"Don't mind if I do," Archer replied as Ida, slightly wobbly, poured him a generous glass of the mixed drink.
"I hope you're not too drunk to make ceramics," I said, gesturing to the pottery wheels.
"How hard can it be?" Ida exclaimed. "Spin the wheel—make magic."
"It's a little more complicated than that—"
"Did I ever tell you about my first husband?" Ida asked Archer. "He used to call me spinner because he could set me on his lap and spin me around, and magic would happen. Can't do that now, of course. Too old—my knees. Though I've started doing more advanced yoga poses. Bert is pretty impressed. I could show you some yoga poses sometime. Maybe we should have a sexual yoga retreat, Hazel."
Archer was struggling to hold back a laugh. "I wouldn't want you to overextend yourself."
I cleared my throat, trying to put the image of Ida spinning around slowly on Bert's lap out of my mind. "Let's turn our attention back to a different kind of spinning," I said hastily, motioning everyone back to their seats.
"This is an ancient art. The pottery wheel was invented several thousand years ago," I said, giving my pottery wheel a spin. "People back then used pottery for carrying food and water, storage, cooking, or as decorative art. Today we're going to try and make a simple vase. First, take your clay and set it firmly on the wheel. Wet your hands a little bit."
"I'm all wet," Ida said.
Archer grinned and took another sip of his drink.
"You're not making pottery," Ida said.
"I don't want my hands covered in clay. I'll watch. I love a woman who's good with her hands." He cast a smoldering look in my direction and took a slow sip of his drink. The elderly women all cheered, and I winced.
"So put your hands around the clay," I said, demonstrating.
"It's so thick," Dottie said, oblivious to the double meaning. Archer silently choked on laughter. I prayed his little brothers were too focused on making sure their pottery wasn't wonky to pay too much attention to the comments.
"Now push forward," I instructed.
Yeah, baby, Archer mouthed. He really needed to participate. It wasn't right that he was sitting there, distracting me for his own amusement.
"Now press your thumbs around the tip of the clay," I said, regretting my word choice as soon as it came out.
"But not too forcefully, right?" Archer said in a fake innocent tone.
"Interlock your hands like this," I said, trying to ignore him. "The wheel should be spinning, and you should see the clay grow long."
"Long and thick or long and skinny?" Archer asked, clearly enjoying every minute of this demonstration.
The seniors were having a little trouble. It took a bit to get the hang of it.
"Mine's flaccid!" Dottie complained. I looked over, and sure enough, her clay was long and flopped over the wheel.
"Just smoosh it back down," I said, coming over to help her.
"I don't want to make a vase," Ida declared. "I want to make a dildo."
Frazzled as I ran around, trying to keep clay from flying all over the walls, I said, "You know what? You go right ahead."
"I'm going to put big veins and huge balls on it and everything!" Ida said, beaming.
"Just remind me to hide that away before the Art Zurich people see it," I said to Archer as I passed by him on the way to help Otis with his vase.
"Who knows?" Archer said after thinking for a moment. "They may think it's a well-thought-out piece of commentary on the sexual urges of senior women. You might even win a prize," he said to Ida.
"You hear that?" Ida crowed to Dottie. "I could be a world-renowned artist!"
44
