“Mama, Yoel says things are getting a little out of control there.”
Though she knew it couldn’t really be happening, it seemed to Annie for a millisecond that the hotel had been covered by a cone of silence, a vacuum mercilessly sucking up everything around it: the laughter of children, the chatter of the boarders and the visitors who’d come to join the Purim seudah, the sound of bongo drums clattering down upon the wooden porch.
The moment passed. Annie glanced at her brother. Moe was standing in front of the shiny red sports car, with a look on his face that suddenly brought her back to an afternoon decades before, when sixth-grader Moey Freed had thrown a water balloon at her, and it had landed on Mrs. Horn’s head instead: mortified, chagrined, a little bit scared, but also holding back laughter.
Well, she was the hostess here; it was up to her to save the day from the disaster her brother had created.
“How nice of you to join us,” she said, walking towards Marjorie’s mother with an outstretched arm. Alice Burton was an attractive middle-aged woman, wearing a dark blue suit, and what was clearly an expensive pearl necklace. Every hair in her stylish bouffant seemed permanently set in its place, held down by a thick coating of hairspray.
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