“You cook?” I asked.
“Love to cook,” Roger said. “Does that improve my résumé?”
“By a lot,” I said. “I love to eat—does that help mine?”
Everyone laughed.
“Susan is murder in the kitchen,” Grant said, laughing.
“Oh! You like to cook too?” Roger said to me.
“No, she murders everything,” Grant said, way too amused with himself. “I’m going to open another bottle of wine. Red? White? Both?”
No one answered and he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two bottles. He opened them and poured another glass for everyone. I was very relaxed. Very.
“So, Susan, tell me about Charleston. Your family has been here a long time, right?”
“Lord, Roger, you’re only from Aiken. You could stand on this house and spit on Aiken in a good wind!” I giggled, thinking I was pretty darn funny. “You probably know more about Charleston than I do!”
Maggie cut her eye at me. True, it was not the most feminine thing I could have said.
“So, you can spit too?” Roger said. “My God, the woman is a virtual Renaissance wonder!”
Another comedian, I thought. He and Grant should go on the Comedy Channel.
“Roger,” I said, “only Charlestonians should suffer with the true knowledge of our bawdy history. We prefer for foreigners to think of us as mysterious.”
“Go on, this is very intriguing,” Roger said. “All guys love bawdy history lessons.”
“Lord, Roger, you’d better look out now! My sister likes nothing better than roaming the old historic plantations,” Maggie said.
“She thinks I’m obsessed,” I said.
“Are you? I mean, some obsessions can be very interesting,” Roger said.
Now what was that supposed to mean?