Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,26

upward. “I love chandeliers.”

Everett thought maybe she was trying to drum up some small talk.

Lark’s finger tapped her cheek. “Especially ones like this chandelier.” She pointed upward. “It’s an original Moiré, made of a rare, hand-cut and polished quartz, reminiscent of the rock crystal chandeliers of the sixteenth century.”

Okay. Guess that wasn’t small talk.

“Yes, very nice.” Lark winked at him.

Or is she pulling my leg? He knew he was grinning like a schoolboy, but he couldn’t stop himself. After checking their coats in, he steered Lark toward the banquet room where the party was being held. Everett glanced around, casing the situation. He could smell the usual party smells—people perfumed to the hilt as well as trays of steaming food at the buffet tables. Live jazz and bursts of laughter spilled around the room.

Company parties are always such circuses, Everett thought. One minute people were being pigheaded at departmental meetings and then suddenly jovial at company get-togethers. Guess he’d become a cynic at the ripe old age of thirty-five.

Okay, the big question: Who would run into them first? Oh boy, here comes Marge, the magpie. At least that was the nickname the other women at work used behind her back. But unfortunately Marge had earned it. She never stopped moving her mouth. Marge bounced up to them in her psychedelic dress. Somehow he felt sorry for her, but he hadn’t a clue how to help her.

After the intros, Marge began her spiel. “I love your evening gown, Larkspur. Where did you buy it? Don’t you just love it? It looks so perfect on you. Just like those fairy princess gowns we put on our dolls when we were little. You know, the ones with the billowy chiffon and all the little sparkles. Did you play with dolls, too, Lark?”

Everett felt a little bug-eyed, but Lark listened graciously to the voluminous questions. Eventually, his brain started absorbing the chatter as white noise. The ordeal took exactly eleven minutes.

When Marge was spent, Lark touched the woman’s arm and said, “It’s so nice to have someone ask me questions. Usually at parties people just talk about themselves.”

Marge’s chin did a shake. Was she about to rupture into tears of joy? He couldn’t tell. “No one has ever said that to me before,” she said with her hands gathered up to her heart. “Thank you. . .Lark.”

They moved on through the crowd, leaving behind Lark’s new friend for life—a woman named Marge. He just shook his head in amazement. Oh no. A man named Jamison Peabody moved toward them at an alarming rate. He was the guy at work who caused the fastest clearance of any break room. People ran from him like swimmers fled from jellyfish at the beach. It wasn’t just the odors fermenting on Jamison’s body, but the fact that he could literally corner people in thirty seconds flat. Give or take a few nanoseconds.

This is just great. Jamison lumbered over and stood right in front of them. In fact, so close, he’d burst their spatial bubble. Apparently, Jamison didn’t realize his abdomen extended so far out they were close enough to do a three-way hug. Once they’d entered the point of no return, Everett made the appropriate introductions.

Jamison slimed Lark’s hand with a kiss as he made a slight rap of his heels together and bow of his head.

Lark made no gestures of disgust but instead rose to the occasion and curtsied and smiled.

Jamison looked like he was going to pass out from elation. He added a few chortles, which made him nearly explode out of his cummerbund.

“What do you do at Ozark Consulting?” Lark asked.

Jamison began the tale of his brilliant skills, how he was the mastermind behind the company, the brain of the operation and true pulse of the company. In other words, he was a computer programmer. But Everett could tell from Lark’s questions, she wasn’t just nodding politely at Jamison, she was actually listening.

Everett squelched a yawn but caught a point or two of the dialogue. Jamison actually had some good ideas, but his social skills were so misplaced he’d never been able to relate his ideas to anyone of importance. Maybe he could mention Jamison at a meeting or two.

Everett moaned audibly when he saw the infamous Zeta bulldoze toward them through the crowd like a snowplow.

“There you both are,” Zeta said. “With Jamison?”

“Hi. Good to see you,” Lark said. “You know, Jamison was just telling us of his ideas to improve bandwidth on your