Cocktail Hour (24 page)

“So, you think that your father doesn’t approve of you?”

“No, I didn’t say that. He’s just…he’s disappointed in me. I’m not who he wants me to be. And I can’t change that. I am who I am.”

Her mother shook her head and said, “No doubt. You are. And your father loves exactly that: who you are. You’re his cherie. I know.”

“Almost. I feel like I’m
almost
his darling. It will always be out of reach. I’ll always feel less than.”

“Then it is you that is making that true. Not him.”

“Why? Why do you say that?
How
can you say that? As if it’s just a fact?”

Her mother tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Because it is,” she said and a gentle smile played on her thin lips. “Your father just doesn’t know how to show it. But he loves you more than anyone in the world. I’ve seen how he looks at you. I’ve seen how he beams. I’ve witnessed him all these years adoring you more than anyone, even himself. But you must get out of your own way enough to see that. You must try to understand him. The hard cold exterior is a mask, you know. It protects him. On the inside he is very soft, very tender. I knew that man well once, before we broke apart.”

It was Lucie’s turn to shake her head. “It’s hard to believe. And why? Why does he tear me apart? Why does he do that to you?”

“You think he doesn’t tear himself apart every day? Every minute? It is his way. Forgive him. Love him. He needs you so much.”

Lucie had cried a little then in spite of being in a public place, small stifled sobs she swallowed down, eyes bright with tears and hope. It was the last important conversation she had with her mother.

Luckily, Ryan didn't say anything more about her father that afternoon. Instead, he was quiet for a few moments and then rolled over and put an arm around her. Lucie had stayed quiet as well, not wanting to spoil the much-needed reconnection she felt with him. She closed her eyes and savored the warm weight of his arm on her.

In the bathroom at Cafe Luna, Lucie craned her neck and twisted around to check to see if she had missed any more of the chocolate. If only she'd had time for a shower, but she'd barely had time to freshen up at all, sliding the completed cakes into the packed fridge two hours later. They'd had to take out all of their condiments and put them in a cooler with ice, and still there was barely enough room. Her idea of cooking in other people's kitchens hadn't worked the way she thought it would. Luckily, Erin was scouting out commercial kitchen space available for rent and would hopefully turn something up soon that wasn't insanely expensive.

Lucie made her way out of the bathroom and back through the restaurant toward their table outside. She paused near the door, wincing a little. Her hip had been acting up lately. Was it the humidity? She hoped so. If it was the work, all the standing she had to do now, she was in trouble.

Gritting her teeth against the pain and wishing she had some Advil in her purse, she pushed herself to walk through the open door of the restaurant toward the sidewalk tables. As she approached their table her eyes fell on Bianca's turned head, her long dark hair that tumbled in thick waves over the back of the chair where she was sitting. She still couldn't believe it: they were friends again. Lucie had been wrong in her judgment and Bianca had been the one to breach the barrier, calling to explain. The whole thing made Lucie feel horribly guilty and caused her to wonder if she was like her father - dismissive and hard. She had always thought she took after her her kind and open-minded mother. Perhaps she was wrong.

Lucie finally reached her seat and, with deep gratitude, pulled it out and sat down.

Kate was speaking. "Thank you so much? I can't wait?"

Lucie looked at Kate. After judging Bianca so harshly, she was trying very hard to be kind. But really. Kate, that sweet fresh-faced girl she'd met three weeks before, looked horrible. All that makeup! The first time Bianca had put some makeup on Kate in the bathroom at Ibiza, Kate had looked quite fetching. Now she looked like an ugly cartoon, like that once-famous television evangelist's wife. And the hair! The simple and flattering shoulder-length cut she'd been sporting at Ibiza had been replaced by a short spiky bleached mess that did nothing for her. What had happened? Had she met some sadistic stylist or was it some terrible beauty spa that had transformed her?

Lucie resisted the urge to wet her napkin and get up and wipe Kate's face with it, instead politely inquiring, "What? What's going on?"

"It's Bianca," Chelsea said. "She's so nice. She found Kate a job!"

"Oh, stop," Bianca said. "It was nothing, really. It's just that Kate loves children and she always wanted to teach. Nursery schools don't usually require their teachers to have extra education, so I thought it would be a perfect fit."

"It is?" Kate enthused, bouncing a little in her seat.

"You're always doing things like that," Chelsea said, her face moist, eyes manic.

Lucie wanted to pat the air in front of Chelsea's face and tell her to calm down, that she was wearing her guilt like a suit, that she hadn't done anything wrong. But, of course, she had to keep mum.

Chelsea had told her about John, about the one time they met for drinks and all the calls and intimate texts ever since. Chelsea had explained that she thought that John wanted to talk to her about Bianca, that he needed her help, and that was why she had met him. But what he wanted was Chelsea, served up on the side, even after all he had done to her. Chelsea had poured out the whole story to her over the phone one night, asking Lucie for advice. And Lucie had gladly given it: avoid him like the plague.

Seeing the two women sitting together after hearing about the terrible man they were both still in the thrall of, Lucie felt a pang of sadness. And Bianca had a child with the bastard! It was just too horrible.

The waiter came then and they ordered a round of appetizers for the table, the others deferring to Lucie's suggestions, and when they came out fifteen minutes later - Cafe Luna's famous fried calamari, the glistening tomato mixture on the bruschetta clearly made from good ripe tomatoes, and the still-sizzling garlic and lemon jumbo shrimp - they all oohed and aahed before digging in.

Biting into a piece of the bruschetta, the satisfying crunch of the good toasted bread under her teeth, her mouth filling with warm summer flavors, Lucie closed her eyes. She was glad she'd come. Chelsea clearly needed her support, and she also really liked the other three women, even poor misguided Kate and particularly Sharon, whose wry wit had her bursting out laughing over and over.

Even though she was having fun, more fun than she'd ever expected, and was full of excited anticipation of their free dance lesson next door that evening, Lucie kept experiencing a strong feeling of unease pulse through her intermittently. She couldn't imagine what it was. It wasn't until they paid the check, most of their drinks generously comped by the restaurant, and stood up, that Lucie saw the source of the feeling.

Sitting at a table on the other corner of the sidewalk dining area was Molly, the PC queen of TMB that Lucie had accidentally humiliated and from whom she had received a promise of monumental retaliation. Molly, eyes narrowed, was looking right at her.

Strawberry Daiquiri

Chelsea knew she had to calm down. Between Lucie's warning looks and Bianca's narrowing inspection, it was clear that she was being obvious in her feelings of guilt. But she couldn't stop herself. So, when Bianca promised Lucie that she would be hiring her for a dinner party soon, she blurted.

"Oh, Bianca! You're so nice to everyone!"

Bianca turned and shot her another cool look. "Not really. Lucie's a talented chef. I'm sure I'll be the one to benefit."

To stop herself from saying anything more, Chelsea speared the last calamari on her plate with her fork, dipped it in the tomato-based sauce, and popped it in her mouth. It was delicious: crackling juicy crunch on the outside yielding under her teeth to the tender delicacy within. Lucie's suggestion of this little Italian place was a great one. If only she wasn't so hungry. Lucie's order had been less than inspired. Bruschetta with visible chunks of garlic in the topping? Shrimp that reeked of garlic as soon as they were placed on their table? It was obvious that her friend had a boyfriend - a live-in boyfriend who would probably propose any day now.

Well, Chelsea didn’t have that luxury, so she would have to subsist on her portion of calamari and the bread basket. She certainly couldn’t afford an entrée; she had just enough money for two drinks and her contribution to the shared appetizers. Her credit cards were officially maxed-out, the last twenty-something dollars available used to pay for some supplies at CVS. Thank God Bianca had managed to get free champagne for the table. Now she could save her two drinks for dancing and her mission.

Her mission was simple: as soon as everyone had migrated and settled in next door for the salsa dancing lesson, Chelsea would say she needed to run to her car for her favorite lipstick, which she had left in her work bag. Then she would go see Travis.  It was just a little white lie and it was too important for her to let an opportunity like this pass. She’d just realized when she was parking her car that the Bedford Grille was two blocks away from Café Luna. Travis’s stomping ground was so close and he was always so far away these last few weeks – either traveling or in meetings.

No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get a minute with him ever since that night with John, a night she needed to explain, make Travis understand. Because, now more than ever, she knew that Travis was the one. He was successful and sexy, she already knew that, but now she also knew that he wanted her, was about to ask her out when John walked in and ruined everything. She was certain of it, had reviewed it hundreds of times in her memory and saw that look in his eyes every time.

Tonight, she’d bring that look back, get him back. She had to. She couldn't blow it with another guy. There had been too many disappointments and failures over the years, too many good men who’d gotten away. Sometimes, late at night, she’d wake with tears on her face, and know. She would end up alone. Just the thought made her icy, frozen.

Shaking off the remembered chill, Chelsea picked up her champagne glass and drained the last drops. Just then, her phone beeped, muffled in her purse, an incoming text. Should she check it? What if it was John? Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? And why did she find herself wishing it
was
him, in spite of her knowledge of how deeply wrong the whole thing was? The illicit nature of their communications, instead of damning them, seemed to be making them more enjoyable, more exciting. 

Bianca, who had been continuing to shoot her odd looks, raised her eyebrows at Chelsea and nodded. “Wasn’t that your phone, Chel?”

“Uh,” Chelsea stalled. “Was it?”

“Yeah. That beeping just came from your purse.”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing.”

“But aren’t you in trouble at work?”

“Well, a little.”

“And doesn’t your boss have your cell number?”

“Uh…yes?”

“Well, maybe it’s him. You better check it.”

Chelsea swallowed hard. Did Bianca know about John? How? But wait: maybe she was right. Maybe it was Kevin. If it was, Chelsea's night was screwed, because then he needed something, something that couldn’t wait until the morning. She hesitated, torn.

Bianca bugged her eyes out and then rolled them. “After all that talk. I thought you cared about keeping your job.”

“Of course I do,” Chelsea said, swallowing again and reaching for her purse. She pulled out her iPhone and checked her messages. It was a text from John:

C – remembering steamy shower scenes w u…

J

p.s. want to mk new memories?

Chelsea blushed, pushing her legs together tightly. That night. After the club, telling her she was dirty. The bar of soap and the things he had done with it. Oh, God.