Читать книгу The Power House Wives - Fredrica Greene - Страница 7

Laurel couldn’t believe that, under the circumstances, Zora was giving her annual party. Zora had once confided that she gave the first party of the holiday season to insure she got invited to all the affairs that followed. It was also around the time of her anniversary, so it was doubly festive. And this year they were celebrating their twenty-fifth. So this party was the most elaborate yet.

With so many people thrown out of work just before the holidays, it seemed to Laurel inappropriate and downright insensitive to hold such an elaborate event. But she and Zora marched to different drummers.

Naturally, Wes had refused to come. But Laurel couldn’t see any reason not to. Even though she knew many of the people here, she was nervous. This was the first time since her marriage that she had attended a formal event without Wes. Normally he would have introduced her to his colleagues, gotten her a drink, made sure she had someone to talk to. Tonight she was on her own. She handed her car keys to the valet Zora had hired and walked up the wide steps to the front door with the brass lion’s head knocker.

She waited in the marble foyer as Zora air-kissed a couple Laurel didn’t know. The maid took the woman’s fur, then returned for Laurel’s wool overcoat. Laurel hoped no one would recognize her green crepe dress as the one she’d worn last year. She’d sewn a lace collar to the neckline to disguise it.

Laurel patted the back of her head, scrunching her hair to hide any roots she might have missed. When Wes lost his job, she gave up her weekly trip to Shear Beauty. Now coloring it herself, Laurel was afraid she had gotten more dye on the towel than on her head. She asked Wes if she’d missed any spots, but he barely looked, and she didn’t trust his grunted “looks fine.” In his present frame of mind, he probably wouldn’t have noticed if she’d dyed it green and sculpted it into a Mohawk.

When Zora, sleek and trim in an emerald silk sheath turned to greet her, Laurel felt like the epitome of frump. Compared to Zora’s jet black coif, her hair seemed mousy brown. Why hadn’t she tried a more dramatic color? And she had to shed the ten pounds that seemed permanently attached to her mid-section. The trouble was she loved to eat as much as she loved to cook.

“Where’s Wes?” Zora asked.

“He’s not feeling well. He sends his regrets.” Laurel crossed her fingers behind her back.

“Let’s get you a drink.” Zora steered Laurel into the crowded living room. Pockets of people cradled drinks in their hands and plucked canapes from trays passed by young men in white waistcoats. A string trio played in the corner. Through the open doorway, Laurel spotted the buffet table in the dining room.

At the far side of the room, Nathan stood behind the marble-topped bar mixing drinks. “I intended to have this at the Club, but they couldn’t accommodate me,” Zora confided. “At the very least I wanted to hire a professional bartender, but Nathan insisted on doing it himself. He said that way he’d get a chance to talk to everybody.” She left Laurel at the bar and returned to the front hall.

Nathan’s mouth curved in a slight smile, but his eyes looked sad, as if his face belonged to two different people.

Laurel asked for a glass of white wine. She tried to think of small talk, but her mental quiver was empty of conversational arrows. “It’s a nice party,” she said.

Nathan shrugged. His hand shook slightly as he filled her glass. Before she could thank him, he moved to the other end of the bar to help another guest.

Laurel recognized a few people from company parties she’d attended, but nobody she felt she could approach. She wasn’t adept at chatting with people she didn’t know well-- she usually left that to Wes.

To her surprise, she spotted the Armstrongs across the room. Zora probably had invited them because, though he was no longer Nathan’s boss, Craig was still a powerful man, someone to impress, someone who might be useful. But she couldn’t understand why they came. If she were in his place, she would have felt embarrassed to be among people she’d put out of work. But Craig looked relaxed and jovial. Caprice, blonde and willowy, her upswept hair revealing her swan-like neck, hung on his arm. Her expression looked as tight as her flawless skin. She wore a sapphire satin cocktail dress and a strained smile.

Laurel had always been pleasant to Caprice for the sake of Wes’s job, but she had not forgiven her for stealing Charlie’s husband. Now, she no longer had to feign good will. Not that Craig was any bargain. Craig’s first love was Craig. When Caprice started to thicken with age, Laurel wondered, would he still be there? Did she cater to him as Charlie had?

Poor Charlie. After her divorce, she had disappeared from the social radar. While Craig had a shiny new family, Charlie was alone. Laurel had tried to fix her up with some of Wes’s friends from time to time, but Charlie would have none of it. She was adamant she did not want a man in her life.

Laurel spotted a knot of women from the Club who she knew casually and headed for them. The knot loosened and made room for her. “We haven’t seen you in awhile,” one woman said.

“You know how it is,” Laurel smiled. “Busy, busy.”

The conversation resumed, and Laurel realized they were dissecting another party they’d attended, one to which she hadn’t been invited. When the talk turned to an upcoming event in which she also was not included, Laurel slipped away.

She spied three women with whom she’d served on a social committee. She approached them, smiling, trying to join their conversation. But they talked on, appearing not to notice her. For the first time, she understood why some people didn’t enjoy parties. She shouldn’t have come. She’d slip out quietly. No one would notice. But first she had to check out the buffet. The food at Zora’s parties was always so elegant. Try as she might, Laurel could never get her dinners to come out so perfect.

As Laurel squeezed past a group of men, drinks in hand, holding court by the dining room door, she caught a snatch of conversation. “Doesn’t seem to be enjoying his own party.”

“Hasn’t been the same since the accident.”

“Must have been a shock. Apparently he got there just as the golf cart knocked poor Larry into the drink.”

“That would shake anyone.”

“Nothing he could do to help.”

One of the men stood aside to let Laurel pass. Of course, she thought, Nathan observed Larry Hopkins’ fatal accident. No wonder he looked so morose.

The buffet table nearly filled the dining room. At the center, surrounded by an array of elaborate dishes, was a huge bouquet of ivory lilies and wine-red roses. Laurel poked her finger gingerly into the floral arrangement to see what was holding the lilies upright. A young man in a caterer’s apron appeared from behind her. “May I help you?” She turned crimson and snatched her hand back as if she’d been caught shoplifting.

She skipped over the silver trays laden with meats, breads, and cheeses. Only the canapes intrigued her. Laurel picked up a cornet of pale smoked salmon rolled around piped cream cheese and studied the way it was put together. She would make these when Wes got a job and she started entertaining again. She put it on a plate along with two tiny crab puffs and a stuffed egg dusted with caviar.

As she worked her way down the table, Laurel saw Caprice just ahead. Clutching her plate in one hand and her wine glass in the other, Laurel reversed direction. Or tried to.

“Watch it.” She stopped cold. Then found herself facing a tall, attractive man who was now wearing a crab puff on his tasseled loafer and splashes of wine on his navy blazer. A salmon cornet and splotches of egg lay on the floor between them.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her face ablaze.

“I hope you give better signals when you drive,” he chuckled.

He had salt-and-pepper hair, a neat mustache and a crooked smile, the kind leading men have in the movies. He looked more amused than angry. He bent down retrieved the crab puff from his shoe and scooped up the egg and salmon. Laurel stood frozen, too mortified to move.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

A waiter passed by and rolled his eyes as he took her empty plate and the fallen canapes.

“Jim Sheridan,” the man said. “I won’t shake your hand.” He looked at the gooey egg in his palm. “Reminds me of the eggs my mother used to put in my lunch box.”

“Mine, too. But with pickle relish instead of caviar.” Laurel handed him her napkin.

He wiped his hands. “A deviled egg and a peanut butter sandwich, and I thought I was in heaven,”

“Tuna sandwiches on white bread for me.”

“Bologna and cheese,” he countered. “Can I get you something? Looks like you need a refill.”

“I can get it,” she said.

“I don’t know if I trust you.”

She laughed. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

She wondered if she should offer to have his jacket cleaned. It was the decent thing to do. On the other hand, it might seem presumptuous. There was a small stain on his trousers, too, where the salmon had slid to the floor. She couldn’t very well ask him to take his pants off. She wondered if he would be as attractive in the buff as he was in stylish clothes. She blushed at the thought. Finally, she let decency win. “Let me have your jacket cleaned,” she said She decided against mentioning the pants.

“No need,” he said, “but thanks for the offer.”

Laurel flushed. He must think she was a dolt. She wished she could think of something clever to improve her image. “Do you work at Power House?” As soon as she asked, she realized how lame that sounded. She would never win an ice-breaker contest.

He smiled. “No, fortunately. I’m the Lowe’s insurance agent. What about you? How do you know them?”

She started to say her husband worked with Nathan, then stopped. She’d leave Wes out of this conversation.“I’m a friend of Zora’s.”

He glanced at her wedding ring. “If you’re sure I can’t get you a refill, I think I’ll try another of those nostalgic eggs.” He moved down the table, leaving Laurel standing beside a heart-shaped mold of jellied aspic, her appetite gone. Was it the ring or was it her? Laurel hadn’t felt like this since high school, when her prom date walked off to talk to his friends, leaving her stranded in the middle of the floor. She handed her plate to a startled passing waiter and pressed her way through the crowded front room toward the door.

Nathan, coming from behind the bar, intercepted her. “You can’t leave without having cake.” He took her arm and steered her back to the dining room. “Zora went all out on this.”

Laurel waited by the table while the caterer sliced the three-tier cake, making sure each piece had silver balls and a gold leaf. The crowd gathered round like trained seals waiting to be fed. Laurel was jostled and felt something hard dig into her back. She turned to see Jim holding a plate, a slice of cake teetering off the edge. A blob of white frosting was planted on his lapel. Laurel’s hand flew to her face. “Oh no,” she cried.

Jim grinned as he plucked icing off his jacket. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

She started to brush the remainder off his jacket, then stopped herself. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It must be my magnetic personality that keeps attracting you.”

“This time you have to let me pay for cleaning it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He set the plate on the nearby table. “I’ll just go wash it off.” He walked away before she could tell him that wouldn’t work.

She had to leave before she did any more damage. She threaded her way through clusters of guests to find her hostess. Zora was talking to Caprice. The two of them, slim and shimmering in their blue and emerald dresses reminded her of Monet’s Water Lilies. By comparison she looked like seaweed.

Laurel stood behind Caprice’s back, waiting for a chance to say goodbye but close enough to overhear their conversation.

“Now that Craig’s retired,” Caprice said, “I was hoping we’d spend more time together. But he’s always so busy with one thing or another, I never see him. Are you having the same problem with Nathan?”

“Nathan hasn’t retired.”

“I’m sorry. I thought Craig said...”Caprice clapped her hand to her mouth. “I must be thinking of someone else.” She looked over Zora’s shoulder. “Excuse me.”

Caprice headed toward Craig, who was hovering over an attractive young woman.

Apparently everybody but Zora was under the impression that Nathan had been let go, Laurel thought. Everybody must be wrong. Obviously, Zora would know. Besides, if he’d been fired, they wouldn’t be holding this extravagant event. Laurel moved in to say goodbye. This had been one of the most confusing evenings of her life. She was anxious to get home where she belonged.

Zora leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Did you know Craig was no longer at Power House?”

“I heard.”

“Nathan didn’t tell me.” Zora lowered her voice. “If I’d known, I needn’t have invited them.”

“You invited us, and Wes isn’t at Power House any more.”

“That’s different. We’re friends. Besides, you’ve had us over so often, I really couldn’t leave you out.” She drummed her manicured fingertips on her wine glass. “Nathan should try for Craig’s job. He’d be perfect for it. ”

“That would be great,” Laurel agreed. If Nathan replaced Craig, he might hire Wes back. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for him.”

As she waited for the maid to retrieve her coat, Laurel felt a hand on her elbow. She turned to see Jim smiling at her. The smudge on his jacket was now ringed with a dark watermark. “You look like you’re about to leave,” he said. “Do you need a ride?”

She blushed. “I have my car.”

Without thinking, she brushed the spot on his jacket. “You really should let me have that cleaned,” she said.

“I need it tonight. Give me your phone number, and you can have it tomorrow. On condition that I buy you lunch.”

“I’m married,” she stammered. She felt her face turn red.

“I noticed.” He reached into his pocket and handed her his business card. “If you change your mind, give me a call.” He tapped his brow in a half-salute, ambled over to kiss Zora’s cheek and left.

Laurel fingered his card. Would she dare call? And if she did, what did she expect? Lunch? An affair? An insurance policy?