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to see the stylists, particularly after I hear that Haymitch will
be joining us. A meal presided over by just
Effie and Haymitch is bound to be a disaster. Besides, dinner
isn’t really about food, it’s about planning out our strategies,
and Cinna and Portia have already proven how valuable
they are.
A silent young man dressed in a white tunic offers us all
stemmed glasses of wine. I think about turning it down, but
I’ve never had wine, except the homemade stuff my mother
uses for coughs, and when will I get a chance to try it again? I
take a sip of the tart, dry liquid and secretly think it could be
improved by a few spoonfuls of honey.
Haymitch shows up just as dinner is being served. It looks
as if he’s had his own stylist because he’s clean and groomed
and about as sober as I’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t refuse the
offer of wine, but when he starts in on his soup, I realize it’s
the first time I’ve ever seen him eat. Maybe he really will pull
himself together long enough to help us.
Cinna and Portia seem to have a civilizing effect on Haymitch
and Effie. At least they’re addressing each other decently.
And they both have nothing but praise for our stylists’
opening act. While they make small talk, I concentrate on the
meal. Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of
peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green
sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet
blue grapes. The servers, all young people dressed in white
tunics like the one who gave us wine, move wordlessly to and
from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.
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