Table for Seven: A Novel

by Whitney Gaskell

  “Wait, what? The Thompson Twins?” Jaime asked.

  “That eighties band,” Fran explained.

  “I couldn’t believe they fell for it. Never mind that I was way too young to have been in that band—they must all be about twenty years older than I am—but I’m also not British,” Will said.

  “But then, right in the middle of the conversation, you realized that you were supposed to be English and started speaking with that awful fake accent,” Coop said.

  “Hey! It was not awful,” Will said, affronted.

  “Yes, it was. You actually said, ‘Pip, pip, cheerio,’ at one point,” Fran said, giggling.

  Audrey smiled and took a sip of wine. The mood around the table lightened considerably, as Will demonstrated his accent—Coop and Fran were right, it was truly terrible—and everyone laughed as Fran recounted how the tourists had asked for Will’s autograph. She snuck a sideways glance at Coop, who was grinning, his teeth white against his darkly tanned skin. He had missed a spot shaving at his left jaw, leaving behind a small patch of blond hair, about the size of a dime. Coop’s eyes flickered in her direction, and Audrey felt her heart give another involuntary jump. The laughter and talk grew louder and more uproarious around them.

  “I’ll go get the main course,” Leland said, rising slowly.

  Audrey glanced up at him. Leland looked happy, but tired. She wondered if hosting the dinner party had been too much for him. “Let me help you,” Audrey said quickly, rising from her seat.

  But even as she accompanied Leland into the kitchen, she could have sworn that she could still feel Coop’s eyes on her. She experienced an odd mixture of exhilaration and terror at how pleased she was at the thought.

  may

  MINI BLUE CHEESE SOUFFLÉS

  MUSTARD CRUSTED RACK OF LAMB

  WILD MUSHROOM POTATO GRATIN

  ENGLISH PEAS WITH MINT

  STRAWBERRY-RHUBARB PIE

  COOP AND AUDREY MET for lunch at the Salty Dog the following Thursday. Coop hadn’t planned to ask her out again, and yet somehow, as they were walking to their respective cars after dinner at Leland’s house, he found himself blurting out an invitation to lunch. It was even more surprising when Audrey accepted. Now, Coop felt oddly nervous and wondered if he was sweating through his shirt. She, on the other hand, seemed annoyingly calm. Serene, almost.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked.

  Audrey hesitated. “I really shouldn’t. I have to go back to work.” Then she seemed to shrug off this reservation. “Actually, I’d love a glass of Chardonnay.”

  Maybe she is nervous, Coop thought. He hoped so. He didn’t want to be the only one.

  When the waitress appeared with two glasses of ice water and hot rolls wrapped in a white napkin, Coop ordered a bottle of Chardonnay from the Russian River Valley in California. He wasn’t normally a white wine drinker, but the Salty Dog was known for its seafood. The Chardonnay would be a good match.

  He and Audrey both studied their menus in silence, while the waitress returned with the wine. He ordered the snapper special, and Audrey opted for the scallops.

  “Do you like the wine?” Coop asked.

  Audrey took a sip and nodded. “Very good,” she said.

  Coop figured they could either ignore the awkwardness between them or address it outright. “I was surprised you agreed to have lunch with me,” he said.

  “I was, too,” Audrey said. “I meant to say no, but then …” She shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. The ‘yes’ just sort of popped out.”

  Coop gave a comical pump of his fist. “I’ve still got it! Wait, I shouldn’t even joke about that around you. You already think I’m conceited.”

  “Yes, I’m not sure how you’re able to get dressed in the morning,” Audrey said. Her expression was solemn, but there was a glint in her eye that Coop liked.

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “How do you get your shirt on over such a swollen head?” She grinned.

  Coop shook his head. “I walked into that one. Anyway, why didn’t you want to go out with me before?”

  “Fran told me about your … proclivities,” Audrey said delicately.

  “Proclivities? Jesus. I’m almost afraid to ask. Did she say anything about rubber underwear?”

  Audrey laughed. She had a nice laugh, Coop decided. Deep and heartfelt.

  “No, but now I’m actually worried,” she said.

  “What exactly did Franny say?” Coop asked.

  “She said you date a lot,” Audrey said.

  “So?”

  “A lot,” Audrey said.

  Realization dawned. Fran had made him out to be some sort of a playboy. Which annoyed him more than it should have. He’d dated a fair number of women, but surely that was normal for any forty-five-year-old man who’d never been married. It hardly seemed the sort of information that should be used against him.

  “What else did Franny tell you?” Coop asked, not at all sure he wanted to hear the answer, especially when Audrey seemed to hesitate. He sighed. “Just tell me.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Audrey shrugged. “I’m not into relationships, either.”

  “Not into relationhips? Is that what Fran said about me?”

  Audrey nodded and raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s not that bad.”

  “I’m not saying it’s bad, but it’s just not true. Franny doesn’t know everything about my personal life, you know,” Coop said.

  “Really?” Audrey’s eyebrows rose. “When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

  Coop had to think about it and realized he couldn’t remember. Samantha? No, he’d dated Vanessa after Samantha. How long ago had that been?

  “Well, when was the last time you were in a relationship?” Coop asked, feeling suddenly defensive.

  Audrey didn’t hesitate. “My husband,” she said.

  “But that was what? Five years ago?” Coop asked.

  “He passed away seven years ago,” Audrey said.

  “Then I’ve been in a relationship more recently than you have,” Coop said triumphantly.

  “It’s not a contest.”

  “Of course it is. Especially if Fran is going around telling people I’m some sort of an unreliable bounder,” Coop said.

  Audrey laughed. “I don’t think she actually used the term bounder.”

  “From what you’ve said, she implied it,” Coop said.

  Before Audrey could respond, the waitress appeared with their salads, offered freshly ground pepper, and then departed.

  “What happened?” Audrey asked, spearing the mesclun mix with her fork.

  “With what?” Coop asked. He’d ordered a wedge of iceberg dressed with creamy blue cheese, and was busy cutting the lettuce into edible bites.

  “With your last relationship,” Audrey reminded him.

  “Oh, right. Vanessa. We dated for a few months and then things just sort of fizzled out,” Coop said. He shrugged. “It happens.”

  “That’s not exactly a long-term relationship,” Audrey said.

  “Not a one-night stand, either.”

  “I think your standards might be a little low.”

  “Really, because I was just thinking yours might be a bit too high,” Coop said, which made Audrey laugh. “I almost got engaged once.”

  “You did? Really?”

  “Your disbelief is so flattering,” Coop said dryly.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, ah …” Coop wished he hadn’t brought it up.

  “Spit it out,” Audrey said.

  She seemed to be enjoying his discomfort, Coop thought. And he had to admit, he was enjoying amusing Audrey, even if the conversation was not personally flattering. When Audrey smiled, a small dimple appeared in the corner of her mouth. Coop was quickly becoming obsessed with it.

  “Her name was Samantha. She gave me an ultimatum. We had to either get engaged or we were through,” Coop said.

  A
udrey grinned, waiting for the punch line. “And?”

  “And we broke up,” Coop confessed. “But I almost went for it, I swear.”

  Audrey laughed again, and Coop held up the wine bottle. “More wine?”

  THE REST OF LUNCH passed by in a pleasant haze as they chatted. Between the wine and Coop’s easy manner, Audrey actually started to relax. She could feel the tension in her shoulders loosen, and found herself smiling more.

  Coop charmed her with a story about his boyhood obsession with fire trucks, thanks in part to the location of a fire station down the block. One night, when he was six, he snuck out of bed, crept down the street, and climbed up into the cab of a fire truck, left unlocked by a forgetful sergeant. When his parents discovered his empty bed, they panicked and called 911, and the excitable operator dispatched both the police and the fire department to his house. An on-duty fireman found Coop curled up asleep on the vinyl bench seat, and gave him the treat of his life by taking him home in the fire truck, complete with the lights flashing and siren wailing.

  Audrey found herself admitting that her girlhood ambition had been to be a professional ice skater. And despite the fact that there wasn’t an ice rink in her small Florida hometown and that she’d never actually ever been ice skating, she was undeterred. She was convinced that, given the chance, she’d be an Ice Capades star. Every Saturday afternoon, when ice-skating competitions were aired, she’d stand in front of the television, pretending her T-shirt and shorts were a satin and sequin short gown, and she’d twirl and jump around the room.

  And then, at some point, long after they’d finished their lunch and were lingering over the last of the wine, Coop’s fingers had lightly brushed Audrey’s forearm. Audrey had suddenly become consumed with lust. It seemed unreal, and yet, there was no getting around it. She wanted Coop. Badly.

  After that everything happened quickly. Audrey left her car behind at the restaurant—she was too light-headed to drive—and rode with Coop in his truck back to his condo. No sooner were they inside—Audrey barely had time to register the large shaggy dog which nosed at her knees, until Coop pushed him aside, muttering, “Not now, Bear”—then Coop reached for her. Suddenly, Coop’s arms were around Audrey, and they were kissing. Clothes were shed. Coop was leading her back to his bedroom. They were falling together on an unmade bed.

  What am I doing? Audrey wondered, suddenly swamped by a wave of panic.

  But then Coop kissed her again. And for a long while, Audrey didn’t think of anything at all.

  AS SOON AS IT was over—Coop rolled on his back, his eyes closed, his breath shallow—Audrey’s panic returned This was a terrible idea. She’d been celibate for over a year. And now here she was, thoughtlessly, hell, practically drunkenly, jumping into bed with a man she barely knew.

  Audrey couldn’t help remembering the first time she’d slept with Ryan. They’d met their senior year of college at the University of Florida and had dated for over a month before going to bed together. And even then, she’d had long, heartfelt discussions with Fran over whether that was moving too fast.

  Ryan. God, I just cheated on Ryan, Audrey thought, suddenly flooded with guilt. But, no, that was ridiculous. Ryan had been dead for seven years. And she hadn’t felt this sort of guilt when she’d slept with the handful of other men there had been in the past seven years. Why was that? Maybe because she’d never lost her composure, not even for a moment on those occasions. With Coop, it had been the complete opposite. Sleeping with him hadn’t even been a conscious decision, but a spontaneous event that had seemed entirely out of her control.

  “How are you doing?” Coop asked sleepily. He rolled toward Audrey, and slung an arm over her torso. She instantly felt claustrophobic.

  “I have to go,” Audrey said, sitting up abruptly.

  “What?” Coop opened one eye to peer at her. “Why?”

  “Work,” Audrey said. “I have to get back to the spa. I told Lisa she could go home early.” The lie slipped out before she had time to think it through. There was really no reason for her to rush back. Lisa was scheduled to be there until five.

  “What time do you have to be back by?” Coop asked.

  What time had they left the restaurant? Audrey wondered. “Two-thirty.”

  Coop leaned over and picked up a small alarm clock from the bedside table. “It’s three.”

  “Oh, no,” Audrey said, jumping up with alarm. It was as if the lie had suddenly become the truth, and she really was worried about being late for work. “Where are my clothes?”

  She didn’t wait for his answer, but followed the trail of clothing that started at the foot of the bed and led all the way to the front door. The shaggy brown dog reappeared, wagging his tail and looking at her expectantly. Audrey buttoned her blouse with shaky hands and wiggled into her pencil skirt.

  “You missed one,” Coop said. He had appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, still stark naked, his blond hair rumpled.

  “What?” Audrey asked defensively.

  “A button,” Coop said.

  Audrey looked down. He was right, the front of her blouse was askew, none of the buttons in their proper buttonholes. Coop stepped toward her.

  “What are you doing?” Audrey asked, alarmed. Somehow, being this close to him while she was dressed and he was naked seemed even more intimate than sleeping together had.

  “Helping,” Coop said calmly. He unbuttoned her blouse, and then buttoned it up properly. “There.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” Audrey said.

  “Happy to oblige,” Coop said. He peered down at her. “Are you okay? You seem a little stressed out.”

  “I’m fine. I just hate being late,” Audrey said.

  “Why don’t you call work and let them know you’re on your way,” Coop suggested.

  “No, that’s okay. Could you take me back to my car?”

  “Sure. Where did I put my keys?” Coop asked, looking around, his hands on his hips.

  “They might be in your pants pocket. Which you might also want to consider putting on before we leave,” Audrey suggested.

  “Oh, right,” Coop said, looking down with surprise, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

  They were both quiet on the drive back to the restaurant. When the silence became too awkward to bear, Audrey cleared her throat and said, “It’s warm out today.” And then immediately wanted to slap herself on the forehead. The weather? Could she bring up anything more inane?

  “Would you like me to turn the air conditioner on?” Coop asked courteously.

  “No, thank you,” Audrey said, just as politely.

  We have officially turned into Chip ’n’ Dale, she thought.

  After what seemed like an agonizingly long trip—Audrey was fairly sure they hit every red light between Coop’s condo and the Salty Dog—Coop pulled up next to Audrey’s car.

  “Thanks,” Audrey said. She busied herself collecting her bag, getting out her keys, putting on her sunglasses.

  “Anytime,” Coop said, his voice edged with irony.

  Audrey turned to look at him. “I meant for dropping me off,” she said.

  “Oh, right. Me, too.” Coop smiled. “What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Dinner?” Audrey blinked. She was no longer the least bit drunk, but her brain felt like machinery that had been rusted through, the wheels and cogs frozen in place.

  “Yes. The meal that comes at the end of the day. After lunch, but before bedtime.”

  “Thanks, I know what dinner is.”

  “I wasn’t sure. You seemed confused. What do you think? We can go out, or I can cook. Get some practice for when it’s my turn to host the dinner party club,” Coop said.

  Audrey knew what she thought: It was a truly terrible idea. Right now, all she wanted to do was to get away from Coop, from the sheer physical presence of him, and retreat to somewhere cool and quiet until her head started working properly again.

  “No. I don’t think so,
” she said, so intent on fleeing that she was more abrupt than she meant to be. She risked a quick look at Coop and saw the hurt clouding his eyes. “Look, it’s just … I meant what I said earlier. This is a bad idea. I don’t think we’re well suited.”

  “I thought we were suited just fine,” Coop said, his eyebrows arching.

  Audrey felt her cheeks grow hot. “I think we should just be friends,” she said, knowing that this was the oldest, lamest line in the history of old, lame lines. And tacky, too, considering they’d just slept together.

  Coop nodded coolly, his face like stone. “Right. Friends. I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

  “Yes. At the next dinner party club,” Audrey said. She climbed out of his truck and escaped before she could do any further damage.

  “WHAT’S FOR DINNER?” RORY asked. She hopped up on one of the tall stools by the kitchen counter to watch Fran chop a pile of cilantro.

  “Fish tacos,” Fran said.

  Rory made a face. “Gross.”

  “I thought you liked fish tacos.”

  “No, Iris is the one who likes them. Or she used to. She’s a vegetarian now,” Rory said.

  Fran’s knife stilled and she looked at her younger daughter. “Since when is Iris a vegetarian?”

  “I don’t know.” Rory shrugged, unconcerned. “A few weeks.”

  “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Fran asked.

  Another shrug. “You didn’t notice she hasn’t been eating meat?”

  “I thought she was just being difficult to be difficult. I didn’t realize it was a lifestyle choice,” Fran said. She sighed. Now, on top of everything else Iris-related she had to worry about, she also had to make sure her older daughter didn’t become anemic. “Don’t some vegetarians eat fish?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Rory said cheerfully. “Can I have a hot dog for dinner?”

  “Sure,” Fran said distractedly. “We’re grilling the fish anyway, so throwing a hot dog on the grill will be easy enough. Coop will be here any minute.”