Taken In (3 page)

“So what’s
your
excuse for being feeble brained, you old goat?”

Margaret Louise shot her hand up between Leona and Rose. “Oh no, you don’t. This trip is ’bout friendship. And celebratin’ Victoria’s upcomin’ weddin’. Not you two cluckin’ at each other like a bunch of barnyard chickens.”

“Amen,” Debbie whispered just loud enough for all to hear.

Five or six shots—and a volley or two of evil glares between Rose and Leona—later, they were on their way again, the Waldorf Astoria soon rising before them majestically.

“Do you think it’s goin’ okay?” Margaret Louise pondered aloud as they approached the front door. “Do you think he’s fallin’ in love with her?”

“If he’s desperate enough to resort to the computer to find a date, I would imagine anything is possible.” Leona waved off their gasps in favor of smiling at the doorman, who greeted them from his position just outside the famed hotel. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, ladies. Are you here for breakfast?”

At Debbie’s nod, he pointed at Paris. “I’m sorry, no pets allowed.”

Leona’s hand found the man’s forearm and squeezed once, twice. “Don’t you worry, Paris fits inside my sister’s tote bag. No one will notice, yet
I
will most certainly remember your thoughtfulness.” She deposited Paris into Margaret Louise’s bag then batted her eyes up at the doorman once again.

Slowly, his gaze moved down Leona’s polished form before reengaging eye contact and opening the door for their admittance. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

They gathered just inside the lobby and took a moment to get their bearings, the spectacle that was Leona paling quickly against the beauty that was the famed Waldorf Astoria’s lobby.

“I have to take a photograph of this,” Beatrice insisted, only to have her hand smacked from her purse by Rose.

“Kenny isn’t allowed in the Waldorf.”

“But Paris—”

“Kenny isn’t allowed in the Waldorf,” Rose repeated.

The clatter of silverware in the distance aided in their collective decision to turn left and then right, their steps coming closer together as the elegant breakfast restaurant sprang into view.

“Oooh, lookee there! They’re sittin’ right there.” Margaret Louise motioned everyone behind a large potted tree then pointed to a table near the edge of the dining room.

Rose rested her hand slightly above that of a steely-eyed woman in her mid to late seventies who was also standing behind the plant for some reason, widening the view of the restaurant for both of them while simultaneously directing the gazes of her friends with the lift of her chin. “Why, he looks positively smitten with Dixie.”

A squeal rose up from Beatrice’s throat just before the quiet clap of her hands. “I knew John was the perfect bloke for Dixie!”

“Let me see,” Leona groused, pushing her way to the front of the group, only to gasp so loudly she sent Ms. Steely Eye in search of some much-needed personal space and everyone else ducking for cover behind the ill-fitting planter. “No, no, no . . .”

Tori took in the bewildered faces of her friends before focusing entirely on Margaret Louise’s red-faced sister. “Leona? Are you okay?”

“It can’t be . . .
him
 . . .”

She grabbed Leona’s hand and turned the woman to her, the shock on her friend’s face sending an odd little chill down her spine. “It can’t be who, Leona?”

Looking back through the still-parted branches, Leona’s shoulders sank in defeat.
“Paris
.
”

Tori peered past her own reflection to study Leona in the makeup chair across the room, the rapt attention of her friend’s style crew seemingly unnoticed by the queen of attention mongers. There was no eyelash batting at the male hair stylist, no words of advice given to the makeup artist, and no snide barbs aimed at the elderly woman seated to her left.

No, Leona simply sat still, staring straight ahead and working her bottom lip like a still-dateless teenage girl on the last day of prom ticket sales.

“You have beautiful hair, Victoria.”

She pulled her gaze back to her own reflection and nodded her approval of the final product. “Wow. Any chance you’d like to give up your job here and come to Sweet Briar, South Carolina, with me?”

If the stylist answered, she didn’t hear, as Zelman—the producer of
Taped with Melly and Kenneth—
stepped into the room and clapped his hands together. “Ladies, I must say you all look lovely this afternoon.”

At their chorus of gratitude, he continued, the jovial personality he emitted on camera throughout the syndicated talk show taking a backseat to a more no-nonsense, let’s-get-the-show-on-the-road sort of attitude. “I know you’ve all been briefed on what’s going to happen during your segment, but are there any questions you have for me before we start taping? Anything that’s unclear?”

“Can I sit next to Kenneth?” Margaret Louise hoisted her tote bag onto her lap and patted its exterior. “I baked him some of my famous cupcakes right before we left Sweet Briar and I’d sure like to give ’em to him before they lose their freshness.”

Zelman consulted the clipboard in his assistant’s hands. “I take it you’re the baker of the group then?”

Margaret Louise’s thick shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I like to bake and I like to cook, but Debbie here”—she swept her hand toward the makeup chair on her other side—“she’s the one who actually owns her own bakery. She’s the professional.”

“Debbie”—he liberated the guest list from the petite woman at his side—“Calhoun. You’re the one Ms. Davis described as unstoppable.”

Debbie’s narrow face reddened instantly. “I wouldn’t say unstoppable.”

“We would,” said Rose, Beatrice, Margaret Louise, and Tori in unison.

Zelman grinned then took a step toward the frailest of the group. “Okay, and you must be Rose, yes?”

“What gave it away? My blue veins or the fact my skin no longer fits my body?” Rose leaned forward in her chair and coughed so loud it echoed around the room. When her lungs were clear, she waved away the discomfort on Zelman’s face. “Don’t mind me. I’m old and I have no filter but I assure you I will behave on set.”

Beatrice slid off her chair and stood. “And I’m Beatrice. The nanny from England. And this is Dixie.”

Dixie, who hadn’t stopped smiling since returning to the hotel from her date with John, ran a trembling hand down the front of her lavender housecoat. “I’m the librarian who lost her job when Victoria came to town.”

Zelman looked back down at his notes, his finger quickly moving down the page and then slowly from left to right. “The librarian who will make sure to tell you she lost her job when Victoria came to town,” he read aloud. “Yup. I’ve got you right here in Ms. Davis’s letter.”

“And that’s Leona,” Beatrice added, pointing toward the chair across the room from Tori. “And Paris.”

“Paris?” Zelman glanced down at his notes. “I don’t have a Paris on the list.”

Leona shot her sister with a death glare. “You didn’t mention Paris in your letter?”

Margaret Louise waved away the oversight with a pudgy hand. “Paris is my sister’s pet bunny.”

Zelman blinked once, twice. “I see that.”

“She goes wherever Leona goes,” Margaret Louise clarified.

“And Leona is”—he stared at Paris for what seemed like an eternity then took in his notes once again—“the sewing circle member who doesn’t sew, right?”

Spinning around in her chair, Leona managed a smile for the producer that stopped just short of its usual flirtatiousness. “I’m the cultured one who just happens to be two weeks away from taping the very first episode of my very own cable television fashion program.”

“She’s also the most rude and egocentric member of the group,” Rose offered helpfully. “But pay her no mind. None of us do.”

Overpowered by her need to keep World War III at bay until after they were safely back in their Manhattan hotel room, Tori leapt off her chair and thrust a hand in Zelman’s direction. “And I’m Tori, the bride-to-be.”

“The extra pretty one, just like I told you in my letter,” Margaret Louise chimed in. “Inside and out.”

Again, Leona glowered at her sister, but this time it was short-lived as Zelman handed the clipboard back to his assistant and motioned for everyone to follow him down the long hall that would eventually lead them to the set of
Taped with Melly and Kenneth
.

“As you know from watching the show, the first twenty minutes is the time when our hosts chat about their previous day as well as whatever they feel like discussing. Then we’ll go to our latest contest.” They slowed along with Zelman as he approached an open door on the left, about halfway down the hallway. “After that, they’ll announce your group. Janie, here”—he pointed to his assistant—“will come get you here in the Green Room and escort you to the edge of the stage. You’ll come on, take your seats with Melly and Kenneth, and answer whatever they ask over the next ten minutes or so before it’s time to fetch the next guest from the Green Room.”

Beatrice leaned forward, unbridled excitement stretching her otherwise subdued features. “Is it Kenny?”

“Kenny?” Zelman echoed.

“Rogers.”

Rose pushed her way to the front of the group and smacked a hand over Beatrice’s mouth. “Don’t mind her, she’s young.”

“I must confess, I’m mighty curious ’bout the next guest, too.” Margaret Louise peeked into the empty room then back at Zelman. “Is it a movie star?”

Zelman shook his head. “Nope. An author.”

“Who?”
Dixie demanded.

“Gavin Rollins.”

Dixie tapped her index finger against her chin then turned to Tori. “Gavin Rollins? Do you know that name?”

She opened her mouth to answer, only to have Zelman fill in the blanks. “He’s the author of that new blockbuster,
Finding Love After Sixty-Five
.”

“So it must be fiction?” Rose quipped.

Zelman cracked a smile. “Nope.”

“A public service warning?”

“Nope.”

Rose’s bony arms flew into the air. “I’m out of guesses.”

“It’s more of a step-by-step guide, interspersed with real-life stories of post-retirement happily ever afters,” Margaret Louise explained, earning herself a nod from the producer. “Heck, he might even be inspired to write one of them sequels if he sits next to Dixie in that Green Room for more ’n a minute or two.”

*   *   *

Tori’s legs felt like rubber as she led the way across the stage to Melly Pipa and Kenneth Donaldson, their warm smiles and the studio audience’s polite applause adding to the dreamlike fog clouding her head and making her feel as if her alarm clock were going to rouse her at any minute.

But it didn’t.

Instead, she accepted a hug from Melly and a kiss on the cheek from Kenneth then stepped aside as each of her friends did the same.

“Welcome, ladies,” Melly said, gesturing toward the semicircle of chairs set up to her left. “We’ve been looking forward to your visit all week, haven’t we, Kenneth?”

The six-foot-ten former linebacker pulled his lingering gaze from Leona and fixed it on his diminutive co-host. “Uhhh . . . yes . . . we have.” At Melly’s raised eyebrow, he managed to shake off Leona’s spell long enough to concentrate on the cue card beside the camera. “This has been one of my favorite sweepstakes so far simply because you made the selection process super easy.”

“It’s not every day a group of friends spans the kind of age range you do.” Melly reached behind her chair and retrieved a letter from the host chat table. “Let me read the audience a little of the letter we received here at the studio. But before I do, which one of you is Margaret Louise?”

Like a shot, Margaret Louise’s plump hand was in the air waving from side to side. “That’s me.”

Melly nodded then began to read, “Dear Melly and Kenneth. My name is—”

“B’fore you read that, I’d like to show everyone this picture.” Margaret Louise reached inside the jacket of her polyester running suit and extracted the eight-by-ten glossy she’d packed especially for that moment. Then, holding the portrait toward the camera with her left hand, she beckoned the cameraman to come closer with her right. “This here, is my son, Jake. He’s the spittin’ image of his daddy. And this here is my daughter-in-law, Melissa. I couldn’t love her any more if I’d popped her out myself.”

Lowering the letter to her lap, Melly let out a laugh. “If you popped her out, eh?” She turned to Kenneth just long enough to point a finger in Margaret Louise’s direction. “I like this woman! She says it like it is, just like I do!”

“Lord help us all,” Kenneth groaned playfully.

Margaret Louise cleared her throat and continued on, her index finger guiding the television audience’s gaze to each of her grandbabies. “And these are my grandbabies—Jake Junior, Julia, Tommy, Kate, Lulu, Sally, Molly, and the brand-new youngin’, Matthew.”

Melly leaned forward on her high-top stool and conducted a silent count. “That’s
eight
kids! Oh. Wow. I can hardly keep up with
two
!” She turned to Kenneth, who was, once again, engaged in meaningful eye contact with Leona. “Can you imagine me having
eight
kids?”

“And Melissa, their mum, still finds time to sew in our group,” Beatrice offered.

“I don’t sew with
two
kids!” Zelman’s finger moved counterclockwise beside the camera, prompting Melly to return to the letter in her lap. “Okay, so where was I? Ahhh, here we go . . . ‘My name is Margaret Louise Davis, and I’m writing to you from Sweet Briar, South Carolina. When people think of friends, they picture folks of the same age—jogging together, going to movies together, and talking on the phone for hours. But when I think of my friends—my
best
friends—I see something very different. Some of us have been married and widowed, some of us are retired and looking for hobbies to keep us busy, some of us work full-time while juggling motherhood, and some of us are really just starting out, choosing paths the rest of us traveled a lifetime ago. We shouldn’t work as friends, but we do. And it all started with a sewing needle—a sewing needle we each picked up for very different reasons.’”

Melly set the letter back on her lap. “That letter gives me goose bumps every time I read it. And now here you all are, such a visually varied group, yet you’re all best friends. Amazing.”

“Do you ever fight?” Kenneth asked.

“Not really, no. ’Cept, of course, for the spats between my pigheaded twin sister and Rose, right here.” Margaret Louise slipped an arm around Rose’s shoulders. “But they ain’t serious. And as much as they might squeal otherwise, we see right through their bickerin’ and posturin’.”

Leona opened her mouth in protest but shut it as Kenneth posed another question. “Did you all start in your sewing circle at the same time?”

Dixie took that one. “Margaret Louise, Rose, Georgina—one of our two members who couldn’t make the trip—and myself started the group along with the late Charlotte Devereaux many years ago. Margaret Louise’s daughter-in-law, Melissa, started about three years ago, along with Debbie and Beatrice.”

“And Leona and Victoria?” Melly inquired. “When did they start sewing with the group?”

Rose snorted. “Leona doesn’t sew. She just eavesdrops and annoys everyone around her.” Then retracting her bristles, the matriarch of the group continued. “But Victoria here, she has a way of bringing us all together like a family. She’s made us all nicer somehow.”

Heads nodded to the left and right of Tori, kicking off a mistiness in her eyes that necessitated a rapid blink or two. “I moved to Sweet Briar as a way to start fresh in life,” she explained as Melly gave her the floor. “I’d lost my great-grandmother, my personal life was in upheaval, and I was in desperate need of a change. Moving to Sweet Briar—where I found my dream job, my future husband, and met all of these amazing women—was, hands down, the smartest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Stop! Stop! You’re going to make me cry!” Melly widened her eyes as she took in the camera then turned back to Tori. “Being one of the younger ones in the group, do you feel as if you learn a lot about life and love from these women?”

“Absolutely.”

“And we learn from the younger ones, too.” Dixie shifted in her seat to afford a better view of Melly and Kenneth.

“Hmmm, that’s interesting. How so?”

“Well, when Victoria first came to Sweet Briar, I was rather . . .”

“Cranky?” Rose offered.

Margaret Louise narrowed her eyes in thought. “Close-minded?”

“Bitter,” Leona stated.

Ignoring her peers, Dixie continued, “Set in my ways. I knew life one way—the way I’d lived it for seventy years at that point. Victoria opened my eyes. Made me see so many things in a different way, including myself. For that—and for the steadfast loyalty of each and every one of these women seated here beside me—I am truly blessed.”