Off the Beaten Path. John Schlarbaum
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with many people, or become friends with them. Dawn is in the complete opposite situation and takes full advantage of it when the occasion arises.
Tonight’s social gathering invitation indicated a starting time of 8:00 p.m., which we figured was code for 10-10:30 p.m.
“It’ll be fun. You’ll meet a bunch of cool people,” Dawn said as she checked her hair in the hall mirror.
“Says you,” I said, pulling on my jacket. “The only person I’ll know there is you.”
“And Doug.”
“Really? Doug, The Sunsetter’s master short order cook? Why didn’t you mention that before?” I asked with a grin. “Maybe if we get bored, he can whip us up a burger or wings.”
Dawn zipped up the side of her knee-high boots and walked past me to the front door. “If we get bored, I can assure you Doug won’t be whipping you in any way. Me, on the other hand . . . ”
I turned and gently pushed her up against the wall to give her a kiss, which she generously returned. “Promise about that whipping part?”
“To clarify,” she began, looking up at me, “I was talking about the white fluffy stuff you put on dessert.”
“Yeah, sure. You. Me. Dessert topping. That’s what I was talking about too.”
“Uh-huh.”
***
It was 10:15 when we arrived at a very nice two storey house, set comfortably in a section of Darrien that the mid-1980’s yuppies had claimed for their own.
“Remind me again why this stockbroker invited us to his soirée?” I inquired as we walked up the driveway.
“I don’t know. During the week he’d come in for lunch with a few buddies, then one day he started coming in by himself. I thought it was odd, so I asked him about it and one thing led to another.”
“How exactly did one thing lead to another?”
“You know, this party invitation.”
“So, he wasn’t one of the lucky few you slept with before we became exclusive?”
“I like it when you show your jealous side, but sadly no,” Dawn replied with a warm smile. “I don’t think his wife would have gone for that.”
“One look at how cute you are and she might have changed her mind or even joined in. Did you think of that?”
“I suppose I could ask her tonight.”
“I suppose you could.”
The door was opened by a slim woman in her late forties, who exuded the confidence and charm I assumed she’d been trained to fake from an early age. “Hello, please come in. I’m Patricia Wallace.”
“Thank you. I’m Dawn and this is my insignificant other, Steve Cassidy.”
Our hostess glanced at me with a mildly shocked expression while extending her hand, which I took. “It’s very nice to meet both of you. Daniel has spoken about you often, Dawn. He’s a stickler for good service and thinks you’re one of the best waitresses he’s ever had.”
“We appreciate his business, especially after the firm let those brokers go last month,” Dawn said.
“These are tough times,” Mrs. Wallace replied shaking her head. “Actually, a few of those who were laid off are here tonight. You might recognize them, even without their business suits on.” She paused and took in Dawn’s smoking hot outfit and boots, before adding, “I’m sure they’ll recognize you in any case.”
Zing! Pow! Wham!
Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the comic stylings of Patricia Wallace!
We hung our coats in the foyer closet and were escorted into the living room to be introduced to the assembled crowd, many of whom were already showing visible signs of motor skill impairment.
“Dawn and Steve, everyone. Everyone, Dawn and Steve.”
There was a smattering of slurred “Hello-Hey-Hi” greetings, possibly even some applause, before backs were again turned on us.
“With that taken care of, would you like me to open that for you, dear?” Mrs. Wallace asked, pointing to Dawn’s bottle of white wine.
“Actually this is a gift for tonight’s invite,” Dawn replied cheerfully. “It’s from a local winery. I like to support area businesses.”
As a keen observer of people, I’m pretty good at determining the meaning, hidden or otherwise, behind a person’s body language. The way Mrs. Wallace’s nose crinkled ever so slightly, combined with the downturn, then quick phony smile upturn of her lips was bad enough, without her adding a barely noticeable stagger backwards for good measure.
Now you’re just showing off, I thought defensively.
“The wine is very generous, but please let’s share it.”
After pouring a glass for Dawn in the kitchen, our wholly unimpressed lady of the house left her glass empty, making the excuse someone in the other room had called her name. Once out of earshot, Dawn raised her wine to my now Jack Daniels-filled tumbler and noted, “She has very good hearing or–“
“Is a first class snob,” I offered, finishing her thought.
“Exactly.”
We toasted each other and after downing a large amount of whiskey, I thought the evening could turn out to be an entertaining one after all.
Our first decision was which one of the stereotypical party cliques to initially crash. Maybe the rich, established crowd that included our hosts? Or what about the sad sack, newly unemployed barely graduates, discussing strategies for dealing with their current midlife crisis? As these whiners were all male, it allowed, or forced their female partners and one metrosexual male to form their own separate splinter group. We were still debating our next move when Doug sauntered away from a throng of three couples, none of which, surprisingly, looked particularly well off, distressed or neurotic.
Just what kind of party is this exactly?
Doug had been at The Sunsetter for a few years, working his way from dishwasher to cook in a relatively short time. He was in his late twenties, average looking and with a sense of humour that is an acquired taste. Always in a happy mood, Dawn enjoyed working with him and that was good enough for me.
“Hey guys,” Doug said, before bending forward for an obligatory hug from Dawn. I raised my drink to my lips and held out my other hand, which he fist pumped for some reason. “You two look lost.”
“That’s because we don’t know anyone here,” Dawn replied, “aside from you and Mr. Wallace. I feel like we’re crashing a wedding reception.”
“I’m in the same boat. Daniel . . . ah, Mr. Wallace . . . just said ‘the more the merrier’ and gave me his address, although I don’t think his wife is too pleased.”
“Shocker,” I interjected, sharing a knowing smile with Dawn. “We think she’s against local businesses, which regrettably includes the good old Sunsetter. From an earlier experience, I don’t think she’s accustomed to socializing with the help.”
“The help, huh?” Dawn said. “Look at us with a title all our own, Doug. I kinda like it, even if others here don’t.” She raised her glass. “To the help!”
“The help!” Doug and I joined in, much to the consternation of the nearby whiners.
“Are you excited about your murder mystery tour this weekend?” Doug asked. “I’d think as a P.I. you would be, Steve.”
“I’m sure visiting a bunch of locations where murders took place will be interesting in a touristy type of way, but when I was a cop I used to arrive at murder scenes, sometimes only