“That’s because you’re not Chinese,” said Ernest.

“Look, there’s a Chinese gentleman eating Greek. Is that what I should say?”

“I guess so,” said Ernest.

“That sounds derogatory to me,” said Catherine. “I’d rather be a Chinaman than a Chinese gentleman any day.”

“That’s because you’re not Chinese.”

“Should I go over and ask him what he prefers to be called?” “No, Catherine.”

“What am I? I mean, if Amanda wasn’t here with her sweet bothered and bewildered self, and they were looking at this anonymous Black couple, you and me, what would I be? They’d say, ‘Looky, there’s a Black gentleman eating Greek and there’s . . .’ What would they say?”

She turned sideways and looked in the mirror that ran along the wall. Her expression changed; she tried to look dangerous. “Here, she is, folks, everybody’s evil Black bitch.”

“Hush.”

“Don’t I look like everybody’s evil Black bitch to you?”

“No, you look like Tweety Bird,” I said.

“You’re not here, remember,” she said, glancing my way, but not looking at me. “They’d say, ‘There’s that Black gentleman and there’s his evil Black bitch.’ ”

“I thought you were ‘everybody’s,’ ” I put in.

“You’re not here.”

“To be honest, Catherine, it doesn’t interest me in the least what they’d say,” said Ernest.

Her face fell. She stared at my plate. “If you’re not going to eat your grape leaves, I’ll finish them.”

“I’m not here, remember,” I said.

She said nothing. Finally, I exchanged plates with her. She ate.

“You know, Ernest wrote this article, which when you get down to the nitty-gritty said essentially ‘You are what you eat.’ From what the article said, it seems like the Orientals are really the only people who eat right, like when they start eating Western food, that really screws them up. After he wrote that article, we started to go by the foods it recommended. I got bored stiff after a week. He was bored too, but he pretended like he wasn’t. You know, he’d written this article, so he felt he had to practice what he preached. I was bored silly. Are we still going tomorrow to get my rubber stuff?”

“You gave up your chance for your rubber stuff.”

“I know where there’s a place where there’s nothing but rubber stuff. They melt rubber or something, so all they have is this rubber stuff, just everything. We can go there.”

“Gave up your chance for your rubber stuff.” He was teasing now. “Yeah, you can have your rubber stuff. The way things have gotten, though, it looks like we’ll have to rent an apartment just for the odds and ends.”

Either Catherine glanced at me like I was one of the odds and ends, or I imagined it.

“I knew you couldn’t say no to Tweety Bird,” said Catherine.

“How do you know it’s Tweety Bird I’m not saying no to,” said Ernest, with a sly smile.

Catherine gave him his sly smile back, then she bent down suddenly, licked her plate, popped her head up. Just then the waiter was there to take our plates. Her sly smile fell on him.