Page 38 of People Skills

‘No. No. For starters, the mark she was fighting over was a B. It’s not like I was failing. And I deserved the B. I wrote a very B-grade poem.’

‘She was at school fighting over a mark you got for a poem?’

‘Yes. A poetry elective. Now you understand how this might have undercut the cool-guy image I was trying to cultivate.’

‘You were doing a poetry elective, and you thought you were cultivating a cool-guy image?’

He laughs. ‘I did! I was fourteen and trying to be an intellectual who looks like he could also be reasonably good at sport. It’s a niche. The cool guy who has deep feelings he can only express through art.’

‘A niche I learned the hard way must be avoided at all costs,’ I say.

He looks like he’s going to ask me a question about my dating life, so I hurry the conversation on. ‘So why did she think your poem deserved higher than a B?’

‘Because she’s my mother. She said it showed an understanding of human emotion far beyond my years, and my teacher thought it showed I had a very loose grasp of grammar.’

‘Wow. And did the teacher change your mark?’

‘Bumped it up to a B+ because Hillary is a public figure they wanted to appease.’

‘That is embarrassing.’

‘I banned her from ever coming to school after that. Of course the next year she gave a talk to my journalism elective.’

‘And how was she?’

‘She was great. All the girls loved her, and my reputation recovered somewhat.’

‘There you go.’

‘All I’m saying is she can steamroll over people.’

‘As her personal assistant, I am aware of that.’

‘Well, if you ever need someone to vent to, someone who understands, I’m here.’

‘Thank you. But I can handle it myself.’ She respects me, I want to say, but that sounds pathetic. But I believe it. Or maybe I need to believe it to do my job. I am not just some lackey, running around doing her little chores, picking up her dog’s shit. I am an important and valued member of her team. And being her assistant, I see not just steamrolling Hillary but also the more vulnerable Hillary. But that’s private.

‘I know you can handle it,’ he says.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I’ve seen how you’re handling me,’ he says, smiling into his glass as he takes a sip.

Simone is back in front of us now. ‘How’s the wine?’ she asks.

‘Good,’ I say.

‘Let me know when you’re ready for another glass.’ She puts a plate of stuffed vine leaves down between us. ‘Here, try these for me. Dolmades. I am debating whether to add them to the menu. They might be too Greek for this town.’ She’s given us each a knife and fork, but still, sharing a little plate brings the date-like energy back.

I cut one of the dolmades in half, and we both dutifully taste it.

‘Amazing,’ I say. ‘Ten out of ten.’

Simone grins at me. ‘You’re an easy marker,’ she says.

‘I’m not,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I only give the wine a nine and three-quarters.’

‘So good,’ Xavier says to Simone. ‘What’s in them?’