Table for Seven (32 page)

“Sorry, I didn’t mean you,” Audrey said. “I was talking to myself.”

“That’s not a good sign.” Lisa grinned. She had clear ivory skin, spattered with freckles, shiny dark hair, and bright green-blue eyes. The fact that she didn’t live a particularly healthy lifestyle—she ate junk, never exercised, and freely admitted that she fell asleep with her makeup on more often than not—didn’t matter. Her glowing appearance was good marketing for the spa. “Why do you need to grow up? You’re the most grown up person I know.”

Audrey flapped a hand at her. “Not me. I was thinking about someone I know.”

“Who? That hot guy who had the pedicure to impress you?” Lisa asked.

Audrey blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You know. James Bond.”

“James Bond?”

“Yes. The guy who looks like the actor who plays James Bond,” Lisa said.

“Are you talking about Sean Connery?” Audrey asked, bewildered.

“Is that his name?”

“That’s the name of the actor. He’s Scottish, I think. In his seventies, I would guess,” Audrey said.

It was Lisa’s turn to blink in confusion. “Huh? I’m talking about the guy who plays James Bond in the movies.”

It suddenly occurred to Audrey that Lisa was young enough—and, yes, it had to be admitted,
dim
enough—not to realize that the James Bond movie franchise was forty years old.

“Okay, which actor are you talking about? I have no idea who plays James Bond these days,” Audrey said.

“His name is Craig something. No, wait—it’s Daniel Craig.”

“I know who you’re talking about. You think Coop looks like Daniel Craig?” Audrey asked, oddly buoyed by the idea. She could see the resemblance. Not in their features necessarily—Coop’s features weren’t as chiseled, and his eyes didn’t droop at the corners, but now that she thought about it, they did have the same sort of roughly hewn sex appeal.

I slept with someone who looks like James Bond
. Audrey was pleased at the thought. Okay, not the real James Bond. But the actor who plays him.

Then Audrey remembered. She wasn’t seeing Coop anymore. She was dating Kenny. Short Kenny with the protruding ears. Kenny, whose touch made her shrink away.

Lisa nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, totally,” she said. “He was hot in, like, a raw way. Do you know what I mean?”

Do I know what you mean?
Audrey thought.
Yes. I know exactly what you mean
. She tried to banish the stomach quiver that thoughts of Coop always set off.

“I really need to finish the payroll,” Audrey said.

“Okay,” Lisa said good-naturedly and strode out of the office, a bounce in her step. Audrey could picture her, ten years from now, with a brawny, big-shouldered husband and four cheerful children, all of them excellent soccer players and solid C students.

Audrey attempted to refocus on the payroll. But for some reason, her thoughts kept wandering back to the last Easter before Ryan died. They weren’t particularly religious, so Easter had never been more than a chocolate bunny sort of holiday for them. They’d been invited to a party at a childless friend’s house, where an Easter egg hunt had been planned. Only instead of finding chocolate-filled eggs, they’d searched for miniature bottles of vodka and gin and individual-sized packets of aspirin. The party had been one of those social occasions where everyone was drinking too much. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Ryan had appeared stark naked, except for a pair of fake fur bunny ears.

“Say hello to Peter Rabbit,” he’d said, his speech slurring slightly. He then proceeded to hop around, a carrot stuck out of his mouth like a stogie, while the women scattered out of the way, lest he attempt to hop up against them.

Audrey had tried to pretend that it had all been planned, and that she was in on the joke. She’d laughed loudly and played along, as though it were all hilarious. But it wasn’t funny. Not at all. It had been mortifying, and she’d been furious with Ryan, who passed out that night in the middle of the resulting argument.

Yes, his drinking had been getting out of hand.
Would their marriage have survived?
Audrey wondered, suddenly doubting her earlier conviction that it would have. How many nights, weeks, months would Audrey have been content to fall asleep by herself, never sure of when Ryan would roll home from the neighborhood bar? He’d acted as though it was all very British—“I’m stopping by the pub,” he’d say, in an affected English accent—but that didn’t make it less dysfunctional.

Audrey shook her head, trying to dislodge these depressing thoughts. What was the point? What difference did it make now?

Focus on the payroll
, she told herself, shaking her head again, as though that would dislodge the unpleasant thoughts swirling around inside. Payroll now. Breaking up with Kenny later, because obviously there was no way she was ever going to sleep with him. And after that … well, she’d deal with that when she had to.

WHEN WILL ANSWERED THE door, he looked pale and wan, as though he’d recently been sick.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Coop asked as Will stood aside so he could enter the house. “Have you been on a diet?”

Will shook his head. “No.” He looked down at himself. “I guess I have lost a little weight,” he said. He sounded strained. In the distance, Coop could hear the sound of dishes clinking and someone laughing.

Coop stared at Will. “You okay, man?”

“Sure,” Will said. He hesitated, and then looked back over his shoulder. “Things have just been a little rough around here lately. We’ve had some trouble with Iris. And,
well … Fran and I are having some issues, too.” He closed the door.

“Should I go?” Coop asked, sticking a thumb out and pointing back toward the door. “Maybe this isn’t a good time for you to be hosting the dinner party club.”

“No, no. You have to stay. Fran’s been cooking all day. In fact, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything,” Will said.

Coop wondered if he should press Will further. But in all the years they’d been friends, they never really talked about weighty, emotional issues. It wasn’t what men did. They talked boats and sports, would even discuss politics occasionally. But you never asked one of your friends how his marriage was going. It just wasn’t done.

While Coop deliberated whether he should break with tradition and ask Will for more details on what was going on, Will turned, and, waving Coop to follow him, said, “Come on back. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

They headed toward the kitchen and as they approached, the voices and cooking smells became more pronounced. Coop braced himself for facing Audrey and Kenny. But neither was there. Fran, Jaime, Mark, and Leland looked up at his entrance.

“Coop! I didn’t even hear the doorbell,” Fran said, beaming at him.

He kissed her on the cheek. She looked like she’d lost more weight, too, but—unlike Will—it suited her. Her skin was glowing and her eyes, as they met his, were bright and laughing.

Coop greeted everyone, also kissing Jaime, and shaking hands with Mark and Leland.

“The men outnumber the women two to one tonight,”
Leland said. He was perched on one of the kitchen stools, looking especially spry. A gardenia was stuck in the buttonhole of his blue blazer.

“Those are never the sort of odds I like,” Coop said.

Leland laughed. “That makes two of us.”

“Where’s Audrey?” Coop asked, hoping he sounded more casual than he felt.

“She’s not coming,” Fran said. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“Is she out of town?” Coop asked.

Fran and Jaime exchanged a meaningful look.

“Audrey’s decided to drop out of the dinner party club,” Jaime said delicately.

“What?” Coop goggled at her. “Was it because of me?”

Fran and Jaime stared at him with twin expressions of confusion.

“Why? What did you do?” Fran asked.

“Nothing,” Coop said quickly. “I just … I thought from the way you said it. Never mind.”

“Fran and Audrey had a falling out,” Jaime explained.

“Jaime,” Fran said sharply.

Jaime glanced up, startled. Her expression quickly turned sheepish. “I didn’t say why,” she said.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Coop said.

Mark put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “That’s because they’re talking in women code.”

“We are not,” Jaime said, but she smiled at him and leaned back against his shoulder.

Coop desperately wanted to know more—Why wasn’t Audrey coming? Was she that desperate to avoid him? And was she still dating Kenny?—but Fran and Jaime seemed to
have entered into a silent pact not to talk about Audrey. Instead, Jaime launched into a discussion of falling house prices while Fran turned and began the risotto, which momentarily distracted him. Coop had always been partial to risotto.

“What are you putting in it?” he asked, as Fran diced up an onion with a large kitchen knife.

“Didn’t you get the email I sent out with the menu?”

“Um, maybe,” Coop said.

“That was convincing,” Fran said. “It’s sausage and mushroom risotto.” She showed him a white bowl, containing the already cooked sausage and mushrooms. The mixture was scented with thyme and oregano.

“It smells fantastic,” Coop said.

“Thanks,” Fran said.

She finished with the onions, and moved on, diced four plump cloves of garlic. She melted a stick of butter in a large pot, and dumped the diced onion and garlic in to sizzle in the butter, stirring the mixture with a rubber spatula. She looked up at Coop under lowered eyelashes.

“Are you watching me?” Fran asked.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to make risotto,” Coop said. “I order it whenever I’m out and it’s on the menu.”

“I know,” Fran said. This time, there was a teasing lilt to her voice and she tilted her head to one side. She looked at him meaningfully. “That’s why I’m making it.”

What was up with her lately?
Coop wondered uneasily. He glanced at Will, wondering if he, too, was noticing his wife’s behavior. But Will, still looking morose, was chatting with Jaime, or, rather, listening to Jaime while she talked at him about the trials of finding a good nursery school.

“Maybe I should go see what …,” Coop began, having
no idea how he was going to finish the sentence. Listen to Mark bore on about his daughter’s latest tennis triumph? Ask Leland for dating advice? But Fran stopped him.

“No, don’t go. I’m about to start pouring the rice in, and then I basically have to stand here and stir for the next twenty-five minutes,” she said.

“That long? Wow. You’re really committed to your risotto,” Coop said.

“That’s how you make it,” Fran said, adding Madeira wine and chicken broth to the pot. They began to simmer, and she added the Arborio rice, stirring the mixture vigorously. “Stay and keep me company while I stir.”

“Okay,” Coop said. He leaned against the counter, folded his arms, and watched Fran stir the risotto in a brisk, clockwise motion. He wondered if every cook stirred in one direction, or if some changed directions. Maybe it was one of those personality indicators, like having a preference for the toilet paper hanging over rather than under the roll.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Fran asked.

“Not at the moment,” Coop said.

“And why’s that?” Fran asked. “I know it’s not for lack of interested women. You always have quite the following.” She ladled some hot broth, which was simmering in a sauce pan on the stove, and added it to the risotto.

“I don’t know about that,” Coop said.

This time, the look Fran gave Coop was not at all flirtatious. In fact, it was the same old Fran he had known for years looking at him with exasperated disbelief. “What’s this? Since when did you start acting humble?”

“I’ve changed my ways,” Coop said. “I pretty much had to after my ex-girlfriends ganged up on me and accused me of being cocky. It was ugly.”

“It must have been if it turned you modest,” Fran teased him. She was stirring the risotto so vigorously, her cheeks had flushed again and a loose curl bounced against her temple.

“Have you heard from Audrey recently?”

Fran’s smile faded, and her face closed off. “No.”

“I thought you two were good friends?” Coop said.

Fran shrugged. Coop wondered if Audrey had told Fran something about him—about what had happened between them—and Fran was reluctant to divulge any confidences to him.

“Is she okay?” he asked quietly.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Fran asked, looking at him, her expression a mixture of defiance and confusion.

“No reason. Never mind. I’m going to head to the rest-room,” Coop said, and then, when he returned to the kitchen, he joined Will and Jaime’s mind-numbingly dull conversation about pre-primary schools. Luckily, it was short-lived, as Jaime took over keeping Fran company while she stirred, leaving Will and Coop free to talk fishing.

“I think we’re just about ready to eat,” Fran said twenty minutes later. “Why don’t we move to the dining room.”

The dinner party guests obligingly tripped off to the dining room, and once everyone was seated at the table, Will held up a bottle of wine.

“How is everyone doing on drinks? More wine, Leland?” Will asked.

Leland smiled and held out his glass. “Please. Empty glasses always depress me.”

“That sounds like one of those sayings that should be embroidered on a pillow,” Fran said, laughing, as she came in with a platter of antipasto and a loaf of warmed rustic Italian bread.

Coop wondered again at how cheerful Fran seemed, and the stark contrast this made to Will’s pallid and somber demeanor.

As the antipasto platter was passed around, Leland, seated to Coop’s right, looked at him sternly and said, “What is the story behind Audrey’s absence?”

Coop shook his head and shrugged. “I have no idea. I know as much about it as you do.”

Leland continued to look at him. It reminded Coop vividly of being a kid hauled up in front of the principal.

“I think these dinner parties are good for Audrey,” Leland said censoriously. “She spends too much time on her own. That’s not good for a woman like her.”

“A woman like her? What does that mean?” Fran asked, frowning.