Farewell, Dorothy Parker (10 page)

Violet lost count and had to pour the grounds back into the sack and start over. Then she realized the word was
coffee.

“Mrs. Parker?” she said softly.

Why are you serving coffee?
came the whisper.

“To go with dessert.”

Drinks. A party needs drinks. Liquor. How do you expect everyone to loosen up when you’re serving coffee?

“Shit, I lost count again.”

A male voice startled her. “Do you always talk to yourself when you make coffee?”

It was Michael, her kung fu instructor, looking even more beautiful standing at the door of her kitchen than he did in class. His shirt was blue, his eyes were hazel, his skin a warm brown. In street clothes, his rigid posture was movie-star dramatic.

Violet had a tendency to shut down around good-looking men. They expected too much, appreciated too little, and were rarely interesting. But Michael was different. She sensed that there was an epic or two beneath those hazel eyes. And then there was that voice. It made her want to get close enough to smell his neck.

But no. This guy was so far out of her league she didn’t have the right to even think about him.

Dear God, but he’s stunning. Ms. Epps, you simply must find a way to get this creature in your bed.

Was Dorothy Parker losing her mind? This guy could get any woman he wanted. He wouldn’t be interested in Violet if he had cataracts and the lights were off.

“I…I keep losing count,” she said.

Flirt with him. Say it’s hard to concentrate in his presence.

“Who’s Count?” he asked.

“What? Oh, no one. I mean, I’m talking about coffee scoops.”

He smiled. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

Violet cringed in embarrassment. How could she be so stupid? “Sorry,” she said. “I should have known.”

He put a warm hand on her shoulder. “No, you shouldn’t have. It was dumb.”

“I like dumb jokes,” she said, “especially puns.”

“Good,” he said, “’cause I’m the king of bad puns. In fact, I always have a pun in the oven.”

Violet shook her head and laughed. “That’s terrible!”

“But you laughed.”

She went back to counting out scoops of coffee. “There’s a certain charm to the puns that make you cringe.”

Excellent! Keep flirting. You’re doing great.

Was she really flirting? Violet got flustered. “I’m still losing count,” she said.

“Try doing it by tens,” he said.

“What?”

“Count by tens. That’s what I do. Helps the focus.”

There was that sibilant
s
again. Violet could turn herself off to the handsome face and strong body. She might even find a way to resist the honey-toned voice. But that speech impediment touched the tenderest part of her heart.

“I’ll give it a shot,” she said, and started scooping the coffee again.

Tell him you’re lousy at domestic tasks. Tell him you’re only good at two things, and then when he asks what they are—

“There!” Violet said, though she had lost count once again. “Done. Thanks for the tip.” She turned on the electric coffeemaker—the one Ivy used for parties—and it started making familiar hissing noises as it heated the water.

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

Violet dusted her hands and surveyed the kitchen. Except for
the birthday cake, all the desserts were already in the dining room. “I think I’m in pretty good shape here,” she said.

Find something for him to do, you fool!

“Um, actually,” Violet added, “can you pour some half and half into that little creamer?”

He opened the refrigerator and got out the container. “Which half?” he asked.

Violet smiled. “I never saw this side of you,” she said. “In class you’re always so serious.”

“I leave the goofy home,” he said. “Kung fu requires concentration.”

She had to agree with that. It was a pretty rigorous discipline.

“Anyway,” he continued, “it’s really nice of you to do this for Mariana. You must entertain a lot.”

“Me? God, no. This is…almost unprecedented.”

“Then it’s especially nice. It really means a lot to Mariana.”

Mariana. Isn’t that the birthday girl? What’s his particular interest in her? Find out if they’re an item.

“I’m glad,” Violet said.

His expression was suddenly serious. “Poor thing’s had a rough year,” he said.

He feels sorry for her. You might have your work cut out for you.

“I didn’t know,” Violet said.

“Her mother died a few months ago.”

Splendid! If this guy’s got a soft spot for women with sad stories, you win. Tell him about your sister. You’ll have him wrapped around your finger in no time.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Violet said. “She never mentioned anything.”

“She puts on a brave front.”

Damn. He cares about her.

“She certainly seems very strong,” Violet said.

“She does. Though when you get to know her you can see she’s dealing with a lot of pain.”

This is going from bad to worse. Your goose may be cooked, my dear.

There’s no goose and nothing to cook, Violet thought. Couldn’t Mrs. Parker see that this guy was beyond her reach? Besides, it was becoming increasingly obvious he had something going on with Mariana.

He continued, “And in the middle of dealing with all that, her girlfriend left her.”

“Girlfriend?”

Girlfriend?

Violet turned to look at him. Mariana, gay? She had never suspected.

Michael frowned. “I guess I have a big mouth.”

Ha! Trust me, that was no accident. He wants you to know there’s nothing going on between the two of them.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s not a secret. In fact, I think she tried to tell me, but I was too thick to connect the dots.”

He laughed. “I’ve read your reviews. The last thing anyone could call you is thick.”

This darling man is flirting, my dear. Flirt back.

Violet put the creamer, the sugar, and the cups onto a large tray and asked Michael if he would mind carrying it into the dining room for her. When he left, she whispered to her invisible mentor, “You have to stop this. He’s not interested in me.”

I beg to differ.

“A man like that…he probably dates twenty-year-old fitness instructors.”

Don’t sell yourself short. There’s a lot to be said for intelligence and
maturity. Besides, you’re a perfectly lovely woman. I’m quite sure he finds you appealing. You have a certain lithe grace, you know.

Violet didn’t want to let Dorothy Parker talk her into thinking she had a chance with Michael. It could only lead to disappointment.

“Please,” she said, “just help me get through this evening without embarrassing myself.”

You need to set your goals a bit higher, my dear.

Later, after the group sang “Happy Birthday” to Mariana, Violet sliced the cake and passed pieces around the table.

Why doesn’t that skinny girl take a slice of cake? Hell, she can take two or three.

The Algonquin guest book was now on the dining room sideboard, and Mrs. Parker was in all her glory, floating around the room unseen, making snide comments about the guests.

“Suzette,” Violet said, “there’s a bowl of apples if you’d like one.”

Suzette stared at them and sucked air. “Do you have any Granny Smiths?”

“Sorry. But these are very good.”

Suzette extracted an apple with two fingers, as if it was dripping with something toxic, and set it on her plate. She picked up her fork and knife and cut a slice.

Well, now she’s just making a pig of herself.

“How about you, Jason?” Violet asked the short-attention-span hairdresser.

He peered at the slice she was offering. “That looks like…What do you call that kind of cake that has a lot of layers?”

“Layer cake?”

“Layer cake,” Jason repeated. “Yes, I love layer cake. Thank you.”

I once had a dachshund smarter than this one.

The two Lindas discussed sharing a piece and finally decided they would each have their own.

“I shouldn’t, but I will,” said one.

Story of my life.

“So how old are you?” the other Linda asked Mariana.

“I’m twenty-eight. But I’m an actress, so I’ll always be twenty-eight.”

Appreciative titters spread around the table.

“How come you’re not in Los Angeles, trying to get into movies?” asked Jason.

“Yeah,” said the other Linda. “I bet Violet has connections and could help you out.”

Oh, no, Violet thought. Not that. Anything but that. People often assumed she could help them out with their movie careers, but the truth was that critics had no Hollywood connections. In fact, keeping a distance was part of the job.

It was okay, though, because she had a joke all ready. She kept it stored in her arsenal for just such an occasion. It was the perfect quip to deflect the situation—not terribly witty, but light and cute without a hint of hostility. Now that she was faced with actually saying it, she worried it would be misunderstood.

She practiced it in her head: I’m barely connected to the
Internet.

Did it sound foolish? Smug? Would they roll their eyes at her, as Andi had done the day before? Would they turn on her, as her sister had done when they were children?

She knew she looked like she was about to say something, and they all stared at her expectantly. Well, except for Jason, who was distracted by the table surface.

Didn’t you tell me you had a joke prepared? Don’t just sit there. Spit it out.

God, even Dorothy Parker was waiting for her to say something. But she couldn’t. And the longer she waited, the worse it got.

She repeated the words to herself: I’m barely connected to the
Internet.
Was it even remotely charming? Why did it seem like the perfect
response when she thought of it? Because there was no one to hear it, no one to think she was an arrogant little bitch…or an idiot. Too bad it lacked the silly fun of Michael’s bad puns.

He came to the rescue and broke the silence. “Mariana has no interest in Hollywood,” he said.

“That’s right,” said the actress. “I’m in love with the
theatah, dahling.
” She flipped her hair dramatically, and everyone laughed.

Why was it so easy for some people?

“Seriously,” Mariana continued, “I really do love the stage. It’s intoxicating.”

Tell her that’s the greasepaint.

Violet pushed her cake around with her fork.

“How many people get to do something they really love?” said one of the Lindas. “I think it’s marvelous.”

“Are you in anything now?” asked the other.

“I’m in rehearsals for an Off-Off-Broadway production called
Biting.
Opens next week.”

Jason asked what it was about, and Mariana laughed. “It’s kind of a weird show about vampires in Manhattan.”

Just what the world needs. A play about agents.

Violet sipped her coffee.

Say it. It’s funny. They’ll laugh.

She shook her head.

What are you afraid of? That they won’t find it amusing? That they won’t like you? Why should you care? They already think you’re a stiff, anyway.

“Is it any good?” Violet asked Mariana, mostly to get Dorothy Parker to shut up.

“Actually? Yeah, I think it’s funny. You guys should come. All of you. I can get you in as my guests.”

“That would be great,” Michael said. “What do you folks think?”

“I’m in,” Jason said.

Suzette used a napkin to wipe some imaginary food from the corner of her mouth. “Me, too.”

“We love going downtown,” said one of the Lindas.

“What about you?” Michael asked Violet.

Say yes. He’s practically asking you for a date.

“I would love for you to come,” Mariana added.

“As long as I don’t have to write a review,” Violet said to be funny, and immediately regretted it. She meant to be light, to imply that she wanted to have fun and not work, but the others might think she was copping an attitude about the show.

To her relief, they laughed.

That was good. Now tell your darling Michael there’s nothing you like more than attending the theater on the arm of a handsome man.

Violet coughed in an effort to convey to Mrs. Parker that she needed to drop this line of discourse. She was
not
going to flirt with Michael and make a fool of herself.

“Can I get anyone more coffee?” she asked.

“Love some,” said one of the Lindas.

Michael rose. “Relax,” he said to Violet. “I’ll get it.”

“I don’t know if there’s enough,” Violet said. “I could make more.”

This is perfect. Ask him to come into the kitchen and help you.

I will
not,
Violet thought.

“I think we’re fine,” Michael said.

“I don’t want you to go to any more trouble,” Mariana said to Violet. “It was so nice of you to do this.”

“Everything looks so beautiful,” Linda One added. “We love the house. It’s so…North Shore.”

“So Gold Coast,” said Linda Two.

This is when you’re supposed to tell your guests they’re welcome any time. But look straight at Michael when you say it.

“Thank you,” Violet said, embarrassed by the praise. She loved the
house, but thought the key to its charm was its lack of pretension. It was the opposite of the McMansions that had been springing up in the neighboring towns. Because the original structure was three hundred years old, the ceilings were low and the rooms fairly modest. It was, Violet thought, the perfect home, neatly proportioned and quietly nestled on wooded property between gently rolling hills.

“Thank you”? Is that all you have to say? Ms. Epps, it’s time you broke free of your timidity. It’s most unattractive. You need to—

The whispering abruptly stopped, as Violet had walked over to the side table and discreetly closed the Algonquin guest book. She had had enough.

“Did you know it was her sister’s house?” Linda One announced to the group, looking proud that she had the inside information to share. “She’s an architect.”