Mother just smiled. “You’ll be the judge.”
Archer waggled his eyebrows at Elsa. “I can’t wait.”
Neither could she. It made sense that the Caravellos would offer a dessert that could be made ahead of time, but not the main courses. Greta and Sal cooked for up to twelve people at their boardinghouse off Union Square, but they weren’t equipped to cater to a guest list that would reach into the hundreds.
Relieved that the Caravellos were being included as much as possible, Elsa relaxed and enjoyed the soup course. At the end of it, Father pulled out paper and a pen and passed them to Elsa to take notes of everyone’s impressions.
Next came a variety of salads and vegetables, then fruit dishes. During the entrée samples, Father’s questioning of Archer ventured beyond the small talk they’d enjoyed so far.
“Now, Archer, I know you work with Elsa at the museum as a preparator. What kind of education trained you for that kind of work?”
Archer swallowed a bite of filet mignon. “I have a degree in art history with a certification in studio art.”
Father stopped chewing for a moment. “Art history and studio art.” He looked as though he’d tasted something sour.
Elsa felt a little defensive on Archer’s behalf. “You should see the dioramas he paints, Father. They are such realistic landscapes for the animals that it’s as much a science as it is art.”
“Hey, next time you visit, I’ll show you some of my finest work.” Archer speared a lump of crabmeat and dipped it into a dish of melted butter. He closed his eyes in apparent bliss over what must be the most expensive option on the table. “My money’s on this one for the main course.”
A chuckle escaped Father. “You meanmymoney. But speaking of yours—”
“Julian, let’s not be vulgar.” Mother shot him a look, then apologized to Archer. “He works with money all day long on Wall Street, you understand, and forgets that it isn’t a suitable topic for polite company.”
Archer shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Reisner, I don’t consider myself polite company. Go ahead.”
Oh my. Elsa inwardly cringed. She could almost hear the clatter Archer made as he fell from the pedestal her parents likely placed him upon.
“Very good.” Father leaned back in his chair, peering down his nose. “Do you intend to work at the museum long-term? And if not, what other employment does your education and experience qualify you for?”
“Father.” Elsa didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t that she hoped Archer would impress her parents, but neither did she want her friend humiliated by this line of questioning.
“It’s okay. My own father has asked me the same thing, many times.”
“So you’ve had time to practice your answer.” Father smiled. “Do continue.”
Archer laughed. “Yeah, you’d think. Well, the way I see it, I’m still young. I have lots of options. I like working at the museum and find it fulfilling. There are avenues of advancement there, so I may be looking at promotions in the future, which would come with an increase in salary. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it, Mr. Reisner?”
“In part, yes.”
“Naturally. But if I get tired of the museum or passed over for a position I’ve earned, I have no problem looking elsewhere. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. But for now, I’m content where I am.”
“You have investments, then?”
“Pardon me?”
Father sipped his coffee. “I know roughly what you make at the museum. You drive a Rolls-Royce, and the suit you’re wearing costs at least four months of that pay. So I assume you’ve invested wisely to be able to afford the lifestyle that makes you so content.”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Exactly. I invest wisely, and here I am. Content.”
“Good for you, young man.”
“Well, now that that’s settled, I think we’re ready for dessert,”Elsa jumped in, as eager for tiramisu as she was for this interview to end.
The Caravellos’ dessert was as divine as she had remembered from the engagement party last spring, and the unanimous winner from among the other options. Elsa tidied her notes and passed them to Mother, who would share them with Mrs. Caravello.
“All set to go, then?” Archer asked, rising from the table. “Coney Island awaits. Percy and Ivy took the subway there already. We’ll take the Rolls. I’ll get it.”
After a round of handshakes with Mother and Father, he left.
