by Liz Wolfe
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know when you had intercourse?”
“It’s for a friend.” I really wished he’d stop yelling. People in the main aisle were staring at us.
“Take this one. It costs more, but it’ll give results even if you’re just a day late.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, grabbed the box, and headed for the checkout stand. I paid for the test and rushed back to Bobbi Jo’s house.
I held the box up as I entered the living room. “I got it!”
Lily grabbed the box from my hand. “Oh, this one is good. Jasmine always uses it when she’s late.” She opened the box and pulled out the test stick. “She wants to start a family right away.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bobbi Jo grumbled, taking the test wand from Lily. “It just isn’t possible for me to be pregnant.”
Lily rolled her eyes at me. “Just go pee on the stick, Bobbi Jo.”
Bobbi Jo walked down the hall to the bathroom and Lily and I sat down to wait. After a few minutes, I stood up.
“How long does it take? I didn’t have time to read the box.”
“Five minutes.” Lily glanced at her watch. “One minute to go.”
I paced the length of the living room a couple of times and looked at Lily again. Lily looked at her watch and stood up. “Time’s up.”
CHAPTER NINE
Are you sure you should have left Bobbi Jo alone today?” Lily asked, setting a glass of iced tea on the table.
“She went to see the doctor. Can you believe she’s pregnant? She still isn’t convinced. Said the test was probably wrong.”
“How do you think she’ll handle it?” Lily poured a glass of tea for herself and sat at the table. “She’s always said she didn’t have an overwhelming desire for children.”
“I think that might have been because she never got pregnant. She and Edward tried until he had his first heart attack.”
“Still, having a baby with the man you love is one thing. Having his baby after he’s dead is another.”
“She was bouncing between being sure the test result was wrong and hoping it was true. I think it’s the best thing that could happen to her.”
“Well, it sure puts a stop to her Man-a-Week plan,” Lily agreed.
“What kind of plan is that?” Jasmine asked from the hallway.
“You don’t want to know,” I told her. “But it looks like Bobbi Jo is pregnant.”
“Oh, that is so wonderful!” Jasmine jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “I hope I get pregnant soon, too.”
Dear God, was I ever that young? That hopeful? I wondered what marriage would hold for her. Hopefully not the same as it had held for me. I pulled my thoughts back to Jasmine’s wedding.
“I went through all the paperwork Barbara left.”
“Cool. Is everything just about done?” Jasmine asked.
I wished. “Not exactly. There were a few things that seem to be missing. Did you choose a caterer yet?” I pulled out the folder holding all the bids from the caterers.
“Oh, sure. We did that a few months back. Moveable Feast is the one we chose.”
I flipped through the folder and pulled out the bid sheet from Moveable Feast. “Let’s give them a call to confirm the order. Is this the buffet you decided on?” I handed the sheet to Jasmine and opened my cell phone.
“That’s it. I chose a cold buffet because I thought it’d be hot in August. Gazpacho for soup. Caesar salad. Tabbouleh, pasta primavera, with eggless pasta and tofu for the vegans. Salmon aspic. Cold ham, turkey, and roast beef. Breads. And little individual cheesecakes for dessert. And the wedding cake, of course.” She had the whole menu memorized. I just hoped the caterer had the order. There should have been a confirmation of the order in the mess of paperwork Barbara had left behind.
“Hello, I want to check on an order for a cold buffet for a wedding reception in August.” I was put on hold while the woman found the right person. “Yes. The Hargrove-Taylor wedding on August twenty-six.” I could hear paper being shuffled while the woman mumbled to herself.
“No, I’m sorry. There’s no order for that wedding. I see that we sent a bid for a cold buffet, but I never heard back from the wedding planner.”
“What?” I felt a little sick. It was way late to be looking for a caterer. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, could you still do it?”
“Let me check the calendar.”
I crossed my fingers and gave Jasmine a hopeful smile.
“I’m afraid we’re already booked for that date.”
“I see. Thank you, anyway.” I closed the phone and tried to smile at Jasmine who looked like she might cry at any moment. “They don’t have the order, and they’re booked for that date now.”
“Oh, no.”
“It’s all right. We’ll call some of the other caterers. Someone is bound to be open for August twenty-six, and your menu isn’t complicated.” Lily picked up her iced tea and excused herself, mumbling something about why she’d insisted on a wedding planner. I resisted the urge to call her a coward and punched in the number of the next caterer. After a long string of refusals due to other obligations, Jasmine’s lower lip was trembling over a puckered chin. I gave her an encouraging smile and punched in the number for another caterer
“Hey, Jasmine. Why the long face?” Max asked from the sunroom door.
“My wedding’s ruined!” Jasmine wailed.
“Oh, it can’t be totally ruined.” Max hurried across the sunroom and wrapped his arms around Jasmine. That’s all it took for Jasmine to let loose the flood of tears she’d been holding back. I prayed the next caterer would be available. A few minutes later, I hung up the phone disappointed. Jasmine was standing with an arm around Max, wiping tears from her cheeks and looking at me hopefully.
“Well, that was only six caterers. There are a lot of caterers in Portland. I’m sure we’ll find someone who’s available.”
“Maybe Vince could do it,” Max suggested. Jasmine and I both looked at him with interest.
“Who’s Vince?” I asked.
“Friend of mine. He does catering on the side, so his prices are reasonable.”
“It’s a pretty big reception,” I pointed out, afraid to hope this could be the answer to a very big problem. “Over a hundred people.”
“A hundred and thirty seven,” Jasmine supplied. “At last count.”
“I could ask him, anyway.”
“Is he good?”
“He’s great. He’s catering a little get-together at my house this weekend. Why don’t you come and you can judge for yourself?”
I glanced at Jasmine, who was nodding her head enthusiastically. It wasn’t like I had other plans. “What night?”
“Saturday. Around seven.”
“I’ll be there,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “How should I dress?”
“Anyway you like.” Max grinned at me. “Everyone else will be kind of elegant casual.”
“Fine.” Whatever the hell that meant.
“It means just about anything,” Bobbi Jo said. “Who’s going to be at this little soiree?”
“I have no idea. Does it make a difference?”
“Yeah, a little. Elegant casual means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.”
“Hold on.” I pulled out my cell phone and punched the speed dial number for Jasmine. “Hi, Jasmine. Listen, do you know who’s coming to this party at Max’s?”
“Not really. Let me ask Mom.”
I held while she asked Lily. There was some chatter that I couldn’t really understand, then Jasmine told me to hold on a sec. Finally Lily came on the line.
“Call him and ask. Usually his parties are for other writers and people in publishing, but it could just be a bunch of his friends. Not that his friends are shabby or anything.” She rattled off Max’s phone number and I repeated it, gesturing for Bobbi Jo
to write the number down.
“Call him,” Bobbi Jo ordered.
“How do you even know what she said?”
“I could hear it was Lily and it’s what she’d tell you to do. Call him.”
“Fine.” I punched in the number she handed to me. “Hi, Max, it’s Skye.”
“Skye! Nice to hear from you.”
“Thanks.” I hesitated. He sounded really happy to hear from me, which was nice. Really nice. Craig had never sounded that happy to hear from me. Bet he sounded happy to hear from his sissy lover though. “I just wanted a little clarification on the dress code for your party.”
“Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”
“That would be my sweats.” I laughed. “I think Elegant casual demands a little more than that.”
“You probably look great in sweats.” I blushed at the compliment.
“I just wanted to make sure I’m dressed appropriately. What exactly did you mean by elegant casual?” I saw Bobbi Jo making huge arm gestures at me. I interpreted them as best I could. “Who will be there? Is it a business thing?”
“Kind of. There’s a writer’s conference in town, and I’m having my writer’s group and some of the publishers, authors, agents, and editors over.” He paused. “It’s not a big deal, really. You’ll see everything from jeans to suits. Does that help?”
“Sure. Thanks. I look forward to it.” I closed the phone.
“What did he say?”
“Anything from jeans to suits. It’s a bunch of writers, editors, agents, people like that.”
“We gotta go shopping,” Bobbi Jo declared.
“You just went shopping.” I pointed to the three large shopping bags on the living room floor.
“You have to go shopping. And I’m going with you.”
“Why? It’s a business thing. I’ll just wear one of the dresses I have.”
“Which shade of beige?”
“They aren’t all beige.”
“Right. I think there’s a taupe dress that’s especially lovely on you.”
“Bitch.”
“Whatever. You need to look sharp.”
“Sharp?” I wasn’t the sharp type. I was the soft edges type. “Maybe I can just borrow something from you. What did you buy today?”
“Maternity clothes.”
I didn’t know if Bobbi Jo was happy about her unplanned pregnancy or not. She’d wanted a baby early in her marriage but had resigned herself to being childless. Now with Edward gone, did she want to have this baby alone?
“I’ve never been so happy. It’s a miracle”
We held hands and danced around like six-year-olds. We squealed. We giggled. We laughed until we cried.
“The doctor confirmed it?”
“He did a blood test and a pelvic. I’m definitely pregnant. And everything looks fine to him. I was worried, you know, about being able to carry to term, because of those earlier miscarriages, but he said everything looks perfect to him. I’ve got these gawdawful huge pink pills to take—prenatal vitamins. And he said to get some exercise every day and no drinking. Not that I can, ‘cause it makes me sick as a dog. And lots of veggies and fruit. And lean meat and milk. He says I’m about eight weeks pregnant. Like I didn’t know that. I mean, I know the exact moment I got pregnant.” Bobbi Jo stopped jabbering and tears filled her eyes.
“Don’t think like that, Bobbi Jo. Edward would be so happy. He is so happy. You know he’s watching over you.”
“Hell of a going-away present, isn’t it?” Bobbi Jo plucked a tissue from a silver box and blew her nose. “I wanted to give Edward a baby for so long and then I just gave up the idea because he couldn’t—well, you know.”
“You only wanted to have a baby for Edward?” Oh, this couldn’t be good.
“Well, I guess I did. I mean, he wanted to have a baby and anything he wanted sounded good to me.” Bobbi Jo blew her nose again and took a deep breath. “Oh, gawd! I’m going to have a baby all alone!”
“No, honey. Not alone. You have me and you have Lily. Lily knows everything there is to know about having a baby. It’s really wonderful. You’re going to be so happy.”
“I am?” She sniffled a little. “When? ‘Cause right now, I don’t know what I feel, but I’m pretty sure it’s not happy.”
I took her hand and dragged her over to the sofa. I had no idea what to say to her. Did she not want to have the baby? Did she want an abortion? “You want something to drink?”
“Yeah, I’d like a damn martini, but I can’t have one!”
“How about some juice? Or milk?” Milk would be good. Didn’t milk make you sleepy?
“Tomato juice,” Bobbi Jo said. “It’ll be like a Bloody Mary. Or maybe some cranberry juice. That’d be like a Cape Cod.”
I hustled into the kitchen and poured a large glass of tomato juice for Bobbi Jo. I squeezed a wedge of lemon into it, added a dash of Worcestershire sauce, and a touch of Tabasco. It didn’t look much like a Bloody Mary so I rummaged in the vegetable bin and stuck a stalk of celery in the glass. I snagged a Dr. Pepper for myself. That was another thing Bobbi Jo would have to give up, so I might as well help her out by drinking one.
“Here.” I handed her the virgin Bloody Mary and settled on the sofa next to her. “So, show me the new clothes.” Bobbi Jo giggled and pulled over one of the shopping bags. She’d bought five outfits. Cadeau, Liz Lange, Mommy Chic.
“When I was pregnant with Sheridan, I just wore Craig’s shirts and left my jeans unbuttoned.”
“The whole time?”
“Afraid so. No, that’s not true. I had one dress that I wore everywhere the last few months.”
“One dress?”
“I know, it sounds like your worst nightmare.” Bobbi Jo saw everything in life as a shopping opportunity. “But it was no big deal. I was young and in love and starting my life.” I put the clothes back in the shopping bags. “You know, you aren’t even going to show for a while. By the time you need maternity clothes, it’ll be cold.”
“Oh, I hope I show right away. I want everyone to know I’m pregnant.”
“I guess this puts a stop to your Man-a-Week plan.”
“Not completely.”
“What? Are you nuts? Have you lost your mind?” I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Bobbi Jo, you can’t go out and pick up men for casual sex while you’re pregnant.”
“I’m not.” She smiled in a way that was somehow wicked. I was certain I didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m transferring the plan to you.”
“I don’t want the plan.”
“You know, you should go out with Detective Madison.”
“Please.”
“What? He’s cute.”
“I’m not even divorced yet. And I’m too busy with the wedding to think about a social life. Jasmine’s wedding planner left everything in a shambles.”
“I have an idea. I’ll ask Sean to help with the wedding.”
“Sean?”
“You met him. Edward’s executive assistant.”
“I remember him.”
“He’s just all torn up about Edward’s death and now he doesn’t have very much to do at work. Jimmy promised me that he’d find a place for him in the company, but it might take a little time.”
“You think he’d know what to do?”
“Oh, I’m sure of it, darlin’. He used to set up conferences and events for Edward and Jimmy all the time. You know, he’s been such a sweetheart. He’s been calling me a couple of times a day just to see how I am.”
That sounded a little extreme for her husband’s assistant. But I’d noticed that he seemed very concerned about Bobbi Jo at the hospital, too. Maybe he had a crush on the late boss’s wife.
I pulled up to the curb in front of Max’s house at seven fifteen. He’d said seven and I’d tried to be fashionably late, but I suffer from terminal punctuality. There were no c
ars in front of his house so I could only assume I was so far from not fashionably late that I was early. I told myself that it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here socially. I was here to check out his friend the caterer. Arriving earlier was better, actually. I could nip in, check out the caterer, and duck out. I certainly didn’t need to sit around talking to his writer/editor/agent/publisher friends.
Bobbi Jo had taken me shopping. She’d insisted on buying the outfit for me. I was going to wear a pair of nice beige linen pants with a cream-colored blouse that would have been perfect with a string of pearls. But, no. Bobbi Jo was determined that I carry on with her Man-a-Week plan, and that I be properly dressed for it. I wasn’t about to do her Man-a-Week plan, but I mollified her by letting her pick out the outfit.
Not that there was anything wrong with it. Actually, it was really, really nice. And it cost a lot more than I would have spent on an outfit. She’d chosen midnight blue crinkle-pleated pants with a matching spaghetti-strap top and a diaphanous kimono jacket in a silver, blue, and white print. I felt very elegant even with all the gel she’d mushed into my hair.
I gingerly patted my stiff hair and stared at my toes while I waited for Max to answer the door.
“Skye! I’m glad you’re early.”
Damn. I knew I should have waited longer. “Didn’t you say seven?”
“Sure. But that’s because I wanted you to be early.” He stepped back and motioned me into the room. “So you can meet Vincent.”
“Vincent?”
“The friend who’s starting a catering business. Come on. I’ll introduce you. Nice outfit.” Max’s eyes skimmed the length of my body and I felt a flush of pleasure.
I couldn’t remember the last time Craig complimented me on my clothing. Maybe I should go shopping with Bobbi Jo more often.
“Vince, this is Skye. She’s the one looking for a caterer for a wedding. Skye, Vince.”
I held out my hand, then realized that his were wrist deep in a huge bowl of pâté. He shrugged and laughed. “Nice to meet you. We can shake hands later.”
Vince lifted the glob of pâté from the bowl and slapped it onto a platter covered with waxed paper. I was relieved to see he was wearing latex gloves.