Face Value by Michael A. Kahn Page B

the meeting I’d convened that morning to introduce Benny to Stanley and Jerry. Although I set the meeting at Stanley’s house in the hope that it would put him at ease, he stood throughout the meeting and stared at the bookcase until, near the end, Benny said, “Stanley, I understand you’re a fan of facial actions, eh?”
    Stanley leaned back from the book case, stretched his neck, and turned toward Benny.
    â€œIf by the term fan ,” he said in a loud nasal voice, “you have in mind an enthusiastic and raucous devotee, typically an emotionally fervent spectator at a sporting or cultural event, or an ardent and often obsessive admirer of a celebrity, such as that Kardashian woman with the enormous gluteus maximus, or a genre, such as science fiction, then no, Professor Goldberg, I am not a fan of the Facial Action Coding System. I am, however, intrigued by the system and what it reveals about human nature and emotions. I am an admirer, albeit not at the zealous level, of Paul Ekman and Wallace V. Friesen, who created the most comprehensive version of the coding system. The current version of their manual includes an additional author contributor, one Joseph C. Hager. Nathan Sanford, however, received no credit, and perhaps deserves none. Interesting, however, that his namesake received thirty electoral college votes in the 1834 election, losing out to John C. Calhoun, who received 182 votes.”
    To which Benny had replied, after a long pause, “Sorry I asked.”
    I took the Washington U exit to the law school and pulled up to the entrance
    â€œYou’re coming to dinner, right?” I said.
    â€œYour mom’s making her stuffed cabbage, right?”
    â€œJust for you, boychik.”
    â€œOh, my God. Just thinking about it is giving me a chubby.”
    â€œOut of the car. You are truly disgusting. See you at six.”

Chapter Twelve
    Tonight it was Sam’s latest favorite bedtime book, William Steig’s Sylvester and the Magic Pebble . I’d read it to him each night for at least the last three weeks.
    â€œâ€¦â€˜Mr. Duncan put the magic pebble in an iron safe.’”
    I paused and glanced over at Sam, who was staring at the page as he pressed his blankie against his cheek. The illustration showed Sylvester Duncan, a donkey, curled up on the couch, eyes closed, in the embrace of his mother and father.
    â€œâ€˜Some day they might want to use it,’” I read, “‘but really, for now, what more could they wish for? They all had all that they wanted.’”
    I closed the book and reached over to turn off the lamp. I kissed my son on his forehead and then again on his nose.
    â€œI love you, Sammy,” I whispered.
    â€œI love you, too, Mommy.”
    I turned toward Yadi, who was in his usual bedtime spot, curled up on the comforter at the foot of Sam’s bed. Yadi jogged with me in the morning and walked with me before bedtime, but the rest of his life was devoted to Sam. He was our four-year-old collie-shepherd mix. He had one straight German shepherd ear, one floppy collie ear, and a sweet and gentle temperament unless you were a stranger approaching Sam or me, at which point he transformed into a truly intimidating junkyard attack guard.
    â€œGood night, Yadi,” I whispered.
    He looked up, thumped his tail twice, and settled back down with a sigh.
    I gave Sam a hug. “Sleep tight, little guy.”
    As I came down the stairs, I could hear Benny and my mother in the kitchen.
    â€œSo maybe he is a genius,” Benny was saying. “But he’s also totally wacky. A real nut job.”
    â€œHe has problems,” my mother said. “Such a sad situation. His two older brothers would make a mother proud. One is a doctor, the other a rabbi. Who could ask for more? And then there’s poor Stanley. Barely got through high school because of all of his tsuris. But a smart boy, Benny, and not just with