April (24 page)

Barak uncoiled and stretched with his hand above him, but stopped on tiptoe and came back down.

"Looks good, now go ahead on my call and actually leave the deck enough to get your foot stretched out behind you."

Barak crouched down and his mom said, "OK – now," keying the camera and a green light lit on top of it. He uncoiled deceptively slow in the half G, but gracefully left the ground and trailed his foot behind him extended. His hand reached up ready to grasp

"Per-fect," Sylvia said slowly. She hit a few keys showing the motion even slower than life, although it already had a floating quality in half G.  She tapped a key three times, as he reached full extension on the screen.  The three frozen screens displayed and she thoughtfully picked one and brought it to a full size. The branch and olives looked to be overhead in the image, but she surrounded them with a sweep of the cursor and moved them to the right a little and stopped looking at it.

"It needs to be a little more elusive Mom," Heather offered. "It looks too easy right now. You want the sense it is going to be barely within his reach to get his finger tips on them."

"You're right," Sylvia agreed and shifted the branch back a little higher, Then she drew a line through Barak's image from reaching hand to trailing foot and told the computer by voice,

"Elongate on this axis two percent." She considered the image a moment and said, "Again, another one percent."

"Why did you do that?" Barak asked from beside his Mom.

"Because someone's too fat," she said, pinching a generous fold of skin beside his belly button securely between finger and thumb, while his attention was on the screen. He jumped back a lot harder than he had on camera with an indignant squeal.

"It's a wrap." She admitted. "You can go shower to get the makeup off and we'll have supper."

He took off without having to be told twice, still holding his hand protectively over the ticklish spot.

"So will this be a big carved glass panel, like the Heron in the entryway?" April wondered.

"Yes, there's a Lebanese gentleman who is getting six panels like this, which will be around his dining room with back lighting. Supposedly this one is celebrating his carefree youth. Knowing what Lebanon was like when he was growing up, I'm pretty sure it is pure fantasy, but he's the one paying for it," she said with a big smile.

"How in the world do you sell something like this?" April asked.

"If you mean - How do you let go of it after pouring all your heart into it? It isn't easy some times. If you mean - How do you market it? Most of them are done on a commission. Usually by word of mouth. The Lebanese fellow buying these came to us because he had been the guest of a Saudi Prince, who had twelve panels in his bedrooms celebrating his devotion to his wives." Her eye rolling expression and emphasis on devotion made clear they were probably pretty risqué.

"The Saudi actually came up and visited, to see some of my work before he commissioned me and we had him to supper just like we're having you tonight. He made it quite clear there was room for a few more panels, if Heather wanted to go back home with him, but she missed her big chance." Heather was blushing and said indignantly; "This was two years ago! So I was only a year older than April is and the old goat was all smiley with me and ready to add me to his harem just as casually as if he was buying another panel. It wouldn't have bugged me so much," she told April, "but my mom thought it was hilarious."

"In a few years you'll look back on it from my age and realize how much it bugged me, that if he was in the market he didn't even consider me while you were in the room. It wasn't exactly a big ego builder. He may be a real old pervert from our cultural view, but base line is everybody likes to be considered attractive, no matter what the cultural perspective. So you have to at least give him credit for finding you "delightful". Beats him asking politely what happened to the kid's face and can they fix it?"

"You mean he bought a shuttle ticket, basically just to come
shopping
here?" April asked. She was thinking what kind of money was casually implied. A subject change was good too, to get Heather away from her indignation.

"Oh, this fellow doesn't have to buy a ticket. He has a four seat Scaled Composites LiteLifter and a pilot, but he can sit the right seat himself. Since he was up anyway, he went over to New Las Vegas for a few days when he left here. He is the sort of fellow who could lose or make as much gambling as he spent on the panels and it wouldn't mean anything to him. Don't worry, we made sure he paid enough."

April was impressed. There were perhaps two hundred private pleasure craft, which could make orbit or do ballistic flights to other points on Earth. It took serious money and connections to own one.

"But let's get some supper and then I understand you want to see something Jeff is working on. Heather, why don't you two get some tomatoes and send Jeff to set the table?"

Heather lead April past Jeff and sent him on a mission to the kitchen. It was hard not to stop and look at their project on the bench, but Heather kept right on walking to the area set behind clear plastic film, where the ceiling curved down toward the floor. April dumped her box of laser heads on the bench and hurried after her. She peeled back a section of film and touched a corner to a tacky spot which held it.

April could see some of the plants were in individual bags. In fact some individual big tomatoes were sitting on some sort of gauze cushions. She spread a zip seal seam running up the side of the nearest and reached inside to take a couple huge beefsteak tomatoes off the vine. April would have expected her to cut them off, but she pulled them off with a twisting, rocking motion. and they readily separated

"We bag some of them, because they are gene mod to respond well to a high CO2 atmosphere. See the little plastic tubes going in the corner of the sack? It keeps a steady slow flow of fresh gas and the outgoing gas has the ethylene and some other things removed. The little grow lights above each plant ramp up during the night, when our regular lights are off. They make a night light too."

She handed a couple of the fruit to April and got a couple more before sealing the bag and curtain back shut. She led the way back to the kitchen and April saw Jeff was efficiently setting the table. He seemed at home and knew where everything was. That gave her the impression he must spend a great deal of time here.

Heather washed the tomatoes explaining what she was doing and April suddenly realized she was being instructed. She might be set to work on another visit, doing this task just as Jeff was setting the table. Rather than making her feel less than company, she was surprised to find it make her feel accepted. Heather pulled a long chef's knife from a rack and sliced the tomatoes with easy single strokes. The way the edge passed through the skin with no indentation or hesitation, made it obvious the edge was very sharp.

The tomatoes were such a deep dark red they almost had a purple tone. Heather put them on individual serving plates as she cut and then misted them from a container of olive oil. This led to a deep discussion of the merits of various grades of oil, which continued on even as she ground fresh pepper onto the oiled slices. The final touch was a dollop of fresh soft cheese sprinkled with herbs, on the center of each slice. They both carried the platters to the table.

Everything came together with good timing, as Sylvia set a big bowl of lightly oiled spaghetti and a bowl of sauce on the table. Barak had rejoined them now and was putting butter and some small loaves of bread on each end of the table. It was the biggest private kitchen table April had seen on M3. Her home with her parents was considered large, but their table was full up at four and really cramped to force six. Most folks had a fold down, like they had used at Jeff's place, which went back up out of the way when it wasn't needed.

This table look like it could seat eight very comfortably and it had a seam running through it the short dimension, which she suspected would allow an extra section to be inserted. It was nearly as big as the table she remembered in the Holiday Inn. The napkins Jeff was putting out were cloth and the utensils have an odd mellow glow to them.

"What kind of metal are these?" She asked, picking up a fork and examining it. It was heavier than she expected, even in the half G.

"It's silverware April," Heather explained. "It really is actual sterling silver, instead of stainless steel like most are."

Sylvia sat without any announcement. She caught April's eye and patted the table at her left, to indicate April should sit there and Barak sat next down the table from her. Heather sat across with Jeff beside, opposite Barak. Sylvia started putting pasta on deep plates and sending them around the table. April was surprised it was bare.

When her mom made pasta she mixed the sauce in the common bowl, but Sylvia sent the bowl of sauce around, for each of them to put on their dish. It was totally unfamiliar looking. Not red like she expected, but creamy. She copied Heather in how much she took, but when she was passed a small bowl of grated cheese it seemed terribly pungent to her and she just put a small spoonful to one edge of the dish, where she could avoid it if she didn't like it.

Another dish came around with olives which were a glossy brown with wrinkles, unlike the black or green ones she was used to. She put several beside her tomato as Heather did. She noticed Jeff make a full ring of them around his slice. Sylvia poured a dark wine into a plain glass from a carafe, for herself and Heather, but she saw Barak had a glass of some pale juice and Jeff had a plain glass of ice water.

"Do you care to try some wine with dinner April?" Sylvia asked.

Earthside that was far too dangerous a thing to offer a minor, even within one's family. Neighborhood Defenders might pry the secret out younger siblings, or a random test at school might reveal the alcohol use the next day.

"When my folks served wine I haven't cared for it." She admitted. "It's usually too sour for me. I'll try just a tiny taste if you would. Don't waste too much on me."

Sylvia smiled. "Never sour, or we throw the bottle out for having gone to vinegar. The word you are looking for is too
dry
. She splashed just a little in a glass and offering it said, "See what you think."

April took a sip, but it made her pucker. "Sorry," she said, "too strong for me."

"Now try something else," Sylvia suggested. "Take a few bites of your pasta," she said, spinning a ball of it on the end of her fork with a few casual twists held against her spoon and popped it in her mouth.

April just stared in dismay. She had been about to start cutting her spaghetti into manageable lengths so she could eat it with a spoon or fork. She suspected that would make her look like a little kid here. "Do it again." She asked. "I've never seen anyone do anything but cut it up."

Barak spoke up on her left. Obviously happy he knew something an older person didn't. "Like this," he said deftly catching a few strands against the spoon and with a few twists of the fork had a neat little ball which he stuck in his mouth, all pleased with himself.

April tried the same, self-conscious with everyone staring at her. The method worked well enough, but she had started with too many strands and had about three times as much on her fork as the others. Jeff made a loud comment, "Whoa - delicate little appetite."

Everyone else joined in, hooting and laughing at her first try. She defiantly stuffed the whole thing in her mouth making a face at him. They patiently waited while she was chewing away on the massive bite. Finally she got it clear without choking to death and said, "What's wrong anyway? Aren't I dainty enough for you?" He was wiping tears away laughing so she did another bite, everyone still staring at her and managed to do better, if still on the big side. Jeff just started clapping and they all joined in applauding her initiation.

"This is fantastic stuff!" she exclaimed. "What in the world is in it?" The embarrassment had taken her attention, but on the second bite she started to pay attention to the food and it was shockingly rich and full of flavors she did not recognize. While she got a third bite spun up Sylvia explained.

"It's very simple really. A cream sauce with crushed pistachios and pine nuts and a little hint of garlic and fresh herbs from the garden." April took the new forkful from the spot with the cheese. "That's amazing!" she said. "How can anything so stinky taste so good?" She immediately realized it couldn't be very diplomatic and apologized. "I'm sorry. It's rude to say something so unappreciative when I'm your guest."

No, no it's really OK," Sylvia said. And her smile said she meant it. "You wouldn't want to sit and eat the Romano with a spoon. It's way too strong a flavor. But now, see how the wine is the same way. You have the sauce flavor in your mouth now, so just take a sip of the wine and see if it isn't easier to take than before."

April was willing to believe, after the other revelations so she took a sip. "You're right. It tastes much sweeter now and the contrast is really good. It makes me want to go back and get the taste of the sauce again."

"Exactly. You say it 'cleanses the palate'. Otherwise the taste of the sauce gets a bit old, before you can work your way through a whole plate."

Jeff tore one of the small round loaves apart and passed the butter to her. She spread it generously. She knew for sure it was one thing she really liked. The crust was thick and chewy. She applied herself with a will and was doing fine, until she popped one of the olives into her mouth and bit into it with enthusiasm.

Her teeth bore down on an unexpected hardness and she made an involuntary "Umm!" It made them all look at her. "Sorry, there's something hard in it," she protested. Sure she was in the right this time. They roared with laughter all over again and she asked, "You mean I've done it again? There's
supposed
to be something hard in it?"

"Honest April," Heather said, obviously trying to be conciliatory, "we're not trying to make fun of you. Not in a mean way anyway. It's all new to you and we are so used to it we didn't think to tell you. It's just a pit. It's the seed in the olive, like a peach or plum. It's just they don't always remove them, like the ones you get in a salad at the cafeteria, or in the green ones where they stuff pimento in the hole."