Kate's uncomfortable smile and immediate but vague response to Foreman's wine gambit said it all. She didn't know a thing about wine, and Foreman had backed her into a corner. With sudden clarity, Foreman remembered his very first night with Amber. She'd snapped at their waiter over the first bottle of wine he'd brought them, only to turn to Foreman and admit she didn't know a thing about it, only knew that acting dissatisfied would get her something better. Oh, great. Instead of making things easier for Amber, he'd stuck his foot in it, again. Foreman looked down into his wine and wished it would disappear as easily as the rye. If he took a sip now he'd look like he was judging it, and if he took his time, he'd look like an even bigger snob.
Geoffrey's interruption was, for once, welcome. If he'd brought this wine, then Foreman's opinion of it wouldn't reflect on Kate. And he didn't really care if he insulted Geoffrey: Geoffrey seemed immune to any implied negative opinion. Still, there was no point in formenting bad feeling. Foreman raised the glass to his lips and sipped, contenting himself with a nod afterwards. It was good, but Foreman suddenly didn't feel like bullshitting about the bouquet or the undertones. He knew enough terminology to get through a conversation, but he'd probably had even less exposure to quality wines in his life than the Volakises. This wasn't about playing more-sophisticated-than-thou, which seemed to be the game Geoffrey was interested in.
Chris got up to answer the phone, and Geoffrey sat back as if he was taking on the role of host with his father out of the room. "So you're in neurology?" he asked, with probably the same hearty tone of voice he'd use to ask if Foreman was in "business", whatever business it might happen to be. "Amber tells us these really quite unbelievable stories about the patients she treats. Wouldn't you say they're more the exception than the rule? I bet most people you see only have a headache."
Foreman's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass. All the eyes in the room were on him, Jude's with a kind of fervent belief, the rest with various degrees of curiosity. "Actually, Amber and I work in the same department," he said. "We're known for the unusual cases we take on." There had to be a way to get out of the hole he'd dug for himself with the wine comment, and as soon as he thought of it, Foreman latched on to the idea like he'd grab a life raft from the deck of a sinking ship. "A couple of weeks ago we had a patient come in for hallucinating. It could've been anything. At first there seemed to be some symptoms of a hereditary disease. But Amber found out she had ergot poisoning. It's a kind of diseased rye; the patient was eating homemade bread."
no subject
Geoffrey's interruption was, for once, welcome. If he'd brought this wine, then Foreman's opinion of it wouldn't reflect on Kate. And he didn't really care if he insulted Geoffrey: Geoffrey seemed immune to any implied negative opinion. Still, there was no point in formenting bad feeling. Foreman raised the glass to his lips and sipped, contenting himself with a nod afterwards. It was good, but Foreman suddenly didn't feel like bullshitting about the bouquet or the undertones. He knew enough terminology to get through a conversation, but he'd probably had even less exposure to quality wines in his life than the Volakises. This wasn't about playing more-sophisticated-than-thou, which seemed to be the game Geoffrey was interested in.
Chris got up to answer the phone, and Geoffrey sat back as if he was taking on the role of host with his father out of the room. "So you're in neurology?" he asked, with probably the same hearty tone of voice he'd use to ask if Foreman was in "business", whatever business it might happen to be. "Amber tells us these really quite unbelievable stories about the patients she treats. Wouldn't you say they're more the exception than the rule? I bet most people you see only have a headache."
Foreman's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass. All the eyes in the room were on him, Jude's with a kind of fervent belief, the rest with various degrees of curiosity. "Actually, Amber and I work in the same department," he said. "We're known for the unusual cases we take on." There had to be a way to get out of the hole he'd dug for himself with the wine comment, and as soon as he thought of it, Foreman latched on to the idea like he'd grab a life raft from the deck of a sinking ship. "A couple of weeks ago we had a patient come in for hallucinating. It could've been anything. At first there seemed to be some symptoms of a hereditary disease. But Amber found out she had ergot poisoning. It's a kind of diseased rye; the patient was eating homemade bread."