"Climbing out a bedroom window," George said.
"Was that it?" Jennifer smiled.
"Couldn't have been recently," Mark said.
Sandy staggered into the room, carrying a huge turkey in a roasting pan. She lowered it to the table as the regulars cheered. Sandy had worked in Deweys for years. She was popular—red-cheeked, oversized, hard-drinking, and tolerant. Another woman brought paper plates, plastic utensils, and a carving set. "Go for it," Sandy said.
"Where's the broccoli? " someone called. There was a chorus of boos.
Sandy and her helper made another trip to the kitchen, returning with garlic bread and an oversized bowl of salad. The group took turns hacking at the turkey. George and Mark argued about Giacometti.
George maintained that Giacometti was better than Picasso. Mark would have none of it. "All that angst! He never met a color he didn't like—cuz the color was always black. My God! I mean, for an Italian!"
"He was Swiss," Jennifer said.
"That explains it," Mark said.
"I love you," George said.