The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,60
two people, so I squatted down next to a slim little writing desk and Trey stood behind a potted palm.
Trey’s head was plainly visible above the fronds, but he made a great show of flattening himself against the wall, then snapped his head toward me and froze, like a deer who has been discovered in the headlights and can’t figure out which direction to run. I shook my head and grinned, trying to keep from laughing. It wasn’t that Trey was exactly hilarious, but there’s something kind of cute and endearing about a guy who’s trying to show off for a girl.
I’d have been less amused if it was Lorne; he really did seem to flirt with anything in a skirt, almost like an involuntary reflex. But Trey didn’t seem like that kind of guy. And he really did have the nicest eyes. Were they brandy-colored? Or were they more like toffee? Either way, they were delicious.
Felicia peered through a tiny crack in the almost-closed curtains and let out a little gasp of excitement. “Somebody’s coming up the walk! Turn off the lamp! Quiet now!”
Happy flipped a switch on a Tiffany lamp that sat atop the piano. The room went completely dark and, apart from the wheezing sound coming from behind the piano when Mr. Mazlow breathed, completely silent. We waited. And waited. And waited. Nobody moved a muscle. Finally, the front door opened and two people entered the house.
“Hello? Is anybody home?”
Sissy Lee flipped a light switch and everybody groaned.
“Sissy, darling,” Felicia said, “it’s a surprise party. You were supposed to come in the back door.”
“I told you when I saw you in the bakery last week. Never mind,” Felicia said. “Come on in and find a place to hide. Beau and Foster will be here any second.”
Things went on like that for a while. Somebody would come up the walk and everybody would hide, only to realize that the somebody was another latecomer. After the third failed drill, people got tired of hiding and went to the bar.
I looked around for Trey, hoping to continue our conversation. We’d never really talked before, except about the legal stuff, but he seemed more relaxed tonight, more open. Though he seemed pretty adamant that the subject was off limits, I’d have liked to pry out more about what had happened between him and Lorne. But I was also curious about him individually. Trey was obviously smart and probably could have gone to work for a big firm and made all kinds of money. Instead, he ran a one-man show and took on clients who paid their bills in old menswear. What was that about? And well . . . It would have been nice to know if there was more to his showing off than just showing off.
Not that I had time for more, or the inclination; Steve had had nice eyes too, and look how that had turned out. Probably Trey was just goofing around, or maybe he’d pregamed and had a drink before the party. Either way, I’d kind of enjoyed it. It had been such a long time since any man, sober or otherwise, had showed off for me. And I liked Trey. Bad suits notwithstanding, he seemed like a good guy.
But the room was crowded, and before I had a chance to locate Trey, I was cornered by Sissy Lee. Though I’d known Sissy since childhood, not only did she not remember me, she seemed to be under the impression that I was a cellist and had played a sonata during the Spoleto Festival. There was no polite way to escape, so while Sissy jabbered on about Bach, I looked past her shoulder and thought about how all cocktail parties mostly look and sound the same, filled with well-dressed people who laughed too hard and tried too hard and drank too much.
When I went to parties in New York and people found out I was Dear Calpurnia, they immediately started telling me all about their problems. By comparison, this party was a piece of cake. Memory lapses notwithstanding, Sissy was still a talker, so I didn’t have to do much besides nod my head and murmur occasionally. But as my eyes wandered the room, I couldn’t help but wonder about my new neighbors.
Why was Caroline standing off by herself, not talking to anybody? How much had Happy spent on her outfit? And Botox? Did it make her feel safer?