My wife and I have been invited to dinner at Tolstoy’s. We arrive two minutes late and I’m concerned.
Ron Silliman, the butler, answers the door, and he looks a bit pale.
Approaching a huge, bear of a man, Ron the Butler squeaks out: “Senor Tolstoy, may I present Rauan and Edith Kl——“
But before he can finish, Tolstoy, who’s lurched forward at least 10 feet in one giant bound, slaps him in the face.
“You impertinent bastard,” he growls. “In this house you will learn some respect... Yes, sooner or later you will learn some respect.”
At dinner while trying to reposition my wife’s butter knife Ron knocks over a wine glass and Tolstoy’s grabbed him and thrown him up against the wall.
“You filthy dog,” he’s screaming. “You filthy dog.”
“I like these two, “ my wife says. “I want to see more of them. Buy them for me, darling. O, please, buy them for me. O, please, please, please say you will!”
When, finally, I look back Tolstoy and Ron are dancing to a slow Big-Country song and Ron’s burrowing his head into Tolstoy’s chest and he seems to be sobbing.
“Old woman Time and her slaughtered chicken,” I pronounce gravely.
“F-ck you, Charles Simic,” Ron blurts out, and they’re both glaring at me quite ominously and now I feel like I’m The Little Prince and I need, desperately, to apologize to my 9th French Grade Teacher for calling The Little Prince an idiot and tell her I didn’t mean it though I did mean it.
Ron’s sobbing even harder now. And I’m feeling very guilty.
“I didn’t mean any of it,” Tolstoy assures him. “I didn’t mean any of it, Ronny. None of it at all, my boy.”
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