you think you can get people to come on that short notice?”

“Oh yes. Nobody does anything during the week. There are a few bridge parties, but that’s about all.”

“Oh,” said Brody. “You mean summer people.”

“That’s what I had in mind. Matt would certainly feel at ease with them. What about the Baxters? Would they be fun?”

“I don’t think I know them.”

“Yes, you do, silly. Clem and Cici Baxter. She was Cici Davenport. They live out on Scotch. He’s taking some vacation now. I know because I saw him on the street this morning.”

“Okay. Try them if you want.”

“Who else?”

“Somebody I can talk to. How about the Meadows?”

“But he already knows Harry.”

“He doesn’t know Dorothy. She’s chatty enough.”

“All right,” said Ellen. “I guess a little local color won’t hurt. And Harry does know everything that goes on around here.”

“I wasn’t thinking about local color,” Brody said sharply. “They’re our friends.”

“I know. I didn’t mean anything.”

“If you want local color, all you have to do is look in the other side of your bed.”

“I know . I said I was sorry.”

“What about a girl?” said Brody. “I think you should try to find some nice young thing for Hooper.”

There was a pause before Ellen said, “If you think so.”

“I don’t really care. I just thought be might enjoy himself more if he had someone his own age to talk to.”

“He’s not that young, Martin. And we’re not that old. But all right: I’ll see if I can think of somebody who’d be fun for him.”

“I’ll see you later,” Brody said, and he hung up the phone. He was depressed, for he saw something ominous in this dinner party. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed — and the more he thought about it, the stronger the belief became — that Ellen was launching another campaign to reenter the world he had taken her from, and this time she had a lever with which to jimmy her way in: Hooper.

The next evening, Brody arrived home a little after five. Ellen was setting the dinner table in the dining room. Brody kissed her on the cheek and said, “Boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that silver.” It was Ellen’s wedding silver, a gift from her parents.

“I know. It took me hours to polish it.”

“And will you look at this?” Brody picked up a tulip wine glass. “Where did you get these?”

“I bought them at the Lure.”

“How much?” Brody set the glass down on the table.

“Not much,” she said, folding a napkin and placing it neatly beneath a dinner fork and salad fork.

“How much?”

“Twenty dollars. But that was for a whole dozen.”

“You don’t kid around when you throw a party.”

“We didn’t have any decent wine glasses,” she said defensively. “The last of our old ones broke months ago, when Sean tipped over the sideboard.”

Brody counted the places set around the table. “Only six?” he said. “What happened?”

“The Baxters couldn’t make it. Cici called. Clem had to go into town on some business, and she thought she’d go with him. They’re spending the night.” There was a fragile lilt to her voice, a false insouciance.

“Oh,” said Brody. “Too bad.” He dared not show that he was pleased. “Who’d you get for Hooper, some nice young chick?”

“Daisy Wicker. She works for Gibby at the Bibelot. She’s a nice girl.”

“What time are people coming?”

“The Meadows and Daisy at seven-thirty. I asked Matthew for seven.”

“I thought his name was Matt.”

“Oh, that’s just an old joke he reminded me of. Apparently, I used to call him Matthew when he was young. The reason I wanted him to come early was so the kids would have a chance to get to know him. I think they’ll be fascinated.”

Brody looked at his watch. “If people aren’t coming till seven-thirty, that means we won’t be eating till eight-thirty or nine. I’ll probably starve to death before then. I think I’ll grab a sandwich.” He started for the kitchen.

“Don’t stuff yourself,” said Ellen. “I’ve got a delicious dinner coming.”

Brody sniffed the kitchen aromas, eyed the clutter of pots and packages, and said, “What are you cooking?”

“It’s called butterfly lamb,” she said. “I hope I don’t do something stupid and botch it.”

“Smells good,” said Brody. “What’s this stuff by the sink? Should I throw it out and wash the pot?”

From the living room Ellen said, “What stuff?”

“This stuff in the pot.”

“What — omigod!” she said, and she hurried into the kitchen. “Don’t you dare throw it out.” She saw the smile on Brody’s face. “Oh, you rat.” She slapped him on the rear. “That’s gazpacho. Soup.”

“Are you sure it’s still okay?” he teased. “It looks all slimy.”

“That’s what it’s supposed to look like, you clot.”

Brody shook his head. “Old Hooper’s going to wish he ate at the Abelard.”

“You’re a beast,” she said. “Wait till you taste it. You’ll change your tune.”

“Maybe. If I live long enough.” He laughed and went to the refrigerator. He rummaged around and found some bologna and cheese for a sandwich. He opened a beer and started for the living room. “I think I’ll watch the news for a while and then go shower and change,” he said.

“I put clean clothes out for you on the bed. You might shave, too. You have a hideous five o’clock shadow.”

“Good God, who’s coming to dinner — Prince Philip and Jackie Onassis?”

“I just want you to look nice, that’s all.”

At 7.05, the door bell rang, and Brody answered it. He was wearing a blue madras shirt, blue uniform slacks, and black cordovans. He felt crisp and clean. Spiffy, Ellen had said. But when he opened the door for Hooper, he felt, if not rumpled, at least outclassed. Hooper wore bell-bottom blue jeans, Weejun loafers with no socks, and a red Lacoste shirt with an alligator on the breast. It was the uniform of the young and rich in Amity.

“Hi,” said Brody. “Come in.”

“Hi,” said Hooper. He extended his hand, and Brody shook it.

Ellen came out of the kitchen. She was wearing a long batik skirt, slippers, and a blue silk blouse. She wore the string of cultured pearls Brody had given her as a wedding present. “Matthew,” she said. “I’m glad you could come.”

“I’m glad you asked me,” Hooper said, shaking Ellen’s hand. “I’m sorry I don’t look more respectable, but I didn’t bring anything down with me but working clothes. All I can say for them is that they’re clean.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Ellen. “You look wonderful. The red goes beautifully with your tan and your hair.”