His Sleeping Beauty. Carol Grace
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few years. Some were good friends, some just clients. Some were remarried, some single, and some soon to be single.
Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know why he’d bothered to invite Sarah to his party. She wouldn’t fit in and she probably wouldn’t have a good time. So it was a good thing that she wasn’t likely to show up. It was only that her aunt had not so subtly suggested she needed to get out more. And after last night, he felt he should keep an eye on her. Also he felt bad about waking her up this morning. After a night of sleepwalking, she needed her rest.
Max wondered if Sarah could remember what happened. The walking, the gathering of nuts, or the kiss? No, of course not. She would have said something. Or given some kind of sign. A look, a frown or a smile. He couldn’t get over how different she looked. And yet there was a hint of that beautiful creature of the night in the way she held her head, the look in her eyes. It was maddening how elusive it was, there for a brief moment, and then gone again.
He hadn’t realized until this morning how the tree was shading his pool, and he wanted to get out and do something before the party. Anything but worry about the few unhappy clients who felt they deserved more than they’d gotten in their settlements, and were blaming not only their ex, but him, too. It was a gut-wrenching business, dealing with people who’d failed while participating in one of life’s most important unions, and it was sometimes depressing, but somebody had to do it and the proceeds had enabled him to enjoy the kind of lifestyle he’d once only dreamed of.
But there was pressure to keep it up. Today was the day to thank his clients with his yearly party, show off his new house, and do some general PR for himself. He really didn’t need an extra woman there. One who’d stand out from all the others. He could hear the comments now.
“Who’s the lady in the glasses? The one standing over there by herself.”
“Doesn’t look like one of Max’s clients.”
“Or one of his girlfriends.”
“Where’d she come from?”
They hadn’t seen her in the middle of the night. They had no idea how she looked in a sheer nightgown. He felt his pulse kick up a notch just thinking about it. He was sorry he’d invited her, because he definitely didn’t want her at his party. Oh, well, she probably wouldn’t come. So why worry?
His cell phone rang and he took it out of his back pocket. It was the caterer. They’d be setting up at three and were checking on the facilities at his house. Large oven, microwave, freezer space? Yes, yes and yes.
But when they came that afternoon in their white van with Countryside Catering painted on the side, they said they’d understood he had a double oven. He looked around the spotless, unused kitchen and wondered if he’d told them he had. Since he’d moved in a month ago, he really hadn’t used the kitchen and he probably never would. He usually ate out or ordered in, so the kitchen was terra incognito.
While some of the crew set up tables on the spacious patio and started a barbecue going behind the house, others took over the kitchen, mixing salads, arranging appetizer puffs on baking sheets. Max wandered outside and looked across the fence. No sign of his neighbor. She was probably inside buried under a pile of history books. It was better that way. She wouldn’t fit in with the group. He knew it and she probably knew it, too.
When he first saw her this morning he realized she was exactly what he’d expected from her aunt’s description. And the complete opposite of the exotic creature of last night. Then the longer he stood there the more he was aware of her dual personality and changeable looks. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d walk every night. Did he hope she’d wander in a see-through nightgown every night? Of course not. Now that he knew who she was. But what if she went somewhere else in her sheer nightgown? Down the street? Out into the street? That was a scary thought. He’d have to go after her. And he had to tell her. Or did she already know?
He also wondered if he was exactly what she’d expected from him. Or hadn’t her aunt bothered to say anything about him except to warn her about the tree? It didn’t matter. If he laid off the chain saw he wouldn’t see her again, unless she walked at night or…No, he was convinced she wouldn’t come to the party. Why should she? She didn’t know anyone. She didn’t even know him. Not as well as he knew her.
One of the caterers came out to the backyard, wiping her hands on her white apron.
“Mr. Monroe, it’s almost four and we have to have another oven.”
“Sorry about that, but that’s all I’ve got.”
She glanced across the fence. “What about using your neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins’ oven? We catered a party there a little while back. Nice lady. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“No, she wouldn’t, but she’s not home.” Too bad he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Ms. History Buff by waking her up this morning and trying to reconcile her nocturnal self with her daytime persona, and he sure didn’t make up for it by inviting her to his party. She’d made that clear. It was probably the last place she’d want to be this afternoon. But why not? Would it hurt her to put in an appearance? Lots of people went to parties where they didn’t know anyone. That was the point. You went to meet new people. Why did he care? He didn’t. Well, maybe just a little. Okay, he wanted to see her again. He wanted to see how she’d look dressed for a party. Somewhere between her sleepwalker nightgown and her baggy shorts, he imagined.
Why shouldn’t she drop in, say hello, look around, and slip away if she was bored? It was a great day, there’d be fabulous food—if he could borrow her oven—and some attractive people there, though given her scholarly interests, she might find some of them on the shallow side.
“She’s got someone house-sitting,” he said. “I’ll go ask her.” She could always say no.
In answer to his knocking, she came to the back door, this time wearing a pair of elastic-waist shorts and the same T-shirt. Clearly she was not in a party mood. She was carrying a large book in one hand, no big surprise, and looking owlish behind those glasses.
“Yes?” she said disdainfully, as if he was a door-to-door salesman or someone handing out religious pamphlets.
“Hi. Remember me, your next-door neighbor?” he said cheerfully. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I hate to bother you, but it’s about my party, I think I mentioned I was having a party? Well, the caterers need an extra oven. It wouldn’t take long, but they’re baking these…I’m not sure what they are, but they’d sure appreciate it if they could use your oven for a little while. Unless you’re using it,” he added.
“No, I’m not. I guess it would be all right,” she said doubtfully.
“That’s great. I’ll send them over. Thanks.” He reached out and shook her hand, the one that wasn’t clutching the book to her chest. “Your hands are cold,” he said. “You should come outside in the sun.”
“I can’t, I’m…”
“Working, I know, but you can’t stay inside on a day like this. It’s a crime against nature. I still expect you to drop in at the party. You can spare a few minutes, half hour at least, can’t you?”
“Maybe,” she said. In this case, that “maybe” sure sounded like a no.
He shrugged and told himself to forget it. Forget her. Hadn’t she made it perfectly clear she did not want any part of his party?
An hour later, the hot appetizers were sizzling, thanks to Sarah’s oven. The three-piece band was playing mariachi music and the bartender was making margaritas. His guests were tanned and reeking of ambition and money. Many were desperately seeking someone new to share their lives with, despite their past failures, but they all seemed to be having a good time. Sometimes Max worried about that desperation he saw on their faces.
He almost wanted to say, Slow down, take it easy. Give it a rest. There are worse things than being alone. Being single has its advantages. And if you do get married again,