Authors: Tara McTiernan
Strawberry Daiquiri
Kate said, "Yes, I did. But I do have a wonderful husband? And I'm lucky. And I still say, Chelsea, you can meet your Prince Charming?"
"Thank you so much, Kate," Chelsea said gratefully. "I hope so, more than anything." But she had her Prince already. Prince John, her one and only.
A wave of guilt followed and she glanced over at Bianca. Bianca was inspecting her, dark eyes sharp and inquiring. Chelsea smiled at her, widening her eyes innocently. Bianca turned away, refocusing on Lucie and asked her about her catering business, and Chelsea relaxed a little. Finally. She was out from under the microscope. She still couldn't believe how badly her conversation with Bianca had gone. Bianca had even started to question her more directly when Kate, Chelsea's savior and good fairy, showed up.
Looking at Kate now she was shocked again by the poor style choices Kate made. That hair color! And that hideous dress! At least Bianca had been kind enough to help Kate and buy her a pair of beautiful and very expensive heels, which made Kate's stick-like legs look shapely and long. Chelsea was glad to see that Kate had followed her instructions and was wearing her makeup properly at last. The next thing was to help her with the rest.
Sharon, who was sitting next to Chelsea, leaned over. "Hey," she said in a soft voice, "How's it going with the job hunt?"
Chelsea felt heat fill her face. Sharon was asking a reasonable question and now Chelsea would have to lie to her. "Good," she said, nodding and hoping that would be enough.
"How many interviews have you been on?"
"Uh," Chelsea said, trying to decide how many would be normal. "One?"
"Oh. Too bad," Sharon said. "I'll let you know if I hear about any openings. Not at TMB, of course. Now, I have to ask you something: did Molly say anything weird to you when she did your exit interview?"
Chelsea rolled her eyes. "No. She never acts weird. I really don't know why you guys hate her so much."
Sharon rolled her eyes, too. "You just don't know, Chelsea. Obviously, you haven't seen the real Molly."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
At that moment, Bianca raised her voice, saying, "So, you can all make it to my dinner party?"
Chelsea blinked, realizing she'd tuned out the general conversation the minute Bianca looked away. "What?"
"My dinner party," Bianca repeated, looking exasperated. "On June fifteenth? You can come, Chelsea? Oh, I know you can. What are you doing? You don't even have a job. What about you, Sharon? Lucie's catering."
Sharon pooched her lips and said, "Sure. Sounds great. Hey Lucie, I finally get to try your famous food."
Lucie laughed. "Not that famous. I wish!"
Bianca leaned forward. "What? What do you wish?"
"Oh," Lucie said, shrugging a little. "My father has big dreams for me, a la Martha Stewart. I doubt I'll ever achieve that, but I would love a cookbook or two. I was thinking of something dedicated to my mother, a French-American cooking guide. You know, help and recipes for the average American on the go: simplified sauces, shortcuts, shopping advice for the people who can't market every day. But still, excellence, delicious meals."
"Wow," Bianca said, "That sounds fantastic."
Chelsea, starting to finally relax and enjoy the evening now that the focus was off of her, felt a light bulb go on in her head. "Wait, Lucie!" Chelsea said. "Oh, my God. I have the perfect solution for you."
"Really?" Bianca said, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
Chelsea glanced at her friend. Bianca was always discounting her, diminishing whatever Chelsea did, making light of things that mattered to her. It made her feel small, stupid. And, this time Chelsea really had something important she could do to help Lucie. Relishing the feeling, Chelsea straightened and said to Lucie, "I used to work in the city for Crescent House, the publisher? I was executive assistant to the senior editor there, Edie Ward. She's still there, we talked recently."
Chelsea glanced at Sharon, who was paying close attention. Chelsea's conversation with Edie had taken place the week she was let go, back when she could see the writing on the wall, as well as in her personnel file, and was trying to get her references in order in case she found herself without a job. Then they talked again, a week ago. When she'd called originally, Edie had been overjoyed to hear from her and apparently desperate for a sympathetic ear.
"Hold on, Chelsea. I just need to shut my door," Edie said, and there was a pause, a muffled click and then she was back on the line, letting out a sigh before she said, "It's so nice to hear your voice, you have no idea. God, remember sneaking out for cocktails on Thursday afternoons? The good old days. Really, I know you won't believe it, but when you worked here, things were good. We complained all the time, but things were good. Now, not so much. Actually, we're all in deep shit. This whole ebook thing is screwing us coming and going. But, no, we've come up with some solutions. You should see the contracts now. We get everything. Anyway, I miss you. I wish you still worked here. Oh, and I wish I had a million dollars. Or at least a good stockbroker. You know, Madoff-like returns sans the Ponzi scheme. Know anyone like that? Ha! Who am I kidding? I am so screwed if I get kicked from this place. There are less than zero jobs. Minus sign."
Chelsea had demurred about knowing anyone at the time, but last week, after starting to hear all about John's work on a daily basis and knowing that he had the magic touch when it came to money, she called her old boss back. "Edie, it's Chelsea. I had to call you. Guess what?"
"Chelsea baby! How are you?"
"Great, excellent."
"So, you didn't lose your job after all. Good."
"Uh...anyway, remember how you were talking about a stockbroker? A really good one?"
"Yeah?"
"I can hook you up. I know someone, and he has the Midas touch in a big way. One hundred percent legit, too."
"Wait a sec, I'm closing my door." Then, Edie was back on the line, breathless, "Seriously? Oh, Lord! Thank you! Who is he? Tell, tell, tell!"
And so she had, and now Edie had John Rossi managing her money. So, yes, they had talked very recently. But not about a job. None of the girls knew that, though, so maybe she could use their reported conversation as evidence she was job hunting.
Turning back to Lucie and seeing her expectant face, Chelsea continued, "Anyway, Edie is always looking for the newest hottest book. Yours could be it, Lucie! You'll need a book proposal, and I can help you with that, and I can even set it up so she can try your food! That would impress her, I think. She loves French food. Anything French, actually. She's such a Francophilly."
Bianca let out a little laugh, stifling it before saying, "I think you meant 'Francophile', Chel. But, that is a great idea. And wait, I have an even better idea. Maybe Edie could come to my dinner party in June? And we could sample from your proposed American-style French recipes? But....no, wait. She doesn't even know me. She probably wouldn't want to go to dinner at a stranger's house. Even if she knows Chelsea."
Chelsea feeling left behind somehow, piped up, "No, but she knows John! So, it wouldn't be at a stranger's house."
Bianca turned to her, clearly surprised. "How does she know John?"
"Uh," Chelsea said, thinking fast. "Oh. When I called her about getting a reference, she was telling me she needed a good stockbroker. So, of course, I thought of John. I mean, that's what he does, right?" She didn't mean to sound so defensive, but there it was in her voice. She smiled again.
Bianca looked at her for a beat before she said, "Yes. That's what he does. Well, that was nice of you."
"Oh, it was nothing! Just...trying to help Edie!" Chelsea said, her eyes practically popping out in her effort to appear blameless.
"Well, since you know her and she knows John, it seems as if it will work out after all," Bianca said, her tone cool. She turned to Lucie and her manner warmed. "Lucie, how does that sound? Would that help you, do you think?"
"Oh," Lucie said, "It would be amazing. Thank you! And thank you, Chelsea. I probably will need help with the proposal."
Chelsea nodded, glad to get some of the credit even if Bianca had claimed the lion's share. But no, Bianca was just trying to help Lucie. Why did it always feel like a contest, then? Chelsea said, "I'd be happy to help. And I'll call Edie tomorrow and invite her. I hope she can make it."
Bianca turned back to Chelsea, "Now this is going to be a couple's dinner, Chel. So, you'll have to bring your boyfriend. What was his name again?"
"I, I don't have a boyfriend?" Chelsea said. She thought back; didn't she already say that?
"Oh, for some reason I thought you did?"
"No?"
"Odd. All right. I'll set you up then. I can think of at least two eligible bachelors who would be happy to be your date for the evening. Edie, of course, should bring someone as well."
"Oh, you don't have to do all that. Can't I just come on my own?"
Bianca shook her head, "Of course I do! It's not a problem; in fact, it would be my pleasure. And besides, I'd think you'd love to be set up with one of John's buddies. They're all traders and brokers and quite well off. The one I'm thinking of for you is so handsome. You'll die for him. Hope
he
can make it."
"Oh...," Chelsea started to plead, and then realized how it sounded. If she was single, as she claimed, she would love to be set up with a successful stockbroker or trader. She'd be over the moon and back. But John. And he would be sitting right there, across from her at the table while she was on her "date". How would they pull it off?
She cringed a little and then felt Lucie's eyes on her and looked over. Lucie was watching her with a considering look, clearly remembering their many conversations about men and romance and Chelsea's dreams. She might also be remembering a recent conversation about an ex named John, who happened to be married to Bianca. John, the ex Lucie had warned Chelsea to stay away from, to avoid like the plague. And, like a plague, he had infected her life thoroughly, altering its very course.
"Thank you," Chelsea said as sincerely as she could.
Bianca smiled and nodded.
"Well, I don't have a date," Sharon said. "Can you set me up, too?"
"What about Dean?" Bianca asked.
Chelsea tuned out, feeling overwhelmed and needing to marshal her energies. She looked down at her drink, which was nearly empty, the maraschino cherry she had insisted on sitting at the bottom of her martini glass in the remaining passion fruit juice. Instead of looking juicy and delicious the way cherries always looked to Chelsea, it looked unappetizing, like a forlorn leftover. She swirled the remains of the drink around the cherry, trying to make it look better.
Mojito
"Well, I don't have a date," Sharon said. "Can you set me up, too?"
"What about Dean?" Bianca asked, surprised. She thought that certainly the two would be an item by now. She remembered Dean's look of earnest infatuation very well from the night she'd met him at Ibiza, the way he'd strained to look in Sharon's direction wherever she wandered in her schlumpy cheap jeans and ratty old button-down shirt, as if she was a supermodel or something.
"Dean? Seriously? I know you enjoy teasing me, but this time you're way off. We're neighbors, that's all," Sharon said, looking as uncomfortable as ever when Dean was mentioned.