Language Land, the chain of schools Carole and her husband Keith taught for, had branches all over their remote island country off the coast of China. Every three months, a hundred or so new teachers from all over the English-speaking world flocked to the Language Land headquarters for two weeks of new-teacher training, and then got farmed out all over the island. Some didn't even make it through training, others got one look at their town and decided to go home, others found better-paying jobs at a cram school somewhere. Carole and Keith's best friend from training two years before, Kathryn, was also their only remaining friend still with the company. She had stuck around in part because she'd fallen in love with a new arrival last year, and she had lately secured a transfer to his branch at Junglaw.
"I've heard some stories about this Len guy," Carole said as she turned on the oven to heat up the munchies for the evening. Their hole-in-the-wall flat over a fabric shop in the high street of Tansi, their little town half an hour or so from Jugnlaw, looked positively third-world from the outside; but they were the only Westerners she knew who had an oven. "They say he's a drunk and the women in Junglaw are careful not to be alone with him. Except Kathryn, because he won't mess with a friend's girl."
"You didn't have to invite him," Keith reminded her.
"Couldn't really invite Kathryn and Brad and PJ but not him," Carole said. She and Keith had made fast friends with Kathryn's boyfriend and fellow Kiwi, Brad, and with their American colleague, PJ. But not Len. "But I wish I'd thought of that before I invited Arlene."
"She can take care of herself," Keith said. He and Carole alike loved their junior colleague like a kid sister - a very rebellious one.
"But she might choose not to," Carole said with a sigh. "I can see you haven't heard, she finally ditched Richard."
"Thank heavens! That guy was such an absolute..." Keith's voice trailed away as he saw the concerned look on his wife's face, and he couldn't imagine why. She had always hated Arlene's immature, chauvinistic ex just as much as he had. Then he put two and two together. "Oh, no, Carole, you're not thinking Arlene's going to fall for Len, are you?"
"I'm terrified of it, frankly. I don't get it when she's so book smart, but she really seems to have a thing for jerks."
Keith shrugged. "I care about her too, love, but we're not her parents." He uncorked the bottle of whiskey Carole had bought that afternoon and set about pouring himself a drop.
"That's for when they get here!" Carole protested.
"We can have some then too, can't we?" But Keith did put the bottle back where he'd found it. Then he laughed. "PJ is American, he probably thinks getting wasted is part of Saint Paddy's Day, you know?"
"You haven't met him," Carole said. "He's no more stereotypically American than we are stereotypically Irish."
"She said while preparing for a Saint Patrick's Day party!"
"Are you trying to get in trouble before the guests even get here?" With a flirtatious grin, Carole bent over and hugged her husband from behind and nuzzled his neck.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
"Let 'em wait," Keith quipped.
Carole laughed, but let him go and gave his back a firm pat. "Sooner they're in, the sooner you get your whiskey, dear."
Keith dutifully got up and went down the narrow staircase off the kitchen. He opened the door to find Arlene hugging a paper bag. "Well hello!" he said, standing aside to let her in.
"I brought some whiskey in case you ran out," Arlene said, pulling the bag away to reveal a bottle.
Keith read the label. "Three Ships? Never heard of it."
"Best whiskey in South Africa, and don't you dare say that's an oxymoron!" Arlene warned with her best mischievous smile. "I cut my teeth on this stuff at university, I'll have you know."
"Looking forward to trying it," Keith said as they shuffled up the stairs. He had learned never to question anything about the hidden charms of Arlene's country.
The kitchen was just starting to heat up and the smell of the snacks hit Arlene like a welcome blast as they stepped in. "Hi, Carole," she said. "Smells wonderful."
Carole hugged her hello and took the bottle with thanks. "That's a new one to me," she said. "From South Africa?"
"Of course. Anything you need help with setting up?"
"No, go ahead and get a seat in there," Carole said. "The others should be here..." She was interrupted by the doorbell and Keith was off back downstairs. "Right," Carole said, picking up a tray of glasses. "Let's try that grog of yours, huh?"
Their living room took up well more than half the flat, and it was strewn with armchairs of various vintage, reflecting that decades of Western expats had lived there while teaching English like Carole, Keith and Arlene were now. Carole helped herself to a seat on the only couch while Arlene curled up on her favorite of the old armchairs, where she had spent many an evening drinking and watching movies with Carole and Keith.
They had just enough time to set down the glasses and pour the first round before Keith returned with Kathryn, Brad, Len and PJ in tow. "Sorry we're late," Len said, "But Brad just had to get some beers for the bus. Damn Kiwis can't go one trip without travelers."
"Bah!" Brad said. "We still made the bus, didn't we?"
As usual, Brad didn't take the bait on Len's bashing, but Kathryn did. "Here we are to celebrate Ireland and the Aussies still can't get over our superiority, huh!" she chortled as she greeted Carole with a hug and shook hands with Arlene.
"At least I didn't take my affinity for the Irish too far," Len said, helping himself to one of the glasses without asking. "Not like Mister Cultural Sensitivity here." With a bemused grin, he turned and gestured at PJ, the last of the gang ushered inside by Keith.
"Oh my dear, PJ!" Carole exclaimed when she saw him. She'd met the quiet American a few times now and had always gotten on well with him, but nothing could have prepared her for his appearance now. He was wearing a shy, nervous grin, and what appeared to be a blue and green plaid kilt.
"We tried to tell him, the Irish don't wear kilts," Len said.
"Yes we do, but not plaid ones generally," said Keith. "Ours are solid."
"It's not a kilt," PJ said. With a playful twirl around, he declared, "It's a skirt."
"You're gonna love this," Kathryn said to Carole. "You gonna tell them or am I, PJ?"
"Loose lips at the pub," PJ said as Carole leapt up from the couch and helped herself to a hug. "I mentioned, back when I was a kid, we once had a Saint Patrick's Day decoration at school with a girl in a skirt like this, and I had to go and say how much I liked it, and these two wouldn't shut up about how of course I'd like a thing like that, and Kathryn says, if you think they're so sexy, maybe you ought to try wearing one. My ex left this when she went back to Denver back at Christmas, so why not?"
"Do I even want to know how much you got stared at on the way here?" Carole asked.
"We're four white people, we were gonna get stared at anyway," Kathryn said.
"Yeah, it was really no worse than usual," PJ agreed. "Thanks," he added as Carole offered him a glass. Carole was privately delighted when PJ chose to claim the chair nearest to Arlene's, and impressed when he remembered to smooth his skirt out before he sat down. Turning to Arlene, he said, "Hi, I'm PJ."
"Arlene, and I'm really impressed. I'd never wear anything of my ex's." She couldn't help laughing.
