The Dinner Party by Howard Fast

nonregistering faces whether she spoke of the clean, pure influence of the Shaker movement on American art or the fact that Sam Houston could quote the entire Iliad by heart. They were without history, ruling a country whose past was not simply a mystery but a handful of myths pasted on haze and confusion; and the senator could never be entirely sure that her devotion to his party was not simply a part of her contempt for the other party.
    â€œI’d like you to help me,” she said. It was as close to an apology as she could get, not an apology for what she had said but only for the manner in which she had said it. “The seating?”
    He nodded.
    â€œOh, you’re not speaking. Is it one of those days?”
    â€œI’m speaking. Of course I’ll help you. But the seating’s a small matter.”
    â€œAfter lunch—I’ll still have so much to do. If you could spend some time with Mother and Father?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œAnd maybe get to talk with Leonard. That would be so good, Richard. He’s seems so sad—I think there is something dreadfully wrong.”
    â€œOh, no, no. You worry too much about the kids. They both look wonderful.”
    â€œHow can you say they look wonderful. Do you ever really look at them?”
    â€œDolly,” he said tiredly, “if it were another day, I could take off to my office or whatever. Today I have to be here. Can we sidetrack this quarrel before it becomes irreversible.”
    â€œI don’t want to quarrel with you.”
    â€œAll right. I’m not an insensitive idiot, Dolly. I know there’s a wall between Leonard and myself. I know I built it. I don’t know how, but I made it, and I don’t know how to climb over it.”
    â€œWhy don’t you forget about walls and just go to him.”
    â€œYes,” he said, recalling the times he had tried. You don’t just forget about walls. They remain. “I’ll try.”
    When she defeated him, when she touched the nerve that deflated him entirely, leaving a tragic and lost man, a frightened man that the world never saw—then she would be filled with remorse and compassion, finding in this stressed, overweight middle-aged man someone that she had fallen in love with so long ago, someone more than just a memory.
    â€œYou mentioned the seating,” he said.
    â€œOh, yes. Well, I do need help. I had no idea he was bringing this Jones boy home with him. And now that he’s here—”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œTime was we could feed the kids in the breakfast room,” she said, almost wistfully.
    â€œWhat do you know about Jones?”
    â€œHe’s Leonard’s classmate at Harvard. Jones loves what he’s doing as much as Leonard hates it. Leonard’s in law school only to please you. You know that, don’t you?”
    â€œDon’t turn everything back on me, Dolly. I asked you about the black boy, Jones.”
    â€œOh, Richard, I’m sorry. Why do I do it? I don’t know. About Jones—try to remember his first name, Clarence. Leonard thinks he’s brilliant. Graduated cum laude. Very poor background. Did it with scholarships and such.”
    They had left the senator’s study now and were walking toward the dining room.
    â€œGood voice and good speech,” Dolly went on. “I think Leonard mentioned that he’s from North Carolina. I’m not worried. Be a good thing for our guests to break bread with a plain black kid who isn’t some overstuffed Uncle Tom on show for the voters.”
    â€œIt won’t hurt.”
    â€œI told Leonard that it was black tie, and he didn’t mind. He has an extra white jacket for Clarence, and they’re about the same size. But the seating …” They were in the dining room now.
    The dining room, as with the rest of the house, had been decorated by Dolly. She had decorated and furnished the entire house as, according