Mr. and Mrs. Hermen weren’t so sure why they’d been invited over to Sadie Ettenheim’s house for dinner. Mrs. Hermen had spied Sadie a few times talking (flirting) with the butcher at the market but they’d only officially met the widow Ettenheim once, at a cocktail party and that was right after the Hermens had moved to Milwaukee in spring of 1964.
The Hermens were surprised and a bit put off to discover that they were the last ones to arrive at Sadie’s house. Where they came from, 7:30 meant 7:30. Not any earlier and not any later. The other guests already had their highballs in hand as the How-do-you-do’s and Nice-to-me-you's went around. Sadie, the consummate hostess made the introductions,"These are the Lehrmans, the Shermans and the North Shore Bermans." Everyone snickered but it suddenly got quiet when Mr. Hermen, the newcomer, clarified, “Our name is spelled an ‘e’ not an ‘a.’ It’s pronounced Her-MEN. We’re from Connecticut.” An uncomfortable hush hung in the air like a bad odor. Mrs. North Shore-Berman cleared her throat, signaling her husband to light the cigarette that dangled damply between her lips. But Sadie appeared un-phased by it all. She waved a hand over in the direction of the scotch and soda, gin and tonic — announcing that "Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes and that everyone gathered here tonight has something else in common besides the rhyming nature of your names." She winked at Mr. Hermen and then went off humming a Glen Miller tune as she passed through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen – leaving her guests alone.
Sadie looked into the oven to see how the twice-baked potatoes were doing, checked on the steaks and gave the iceberg lettuce salad one last toss with Good-Seasons Italian dressing. Then she put the finishing touches on the first course – Shrimp de Jonghe. She’d torn the recipe from Gourmet magazine years ago and kept it taped to the inside of her cupboard. Shrimp de Jonghe had been her dead husband — Lal's favorite dish. And even though it was considered risqué for the one clove of garlic it contained — she’d make it for him every year on their wedding anniversary. She missed him while she dotted the shrimp with a dense paste made from a whole stick of butter, sherry, garlic, a touch of cayenne and breadcrumbs. Then she sprinkled dried parsley over it and set it a hot oven until the seafood was pink — just cooked through and the topping was browned ever so evenly.
From the kitchen she could hear the chatter of people getting to know one another as she put the shrimp on a serving platter. She was singing ‘In the Mood’ and didn’t miss a beat as she passed through the swinging doors, leaving Lal's memory behind in a wake of garlic, and went out to call her guests to the table. It didn’t surprise Sadie at all when she walked into the living room to find Mr. Lehrman with his shirt pulled up and Mrs. Berman peering closely at his naked torso. Or that Mrs. Sherman and Mrs. Hermen were both hovering over Mr. North Shore Berman’s bare belly as he lay stretched out on Sadie’s yellow sofa. She knew that her guests would get along famously once they figured out that just about all of them had had their gall bladders removed. Even the uptight Mr. Hermen with an ‘e’ had relaxed and seemed to be enjoying himself – showing-off his scar. Sadie had to tell him to keep his pants on and that he could host the hernia theme-party next time — if he really wanted to.
