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“Magna cum laude, I might add,” Marian cut in.
“—and for the past two years I’ve been working for an art consultancy.”
“The top art consultancy in world,” Marian added.
“Art consultancy—what exactly does that mean?” Rosemary asked.
“Lucie’s got the most important job in the world. She tells rich social climbers what art to buy,” Freddie said, chewing on his noodles.
“That’s not accurate at all, Freddie. I help collectors acquire and build their art collections in a meaningful way.”
“By telling them what to buy, they’ll get photos of their houses into all the right magazines, hang out with the right crowd, get into all the right clubs, so their kids can go to the right schools, work for the right companies, marry the right people, have the right sort of babies, and repeat the cycle,” Freddie added.
“That’s a very cynical view of the world, Freddie,” Lucie said.
“It’s your world, Lucie.”
“And it isn’t yours? How many eating clubs do you belong to at Princeton again?”
“Stop it, you two! Freddie’s just being a provocateur as usual. Freddie, I know you don’t care about the right crowd, but there is a right way to behave,” Marian said as she dished a couple pieces of stinky tofu onto Freddie’s plate.
“What the…” Freddie paused, holding his fork and knife in midair. He breathed in the pungent aroma of the tofu and tried to stifle a grimace.
“Just try it, Freddie. You’ll love it,” Marian said.
“I’m not sure about that,” Freddie replied, scrunching up his nose.
Marian cast Rosemary a shamed look. “I’m sorry, I raised my children too white. They don’t know how to appreciate authentic Chinese food.”
“Hiyah, you’re telling me! George refuses to eat chicken feet. Don’t worry, Freddie, you don’t have to eat my cooking. But if you want to be adventurous, try dipping the tofu in this sweet chili sauce.”
Freddie gamely dipped a piece in the sauce and put it in his mouth, his dubious expression transforming into one of delight. “For something that smells like stinky feet, it sure tastes good.”
Marian flashed him a triumphant look. “See, what did I tell you? Now, back to Lucie. Lucie’s also become an amazing artist in her own right, Rosemary. She should be selling her own work.”
“Not really,” Lucie said, a bit mortified that her mother was morphing into a braggy Asian mother right before her eyes.
Marian let out a little squeal. “Lucie, you’re forgetting the most important news. She’s engaged!”
Rosemary beamed at Lucie. “Yes, we heard. Congratulations! But where’s your ring?”
“Oh, I don’t have it on at the moment,” Lucie said a little sheepishly.
“How could she possibly wear it? It’s the size of a rhino’s testicle,” Freddie said.
“Freddie, stop!” Marian scolded, before turning to Rosemary. “It’s a beautiful ring.”
Rosemary cleared her throat. “I’m sure. I would expect nothing less from Cecil. Such a nice man. You know he helped us rent Shittinghurst.”
Lucie, Freddie, and Marian burst out laughing.
Rosemary frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Cissinghurst, Mom, Cissing,” George said patiently.
“Oh, sorry. You know English isn’t my mother tongue,” Rosemary said.
“Don’t apologize, Rosemary. Your English is perfectly good. It’s absolutely charming,” Marian said.
