A Deaf Ear

by

George Brewer

“How was the party?” asked Telma.

“Quite good, except Clarinda always seats me next to potentially interesting persons, then places me to their left.”

“She's forgetful,” responded Telma.

“No, she's devious,” he retorted.

“Now Jorge, she invites you to her dinner parties.”

“You're just being kind, You always see the good, or least potential good in others.”

His remark was met by silence.

“She must have found a good caterer for a change. The food was quite delicious. I was torn between enjoying the meal and the discussion.”

“Anyone we know?” inquired Telma.

“Not anyone that I recall. The fellow to my right was a fellow by the name of Pegg.”

“Did you say pig, Darling?”

“No, Pegg, as in dowel. Two gees.”

“Oh.”

“One could tell he was from England by his accent. I couldn't quite catch everything he said in his normal voice, but when he affected a 'regular bloke' tone, I caught almost everything.”

“You should consider having something done about that, Dear.”

“It's not vanity, you well know.”

“Yes, Dear. Do you recall his given name?”

“Now that you ask, I'm having difficulty recalling.”
“Not to worry, it will come back to you.”

“Having a snack?” asked Jorge.

“I suppose I might.” Telma entered the kitchen.

“Here have an eye,” offered Jorge.

“No, Sweetheart, I'd rather have a finger. Something light. Who was the main course?”

“A chap named Romero. He'd aged well.”

“I'll have to join you more often, Darling.”

After a pause, Jorge spoke tentatively, “I believe his name was Simon.