“I had a haircut.”
“Taste the sauce.”
He tasted it with the wooden spoon.
“C’est pas trop chaud pour toi?” she said.
“I thought you had forgotten French.”
“Dis moi de la sauce.”
“It’s good.”
The light of the paper lanterns, which swung slowly in the breeze, flickered on her face. Her dark eyes were bright and cheerful. Her arm brushed against him and he wished they were alone and not at the party. He opened a beer and drank out of the bottle. She took a sip and turned the chickens on the grill. The grease dripped down into the fire and sputtered on the coals. Wally came over with a highball glass in his hand.
“Hi, fellow. What did you bring?” he said.
“Dago red. Would you like some?”
“There’s a bottle of Vat 69 upstairs in the cabinet,” Suzanne said.
“Were you speaking French?”
“I don’t know any French,” Avery said.
“Seriously. Can you speak French?”
“We were practicing our Church Latin. We’re thinking of taking holy orders,” Avery said.
“That’s right. You are a Catholic, aren’t you? Denise told me. I say, have you read any of Joyce?”
“Why don’t you get another highball, Wally?” Suzanne said.
“What do the Jesuits think of Joyce?”
“I didn’t go to school under the Jesuits,” Avery said.
“You look like a Jesuit. Melancholy eyes and that sort of thing.”
“For heaven’s sake, Wally. Get a highball,” Suzanne said.
“I’ve been doing some work on the Trinity theme in Ulysses. I think Joyce was actually orthodox in his Catholicism. Tell me, do Catholics really have to accept all of the Nicene Creed?”
“I’m not Catholic,” Avery said.
“Suzanne’s roommate told me you were.”
“Wally, go upstairs and get the Scotch. I’d like a drink, too,” Suzanne said.
“I’m sure there’s a relation between the Trinity and the Bloom family.”
“Who is the Bloom family?” Avery said.
“Isn’t it true that you’re Catholic?”
“No.”
“You are, aren’t you, Suzanne?” Wally said. “Once in a while.”