You have games on there?" he asks."Yeah," I answer for her. "She's become a checkers fanatic. Shelley, show him how it works."While Shelley slowly taps the screen with her knuckles, Alex watches, seemingly fascinated.When the checkers screen comes up, Shelley nudges Alex's hand."You go first," he says.She shakes her head."She wants you to go first," I tell him."Cool." He taps the screen.I watch, getting all mushy inside, as this tough guy plays quietly with my big sister."Do you mind if I make a snack for her?" I say, desperate to leave the room."Nah, go ahead," he says, his concentration on the game."You don't have to let her win," I say before leaving. "She can hold her own in checkers.""Uh, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I am tryin' to win," Alex says. He has a genuine grin on his face, without trying to act cocky or cool.
I was sufficiently recovered from my nervous condition – or else the booze was beginning to work – to be able to discuss with Rudi the merits of checked or striped trousers, which had been the great debate among the London nobs that year. I was a check-er myself, having the height and leg for it, but Rudi thought they looked bumpkinish, which only shows what damned queer taste they had in Austria in those days. Of course, if you’ll put up with Metternich you’ll put up with anything.