Free Extracurricular Activities by Maggie Barbieri Page B

the yellow sign indicating that Boscobel was approaching. I remembered that I hadn’t told her about seeing Gianna; her jaw fell open at that revelation. “And then she said this really weird thing, like ‘Peter says hello,’ but in a very creepy way.”
    â€œEwww,” Max said. “He kind of sniffed around you in college, though. Remember?”
    I grimaced at the thought of it. “No,” I said emphatically. “We took a class together, but that was it.”
    She shook her head. “Whatever. I’ve been thinking about this ever since he reappeared. I definitely remember him being just the wee bit interested in you,” she said. “Remember how he was always offering you rides in his Trans Am?”
    â€œI guess,” I said. “So you think Gianna has been carrying some kind of grudge for all these years, Max? Hardly,” I said. “Plus, she’s gorgeous and he’s a troll. That guy should thank his lucky stars every day.”
    The yellow sign appeared and Max maneuvered into the parking lot, putting the conversation to an end. She was directed to a spot close to the great lawn of Boscobel by a green-shirted employee of the estate. Max had sold her Jaguar and bought herself a very un-Max-like car: a silver Volkswagen Beetle. It was quirky and sporty, and unlike anything she had ever owned. She explained it away by saying the Jag was too “conspicuous.” I actually thought that was why she liked it. Whatever her excuse, I hadn’t seen her drive anything so small since the late eighties when we were both starting out in our careers and really couldn’t afford anything bigger or better than a tuna can with wheels.
    We got out of the car and opened her trunk to remove the picnic basket that I had packed. In it was all of the food I had gotten from Tony and a delicious German Riesling that I had found in the wine shop in my neighborhood. I had also thrown in some grapes and a couple of apples that I had bought earlier in the week at the A&P. Max had an old comforter in the trunk and she removed that for us to sit on while we dined. We made our way across the lawn and found a perfect spot near the estate, yet with a panoramic view of the Hudson River and West Point on its western shore. Max spread the blanket and I began taking the food from the basket.
    â€œAny chocolate in there?” she asked, peering into the wicker basket.
    â€œYes, but not until you eat all of the other food that I brought.” If it were up to Max we would eat the chocolate, drink the bottle of wine, and skip everything else. I took out everything that I had bought and arranged it on the blanket. People were scattered all around the grounds of the estate, doing exactly as we were: drinking wine and eating dinner. There was a festive feel to the gorgeous evening and I rejoiced in being out of my house, with my best friend, and preparing to enjoy the performance.
    Max pulled a white paper bag out of the basket and opened it. “Oh! Cookies!” she exclaimed, pulling them out.
    I hadn’t bought any cookies. Max held them up: two heart-shaped cookies with the word “amore” written across them. Tony.
    She looked at me and gave me a sweet smile. “I love you, too,” she said, kissing my cheek.
    â€œI didn’t buy those for us, Max. I think maybe Tony, my deli boyfriend, put them in there.”
    She dropped them back into the bag as if they had burst into flames. “Ewww.”
    I opened the bag further but only the two cookies resided at the bottom. Thank God…I was hoping not to find an engagement ring embedded in a salami.
    â€œCrawford could take a page from this guy’s book. He’s very romantic,” she said. Max stretched out on the blanket, her shirt riding up to just beneath her black bra, exposing her flat stomach. Max doesn’t engage in any kind of physical activity besides yoga and sex, and both were keeping