Free Man, Woman and Child by Erich Segal Page B

knows, but for your information, right now I'm working on the sauce veloute in this skillet." She was vigorously

    stirring some white viscous lumps with a wooden spoon.
    **But it's just a veal stew, Jessie. Couldn't you have made everything in one pot?"
    Jean-Claude sensed he was caught in a magnetic field between the two sisters.
    "May I help you, Jessica?" he asked.
    "Oh, that's tres gentil. Do you know how to make a salad?"
    "Yes," Jean-Claude replied. "That used to be my job at home. To have the salad ready when my mother came home from the clinic."
    It took some moments till the girls* attention fixed upon Jean-Claude's activity. But gradually they both stopped working and just stared.
    He had meticulously separated the lettuce leaves and immersed them one by one in water. Scrutinizing every leaf for imperfections, he placed those that passed on a towel, patting them with care.
    After this, he reached on tiptoes for the olive oil and vinegar. Instants later he was scientifically measuring ingredients into a bowl. He then looked up at his enraptured audience and said:
    "I need—I do not know the English for de VaiV*
    "Jessie?" Paula asked her sister.
    "We haven't had that word yet. I'll go look it up." And she sprinted toward the CasselVs in the living room. There were sounds of frantically ruffled pages and at last a triumphant shout of "Garlic!"
    "Wow," said Paula to Jean-Claude. "Are you gonna be a French chef when you grow up?"
    "No," the boy replied. "A doctor."
    Jessie hurriedly reentered in search of garlic and a garlic press.
    "WTien will they be home?" asked Paula.
    "Well, Dad is jogging on the high school track

    with birdbrain Bemie. He'll be just in time to be too late to do his share. Depending on the trafSc, Mom should be here around seven."
    ''She'll be real excited when she sees youVe made that blanket stew for her."
    ''Blanquette. I hope so. I—uh—Jean-Claude, could I ask you to—uh—taste the sauce?"
    ''Of course, Jessica." He walked over to the pot, dipped the wooden spoon in and brought it to his mouth.
    "Mmm," he said softly, "very interesting."
    "But is it good, is it good?'' Jessica persisted.
    "Superb," the little boy replied.
    It was a triumph of international diplomacy.

    B
    lJ o you see that fantastic kid? Isn't he great I I can hardly believe he's my son!"
    As the two fathers circled the Nanuet High School track, Bernie kept touting his son's athletic talents. At this moment, Davey Ackerman was on the infield, scrimmaging with some of the older soccer honchos.
    ''He's pretty good," Bob conceded.
    "'Good? Beckwith, the kid's fantastic. He's ambidextrous. He's got all the moves. I mean, he's really pro material. Don't you agree?"
    "Uh—sure," said Bob, not wanting to interrupt his friend's paternal fantasy. Besides, his legs still bore some bruises from that collision with Bernie's pride and joy.
    ''It's my business, after all," Bernie continued. *'The kid is everything I wasn't. Look at him slide by those fullbacks!"
    "Yeah," Bob answered noncommittally.
    Bernie glanced at his friend and understood. His tone of voice was sympathetic. "You know, women's sports are getting to be really big too."
    "Huh?"
    "If you started your girls on a program now,

    they'd have a chance for athletic scholarships. I could maybe even help."
    "They hate sports, Bern."
    ''Whose fault is that?'' replied the advocate of athletes, subtle accusation in his voice.
    "They take ballet," Bob offered.
    "Well, that's great prep for the high jump. And I think Jessie's gonna be tall. She could be a great high jumper, Beckwith."
    "Why don't you tell her, Bern?"
    "I don't know. For some reason she thinks I'm a clown. Doesn't she know I'm the top of my field?"
    "Yeah. But I guess she's going through an anti-high-jump phase."
    "Sit her down. Bob. Speak to her before it's too late."
    They jogged along for another half mile, their increasingly labored breaths punctuated by Bemie's gasps of "Great" and "Fantastic" whenever Davey