by Sara Evans
“Junk drawer,” Willow said without looking.
Beryl pulled out the narrow drawer, found the matches by the emery board, and struck a flame. “I’ll bring home supper.”
Willow came around the table. Dark blonde flyaways curled about her face, and her narrow features were pink from the kitchen heat. The girl had the aura of a kite caught in a current.
“Last semester I took a government class. Snore bore, right? But then one day they showed us old news clips of the sixties, the great counterculture, and I realized something.”
“What would that be?”
“For a generation who claimed to be all about peace, you sure started a lot of wars. Not with guns and bullets, but with words and ideology. With your parents, your kids. Your generation didn’t bring anything together. You tore everything apart.”
“What’s your point?” Beryl inhaled, filling her lungs with smoke, and opened the back door to exhale. Once in a while, Willow came up with an original observation. Wrong, but original.
“Make peace with Jade, Beryl.”
Five
Servers in black tie and tails passed under the crystal light of the chandelier, carrying silver trays of champagne to the Bensons’ two dozen guests. In the main hall, a pianist played Chopin.
Jade sipped her chilled champagne, wondering where Max had disappeared to and wanting to be home, curled on the couch with her cold toes tucked under his knees, reading a book and playing Name That Tune with Roscoe’s cacophony of snorts.
Definitely the opening bars of “Smoke on the Water.”
What? You’re crazy. That’s the bass riff to “Brick House.”
“This music makes me feel as if I should be doing a relevé or a plié.” The egg-shaped Nettie Hargrove bumped up next to her. “Jade, sweetie, what’s this music?”
Jade swigged her bubbly. Imagining the round-hipped Nettie at the ballet bar with her toes and knees pointed out was too much.
“It’s Chopin, Nettie.” June broke through a circle of guests, coming toward them.
“Chopin, Toepan, who cares? It’s making me relive my worst childhood memory. Mrs. Weiner tapping her cane on the floor, insisting, ‘Nettie, put down that hot dog and plié. I said plee-ay.’”
“You did not go to ballet with a hot dog.” June punctuated her skepticism with a flick of her hand.
Jade laughed. “That would’ve been fun to see.”
“Oh, honey child, believe me.” Nettie offered Jade a half smile while working to maintain her facade. “Please, June-bug, do us all a favor. Tell that man to play some jazz or a sanguine version of the Beatles. Or Elvis. Better yet, how about ‘Great Balls of Fire’? If he flips his hair like Jerry Lee and plays with his feet, I’ll tip him a hundred dollars.”
“Mind yourself, Nettie.” June backed toward the marble and glass hall.
“But I’ll see what I can do.”
“All right, tell me about you.” The hot-dog-eating ballerina hooked her arm around Jade’s with a force that caused her champagne to slosh around the cut-crystal flute. “The woman who stole my Max’s heart. You know, he was going to be my male companion, all perfectly on the up and up, of course. Travel Europe with me. Then you came along and stole his heart.” She sighed dramatically. “So goes my last hope of ever being seen with a gorgeous man.”
“I can lend him to you now if you want.” Jade set her champagne flute on a passing server’s tray. “For a few minutes.”
“What’s the use?” Nettie exhaled with exaggeration. “He’ll merely pine for you. I’m left to do the bidding of that man over there.” Nettie pointed to the lean figure with a thick handlebar mustache.
“He’s quite handsome,” Jade said.
“Don’t lie, girl. It’s not Christian. With that mustache, Carmen appears confused about the era in which he lives.”
If Nettie’s humor cost a hundred dollars an ounce, Jade would find a way to purchase a gallon.
“Maybe I could hire him to model in my vintage shop,” Jade teased. “Charge up the atmosphere a bit.”
“Tell me the day and time, sugar. I’ll make sure he’s there.”
“All right, Nettie.” June Benson powered her way toward them. “Abel will play some Beatles just for you. But he’s not too happy about it.”
Nettie cocked her head to one side as “I Want to Hold Your Hand” rose from the hall with a distinct Chopin accent. “No, no, still makes me feel as if I should plié.”
“You’re impossible.” June snatched a fresh flute of champagne from the passing server. “You plié, Nettie. I’ll see about dessert.”
“Look there, I’m being summoned.” Nettie gestured toward her husband. “Off I go like a well-groomed, highly trained pet.”
“I don’t believe it for a moment.” Jade grinned.
“Shh.” Nettie pressed her finger to her lips as she wove her way through the guests, displaying a bit of her ballet grace. When she pecked her man’s cheek with a kiss, he wrapped his slender arm around her shoulders.
Jade searched the room again for Max. Was he going to be gone all night?
“Is this your first Benson soiree?” A feminine voice floated over her shoulder.
Jade turned to see a sleek-haired brunette with sharp eyes. “My second. I attended the Christmas party last year.”
“Ah, the coveted Benson Christmas bash. Sorry to have missed it. I was skiing in Aspen.”
“And you didn’t take me with you?” Jade raised her eyebrows, grinning. She liked this woman, whoever she was, with her clipped, fresh manner.
“You’re funny.” The woman offered her hand. “Rice McClure.”
Jade hesitated as she took her hand. Max’s ex. “Jade Fitzgerald.”
“So, you’re the one.” Rice’s broad smile fit her bold features. “Congratulations. Max is an amazing man.”
“Yes, he is.” Jade tapped the base of her glass, glancing around. Where was the man she’d snagged, by the way? “So, Rice, what do you do?”
“I’m a patent attorney at Benson Law. Just moved back from New York to head up the new patent department.”
“Really?” Jade narrowed her gaze. “Well, then, congratulations to you too.”
“Ah, this is news to you, isn’t it? Max hasn’t said much about me, has he?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“Understandable. It was painful at the end. It’s why I went to New York. I needed a fresh start, you know, a way to break away. For a long time, I thought we’d make it, but he was so in de—Listen to me, going on about your fiancé.
I’m so sorry.” Her voice drifted and she stared into her champagne glass as if looking for answers. “So, tell me, where did you get your wedding dress?”
“On Market Street, BoutiqueCouture.” Typically all vintage, Jade decided her wedding dress must be “something new.”
“I’ve heard fabulous things about them. How has your—”
“Rice, there you are.” June broke through a circle of women all wearing black gowns. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I promised to show you my Paris purchases. Excuse us, Jade.”
“Now? Well, okay.” Rice reached around Jade and set down her flute. “Off to Paris. Say, Jade, maybe we can have lunch sometime?”
“I’m at the Blue Umbrella every day.”
“I’m sure Max has your number.” Rice started off, then paused, looking back at Jade. “The gown you’re wearing. Is it vintage?”
“An Irene Lentz.” Jade brushed the light velvet of her skirt. “She was—”
“A costume designer in Hollywood’s golden age.” Rice backed away, smiling, her heels leaving the rug and clicking against the hardwood. “Yeah, I know.”
Jade watched June and Rice round the corner of the hall leading to the stairs. Max was in . . . what? Denial? Demand? De— What?
“Can I get you anything?” A server paused in front of Jade.
“Please, a Diet Coke would be lovely.” She set her champagne flute on the tray next
to Rice’s, then wandered across the room to the wall of windows overlooking the valley.
Max had a right to his past secrets. Same as she. They’d agreed. It was a new day when they’d met each other. The past stayed where it belonged—behind them. Skeleton doors were locked. Chained. But Rice brought Max’s past to life, flesh and bones, with a stunning smile.
“Here you go.” The server handed Jade a glass with fizzing soda. “Lovely dinner, isn’t it?”
“Yes on all counts.” Jade held up her Diet Coke. “Thank you for this.”
Sitting on the leather bench, Jade peered down to the pool deck, the wood and stone construction designed to be one with the mountainside.
White stars salted the black sky, but below the window, between the blues of the pool luminaries, five small hot orange glows burned in the blackness. Cigars.
Jade identified Max by his wounded-back silhouette, his posture angled a bit forward and to the right, his foot jutted out.
An explosion of laughter reverberated against the windowpane. Jade thought to go down and join them, but a crystal chime pinged from the front of the great room.
Rebel Benson hopped up on the stone hearth.
“Gather ’round, folks, gather ’round.” He tapped his Duke Law class of 1970 ring against his flute. The Chopin music faded. The guests gathered and quieted. “Now that we’ve stuffed ourselves on June’s famous beef Wellington and are awaiting dessert, we shall get the fun started.”
He sounded like a circus ringmaster. Ladies and gentlemen, in the center ring, we present to you the most magnificent, stupendous . . .
Jade moved to the edge of the room, curious. Rebel defied her understanding. She liked him, sort of a larger-than-life patriarch, but she had yet to figure him out.
“Hey.” A soft kiss touched her cheek. Warm, smoky breath grazed the nape of her neck.
“Where have you been?” Jade whispered.
“Outside, inhaling secondhand cigar smoke.”
“Don’t even try it.” She peeked up at Max. “I saw you out the window, holding your own cigar, regaling your friends with a story.”
“Shh, Dad’s fixing to talk.”
“Tonight we celebrate my son’s impending doom . . .” Rebel bowed toward Max and Jade as laughter pinged around the room. Next to him, June beamed at the guests, hands clasped at her waist.
“I thought you hated smoking,” Jade whispered.
“I took one puff. One.” He grinned, slipping his hand around her waist.
“Burl insisted.”
From his makeshift stage, Rebel bantered back and forth with hecklers, most of the ribbing coming from his golf buddy, Bump Davis.
“Please don’t tell me you submitted to peer pressure at thirty-six” She jabbed his ribs with her elbow. “Dork.”
“Once a fraternity man—”
“Always a frat boy.” Jade pillowed her head against his chest, easing against him. Her frat boy.
“Don’t bust me just because you were always the good girl,” he murmured in her ear.
“All right, now, back to the purpose at hand.” Rebel easily took back the reins of the room. “June and I are so happy Jade has agreed to take Max off our hands.” Laughter peppered Rebel’s words. “With that in mind, y’all know why you’re here. June made every serving of beef Wellington with her own hands, even killed the fatted calf, I believe, in honor of tonight and our son. So let’s get going. Be generous. It’s not every day a man gets to partake of June Benson’s cooking. I should know.”
“Can’t afford to be generous in case there’s a doctor bill, Reb. Last time I had June’s beef Wellington—”
“Tom Floyd”—June pressed her hand to her flushed cheek, smiling— “don’t shame me now.”
“Exactly, June-bug. An insult adds an extra zero to your most generous gift, Tom, my Scrooge friend,” Rebel said. “And that’s after the comma.”
“What insult? I got the doctor bill to prove it.” Tom was a short, balding man with round shoulders, a round chin, and a round belly.
The guests erupted and Jade watched June roll with the merriment, though Jade guessed she didn’t really find the moment funny.
Max bent to Jade’s ear. “Tom owns the Floyd Banking Association.”
“Max, I don’t get it. What’s going on?”
“Watch and see.”
“For the rest of our esteemed guests . . .” Rebel gazed around the room. Someone had handed him a cigar and he held it between his fingers, unlit. “I’ve been to these same parties for your children and grandchildren.” He jammed the cigar between his lips and puffed out his belly. “Don’t think I haven’t kept records of my own donations over the years.”
“We wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” A masculine quip fired from the back of the great room.
“Keep it up, Harv.” Rebel jabbed the air with the cigar. “You owe me since I fixed your grandson’s mess.”
“All taken care of, Reb.” A white envelope appeared above the guests’ heads.
“June, where’s the basket?”
She stepped up on the hearth. Rebel steadied her. “There are two baskets on the sideboard in the front hall. One for your gift, another for notes of encouragement.”
“There you go.” Rebel wrapped up her instructions. “Don’t forget the notes, folks. I know the kids will appreciate all your fine wisdom and advice. And Bump, don’t write ‘your wife is always right,’ because we know how well that philosophy has worked for you.”
Laughter exploded, filling up the high ceilinged room.
“I still say my advice is good.” Bump moved toward the hall, pausing in front of Max and Jade. “And one of these days, I’ll prove it.”
Max’s chest rumbled against Jade’s back. “In the meantime, what do I do, Bump?”
The silver-haired man winked at Jade. “Let her think she’s always right.”
Rebel hopped off the hearth. Couples huddled, laughing and murmuring, then filed into the hall.
“I met Rice,” Jade said, turning to face Max.
“Oh?” His grip around her waist slacked. “She missed dinner. I wasn’t sure if she was coming.”
“Well, she did. You never said she was a lawyer, or that she moved back to Tennessee to work at Benson Law.”
“Dad wanted a patent department.” Max kissed her forehead. “He called Rice and invited her down. I found out a week before she walked into the office.”
Couples breezed by them, waving white envelopes and smiling. Jade smiled back. What was it Rebel said they were doing? Her mind had been wandering, thinking about her conversation with Rice, not really listening to Rebel’s speech. Must be taking a collection for a Benson charity. They used every occasion to raise money.
Back to Max. “She said your relationship was hard at the end. Something about hoping it’d work out.”
“Rice says a lot of things.” Max affirmed Jade by pulling her closer. “This is our night, Jade, and I don’t want to talk about Rice. Now, or ever. Our relationship is over, buried in the past. What matters is you and me”—he touched her lips with his thumb—“and new beginnings.”
“Max. Son, over here,” Rebel beckoned.
Max lifted his lips from Jade’s and peeked across the room. “Shoot, he’s with Dickson Waters. Potential client.”
“Work never ends, does it?” Jade commented. The slender, bearded man with Rebel wore a vintage Pierre Cardin tuxedo. “See if he wants to sell his tux.”
“Want him to take it off so you can carry it home?”
“Oh, could you do that for me? Thanks.” Jade kissed his cheek and shoved him toward his dad and the client.
“Careful, babe. My back.” Max covered his lower back with his broad hand.
Jade winced. Three trips to the physical therapist hadn’t done much for the pain. When Jade asked him about the pain meds, he changed the subject.
Over by the kitchen, Rice talked with June, patting her shoulders while nodding, her lips formin
g short phrases. After a moment, June hugged her, then slipped inside the kitchen.
Well, enough of this wing-ding. Jade was ready to go home. The lovely evening and gracious company no longer distracted her from the pinch of her dress’s waistband. She was ready for baggy pajamas and an old movie on TMC.
Max appeared to be finishing up with his father and vintage-tux man. Jade decided to deposit her glass in the kitchen and tap his shoulder as she passed. Their signal for “time to go.”
“Jade, over here.” An inebriated man propped against the wall by the kitchen door pssst-ed her. Sloppy and slow, he tapped a blank check. “I don’t have a wife to tell me what to do. What do you think? One, two? Five?”
Jade peeked at the check. “I can’t tell you how much to give.” She glanced around. “Maybe one of your friends can help you . . . what charity is this for anyway?” She didn’t bring her checkbook, but she’d bring a check around tomorrow.
“Come on, Jade, don’t be shy. This isn’t for charity. You’re why we’re all here in monkey suits listening to parlor music. Five? Is that good? Y’all need a house, don’t you? Can’t live in his bachelor condo forever. There’s no place for kids.”
The man jammed his hand inside his tuxedo jacket. “Do you got a pen?”
“What do you mean, I’m why you’re all here?”
“Ah, here it is.” The man lifted a ballpoint from his side pocket. Jade watched as he wrote five thousand in a large, loopy script. “For you and Max.
Seed money.”
“Five thousand?” she said, the words coming out more loudly than she intended. “Dollars?” Her words billowed, stopping all commotion. “For Max and me?”
“Should it be more?” The man eyed her with a cloudy gaze before pointing with his pen across the room. “Bump Davis, don’t cheat the kids now.”
“You worry about yourself, Taylor.”
“Wait, everyone, please. Stop!” Jade charged into the middle of the room.
“Is this why you came here tonight? To give us money?”
“Babe . . .” Max gently tugged her from the middle of the room, whispering in her ear, “It’s okay.”