The Power House Wives. Fredrica Greene
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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.