From Ladies of the Rachmaninoff Eyes, which was republished this month by McNally Editions.

“Heavens, Harriet,” Mrs. Klein said when Aunt Harry gave her the hot rum drink, “I need to send you to bartender’s school. Did you put any rum in it?”

We watched her bend her heavy nose to the brew the second time; only the rain on the bay windows made a sound. Aunt Harry’s face was alert, waiting, under piles of white fiberglass hair. “Well?”

“Slop, Harriet. Absolute slop. Why, I can’t taste a thing but syrup.”

Aunt Harry turned away. “That’s because you’re an…