SS Glasgow Castle 5 Chapter Five

As usual, we spent Christmas with Donna's family, whose members tended to become religious on designated holidays. I had my job cut out acting as if I was confident about finding another job, which I wasn't. It was either an excellent effort or a wasted one; no one seemed to care. Donna's family was deeply into the life, death, and impending burial of an aunt called Consuela, who had inconveniently expired the day before Christmas. There was also the question of what would become of Consuela's Floridian condo; she hadn't left a will. It was a fascinating problem for all those gathered at the Christmas table.

It certainly wouldn't have been better to spend Christmas with my family. My father is a former sailor and rarely utters more than twenty words a day, maybe forty if he's had a couple of drinks. My mother is similarly outspoken; they're true Scandinavians, with their ability to sit there in silence and make the air buzz. My younger brother Todd is positively extroverted by comparison, but he thinks I'm a bit of a pansy, p.u.s.s.y-whipped by Donna to be quite blunt, and anyway it's not one of those instances of undying brotherly love. Todd's a professional hockey player; not a great star, but not an unknown either. Once in a while, he gets himself into a group shot on the sports pages of national newspapers, waving his stick in celebration of a goal he hadn't scored. He's a bachelor, and has no idea of what goes on in married life.

You may suspect I'm the kind of guy who asks his wife's permission to go to the can. It's not true. For instance, I'll reveal that this particular year, it was I who had made the plans for New Year's Eve. I'd bought tickets to a bash at a good club, and was hoping to spring a little surprise on Donna. I knew she would only remember about New Year's Eve during Christmas week, and then bring the subject up together with a couple of names of people who were throwing a party. That would be when I'd wave the tickets: surprise, surprise.

As it happened, we practically had no personal contact until Christmas was over. Donna's father retired to a palatial house in the so-called country, and we'd been staying there for three very long days. The daily seance at the food-laden table took around six hours, on the average, and preparations for this grand event took up the whole morning. The evenings were spent in what was called the family room, where I sulked silently in a corner with a gla.s.s of sweet sherry while Donna and her family discussed aunt Consuela's condo, uncle Alberto's liver, young Fabio's tendency to get caught speeding with a fat joint sticking out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket, and other subjects of family interest.

The rich food and the sherry usually knocked me out by ten, at which time the conversation was just starting to get lively. I would retire politely and sleep like a log for ten hours; by the time I woke up, Donna would have been and gone – she got up at seven to help with the ongoing battle in the kitchen.

The trouble began the moment we'd finished unpacking the trunkful of food that we'd been obliged to take home. Donna poured herself a gla.s.s of Dubonnet, lit one of her toy cigarettes and said:

"Well, you really outdid yourself this time."

"Could I have a drink, too?"

"Sure. Go ahead and help yourself. You didn't mind helping yourself the last three days. You must have gone through at least two bottles of Bristol Cream."

"Jesus Christ," I said, and went to the bar and poured myself a big Scotch. Donna frowned.

"That's just like you, to blaspheme two days after Christmas."

"Don't get Catholic on me, Donna," I said. I mean, she doesn't even go near a church on Sundays. I took a hefty swig from my gla.s.s, forgetting that I hadn't put in any ice.

"Could you elaborate on what you meant by saying I really outdid myself?" I asked, when I could speak again.

Donna snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous. You know very well what I meant. Sitting there with a face like thunder and swigging sherry like, like a homicidal lumberjack in a backwoods bar."

"I don't think homicidal lumberjacks drink sherry," I said. "I apologize for the face. But that was because I was dying of boredom. If only anyone took the trouble to talk to me - "

"They didn't talk to you because you were sitting there with that face."

There was no answer to that one. I drank some more whiskey and took a deep breath.
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"I'm sorry," I said. There was another, muted snort.

"I just hope things will work out better at the party," she said.

"What party?"

"New Year's Eve. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

I took a deep breath. I seemed to need lots of oxygen.

"Donna," I said, "You never told me about any party."

"I did."

I had the absolute, total certainty she was trying to pull a fast one. I don't forget stuff like that; but Donna does, and that makes her think everyone else does, too.

"You didn't. And anyway, I've made plans for us for New Year's Eve. I've bought tickets to a ball at a club."

"A club? And what the h.e.l.l are we going to do at a club?"

"We could dance," I said.

Donna laughed.

"Oscar," she said, "You dance like a disabled ape."

That did it.

"You nasty little b.i.t.c.h," I said.