The Christmas Wedding - James Patterson [24]
“You see, one of the best things about reading is that you’ll always have something to think about when you’re not reading.
“Okay, try the same thing with the Jane Austen. But do me a favor: think of Pride and Prejudice as something meant to be funny. Pride and Prejudice is friggin’ funny.”
Someone yells out, “Yeah, man. Pride and Prejudice is just like Family Guy. Hope I don’t get the two of ’em confused.”
Marty says, “Hey, listen. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ll still think it’s boring. You don’t have to like everything. I’m that way. I’d rather have root canal than read A Tale of Two Cities, but give me another one of Dickens’s books, like Oliver Twist, and I’ll stay up all night.”
Now I’m thinking that I should have Marty go to every class in the school—from chemistry to shop to computer science—and give this talk. And I’m also thinking that I learned things about books and reading that I’d never thought of, and I’m also thinking that…that…my brother-in-law is just about the smartest person I know.
When the bell rings there’s a really big, really honest round of applause. Kids come up and pump Marty’s hand and pat him on the back. Tara Walsh asks again if there’s going to be a quiz. I think Tara is kidding.
I was on break after that class. So I brought Marty to the cafeteria and got him some awful coffee. Then we went outside and took a walk around the basketball court. I thanked him for coming. He told me it was nothing, a total pleasure. We circled the basketball court two more times. Marty put his arm around my shoulder.
I said to him that we probably looked like two middle-aged lovers.
He looked at me and said, “Maybe we are and we just don’t know it yet.”
Talk to you later, guys. See you on Christmas—soon.
When all will be revealed.
Chapter 27
GABY, STACEY LEE, TOM, MARTY, AND JACOB
JACOB HELD A SMALL, crisp piece of whole-grain ciabatta bread an inch from his mouth. On the ciabatta was a slice of foie gras. On top of the foie gras was a paper-thin layer of chocolate, and on top of the chocolate was the tiniest glob of jellied wine—a Sauternes.
“You look like a little kid about to take his cod-liver oil,” said Tom, who was wearing one of his old Flyers sweatshirts and still looked like a first-string athlete.
Jacob put the food in his mouth and cringed. Suddenly his fearful expression changed to one of almost dreamy ecstasy. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly. Finally he spoke.
“Now I know what the angels eat for dinner.”
“Wrong religion, Jacob,” said Marty. “But probably true.”
This was the food tasting and food testing for the wedding reception. Tough duty. They would be selecting from among several wines: red, white, sparkling. Stacey Lee had prepared twelve hors d’oeuvres, from which they were to choose four. She and Gaby had prepared eight entrees. Three of them were poultry—guinea hen with olives and capers; chicken breast with goat cheese; coq au vin with Riesling (“An old Lutèce thing that no one ever gets tired of,” Stacey Lee said). Another three were seafood—chunks of lobster between layers of puff pastry; wild sea bass with braised fennel; Cajun shrimp and crawfish with “careless dabs of red and black caviar.” Finally, there were two vegetarian dishes—a plate of miniature pattypan squash, miniature yellow squash, miniature lima beans, and miniature scallions (“I thought scallions were miniature onions to begin with,” said Marty) and homemade spinach fettuccine with a porcini sauce.
“These are the best twenty meals I ever ate at one sitting,” said Tom. “Just like the old training table in Philly.”
The men couldn’t get enough food. At one point Marty and Tom actually raised their voices over who got the last mouthful of sea bass. (They split it.)
“If the wedding’s half as good as the food tasting, then you’ve got a hit on your hands,” Marty said. “You and whoever. Whatever, whichever.”
The only problem was that they couldn’t come to an agreement about what should be eliminated from the final menu.
At that point—just when they were about