Once in the next room, out of earshot of the party, Nicole started in on Preston again. “Please tell me what’s wrong?”
Keeping his voice as low as possible, Preston responded as he thought best under the circumstances. Their exchange was brief, under two minutes, and it ended with Preston’s handing his wife two oxycodone tablets, and downing a third one, himself. When he returned to the dining table, it was as if Nicole had never been there. People were eating the savory roasted squab, complemented by sweet boysenberries, and drinking the Richebourg Leroy, and no one seemed to be feeling any pain, least of all, Nicole’s. Only Margo met Preston’s gaze as he took his seat next to Kitty. Her raised eyebrow was the only indication of the unasked, unanswered question between the two of them.
After the next course, the rack of lamb, Preston felt it was the right time to give his toast. Not one for flowery speeches, especially when the topic was a tribute to another man, he, nevertheless, knew decorum obligated him to extol his hosts. Therefore, he clinked his wineglass, which still had a few sips of Chateau Lafitte Rothschild in it, and stood at his place.
“I think I’m the last to toast you, John E.,” he began. “Last, but never least,” he added with a chuckle.
More than a few pairs of eyes rolled at this inauspicious beginning.
“I just want to say, ‘Happy Birthday’ to a great cousin. Thanks for the party. Cheers.”
Those who hadn’t finished their wine responded, “Cheers,” and drained their glasses. Julia consulted her diamond-crusted Rolex and said, “It’s twelve-thirty already.”
Margo stood then, all eyes drawn to her. Despite the long evening, she still looked fresh and beautiful, her happy mood evident in her expression. “No, Preston, yours is not the last speech.” She paused for everyone to stop their conversations. “I also want to thank Caro and John E. for this magnificent party. I appreciate being allowed to tag along with baby sister and her husband.”
Caro murmured something to the effect that Margo would always be welcome at Bucolia.
“I know. We go way back, and I count both of you among my very dearest friends.” She reached down under the table, where she had stashed a large box earlier in the afternoon. “This is a little birthday gift from Libby, Les, and me. We hope you like it.” She carried the box to the end of the table and handed it to John E. with a kiss on the cheek.
John E. methodically untied and unwrapped the package. He held up the burgundy satin smoking jacket for all to see. “Perfect gift,” John E. exclaimed. “I will put it to use as soon as we’ve finished dessert.”
“We thought you’d be smoking cigars,” Margo said, smiling. “And now you don’t have to get your nice clothes all smelly.”
“Actually,” Marshall interjected, “I brought the cigars for after dinner, John E.’s birthday gift from Julia and me.”
“Great minds think alike.” Margo beamed at Marshall. “Then again, there aren’t too many things one can buy for someone who already has everything.”
***
After the cheese course, everyone took a fifteen-minute break before sitting down to dessert. It was just past one a.m., and most were beginning to feel tired. At least no one had to travel far to get into their beds.
During the break, Vicki had insisted on helping to plate the dessert course. She had made specialty truffles for each of the guests, having coordinated with Caro well in advance. She arranged the candies decoratively on the plates bearing chocolate torte with ganache, and carried them in, announcing the flavor at each person’s right side as she carefully placed it before him or her. Vicki seemed to have regained much of her equilibrium, or perhaps she was so proud of her role in creating the sweets, but she seemed only as drunk as everyone else at this point. “Raspberry,” she announced when serving Stan. “Lemon,” serving Libby. “Coffee,” for Marshall. “Coconut,” for Kitty. When she got to Preston, Vicki announced, “White chocolate. I knew you were allergic to chocolate.”
Preston looked at Vicki with suspicion and down at his plate of lemon ganache with two white truffles. How did she know he was allergic to chocolate? Caro, I suppose. And why would Vicki be so nice as to cater to his allergy, anyway, given the way she had hollered at him earlier that afternoon? Oh, well. I’ve got an aftertaste in my mouth from that oxycodone. Maybe the white chocolate will help. He popped the first of two truffles into his mouth and rolled it around, melting the outside shell with the friction of his tongue. The smooth inside exploded with sweetness, removing all other flavors of pills or cheese from his palate. Not bad--think I’ll have another.
Vicki continued around the table, serving each person with a favorite flavor. Caro bit into her dark chocolate truffle. “Now this,” she said, holding the remainder of the candy between thumb and forefinger, “is heavenly. Thank you, Vicki, for such a mouth-watering gift.”
Similar remarks were made around the table as everyone tried the truffles. Then everyone dug into their chocolate tortes, everyone except for Preston, whose torte was lemon, and Margo, who eschewed the calories.
***
After dessert and coffee, John E. donned his new smoking jacket, wrapping it over his clothes and tying it with the satin sash. He invited everyone who wanted to participate to join him on the back porch for the final “course” of the evening. He knew he wasn’t the only one looking forward to enjoying the Cohibas, hard to come by as they were.
Les politely declined. He had never taken up cigar smoking, and, besides, he didn’t want to risk having the smell upset Libby in her condition. Preston loved cigars, but he didn’t want to ruin his chance with Margo, so he glanced her way for a sign of approval or disapproval. Margo flicked her wrist in the direction of the porch, telling him to go ahead. The other men: John E., Gerald, Leon, Stan, and Marshall, adjourned to the wide screened-in porch, the change of scenery signaling the start of the after-party.
The ladies, except for Libby, who went upstairs with Les, and Nicole, who was snoring in her makeshift bed, moved into the living room, where they de-briefed on the evening’s festivities.
Marshall had brought his portable humidor downstairs, and made a show of opening the seal of the clean wooden cigar box. Devoid of the typical labeling, shrink wraps, or ring bands, these Robusto-sized puppies looked suspiciously like smuggled Cubans. No one dared ask. At forty dollars per stick, they were a real extravagance for the ordinary smoker.
Like a proud new father, Marshall handed out cigars with precise ceremony. The first on the left went to John E., the first on the right to Preston. He proceeded to hand cigars out, first from the left of the row then from the right. No one questioned his methodology in their eagerness to light up. Marshall took the last for himself, and then took a seat in a comfortable rocking chair.
It felt good to be outside in the early morning hours on the farm. The profusion of stars spattered across the inky sky provided a novel bit of scenery for the mostly-city folk. The night air was frigid, but the smokers were protected from the winter bitterness by the house and porch screen, as well as a portable heater, so they were not uncomfortable. As they puffed, they, too, de-briefed on the lavish dinner party.
“John E., I’ve got to hand it to you,” Stan commented. “That was one phenomenal dinner. I won’t eat again for a week.”
“What about brunch tomorrow morning?” John E. teased his old friend.
“Ohhh, noooo, not more food,” groaned Leon. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be hung over for both food and drink.”
“Anybody else feeling light-headed?” Preston asked. Suddenly he felt an unfamiliar dizziness. Could it be the oxycodone? Or delicious anticipation of being with Margo?
“I always said you were light in the head, Preston,” Gerald quipped.
“At least I’m light somewhere, Gerald, which is more than you can say for you.” What did Kitty see in this guy, anyway? And Margo had seemed to enjoy his company tonight, too. No accounting for women’s tastes.
“I want to be on the guest li
st for your seventieth birthday party,” Marshall said.
“We all want to be on the guest list, Marshall,” Preston countered. “At our age, we all hope to be alive in five years.”
John E. chuckled. “You can all come back for the seventieth, but you don’t have to wait that long, either. You are invited back to Bucolia anytime.”
Chapter 17
“I hate to break up the party,” Margo said, yawning, “but it’s way past my bedtime.” She rose from the loveseat she shared with Andrea, straightened the skirt of her ivory dress, and picked up the rhinestone-studded sandals, slinging them on her fingers behind her bare shoulder as she moved toward the staircase. “Wonderful evening, Caro. A wonderful weekend. I can’t thank you enough.” As excited as she was about meeting up with Preston, she wondered if she could muster the energy. After all, she wasn’t twenty-one anymore, and it was already after two a.m.
***
As if waiting for someone else to be the first to say goodnight, Julia, Kitty, Vicki, Andrea and Caro also stood and stretched. “I’ll go stick my head out on the porch to see if Stan is ready to leave,” Andrea said. “Go on upstairs, girls.”
Caro replied, “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll just say goodnight to those of you going upstairs. Don’t rush to come down for brunch tomorrow. Let’s all just sleep till we wake up.” She air-kissed each of her sorority sisters in turn and sent them on their way to their bedroom suites. “Let me check on Nicole while you go check on Stan,” Caro said to Andrea.
Caro tiptoed into the family room, where Nicole was sleeping. Nicole had thrown off the down comforter, so both legs and her torso were exposed to the cool air. Caro felt a twinge of maternal concern for this miserable girl. She reached across the sofa to lift the comforter up and over Nicole’s frame, causing her to stir.
“Ummm,” Nicole murmured, her eyelids still shut. She tried to roll over to her side, but apparently felt a jolt of pain from her ankle. She shot up straight, eyes wide open, and looked about.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Caro apologized. “I was just checking to see if you need anything.”
Nicole licked her lips then ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. “Where’s Preston?”
“The men are smoking cigars on the porch. I’m sure they’ll be coming in soon, and I’m sure Preston will check on you. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I’d really like to use the restroom, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Caro said. “Wheelchair or walker?”
“What great options. I think I’ll try the walker this time?”
Caro was amazed by how nimble Nicole was, considering the severe swelling of her foot and the painful-looking fixation device. “I think you are getting better already,” she ventured. “I don’t think I’d be able to move that well if I were in your condition.”
“Maybe all those hours of spinning and Pilates classes have paid off,” Nicole mused, as she manipulated the walker. “I just wish I could go upstairs to sleep with Preston. We’ve never slept apart since we’ve been married. Somehow I think it’s bad luck to start?”
“There will be plenty of time to sleep with Preston after tonight,” Caro replied, patting Nicole lightly on the shoulder. “Right now you need to focus on getting that ankle healed.”
***
“Good night, Caro,” Andrea and Stan said in unison, as they passed Nicole and Caro, coming out of the powder room.
They were en route to the entry hall, to fish their coats and boots from the closets. The last of the servants had left a half hour before.
“It’s good to see you up a bit, Nicole,” Andrea continued. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said, as she hopped with the walker back toward her sofa. “And thanks again for calling the paramedics and all, Andrea. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“You were very brave. Glad I was able to help.”
“See you tomorrow, I guess,” Nicole said, as she continued to hop and slide. She had to admit both Caro and Andrea had defied her expectations of one percent wives. Both had been kind and supportive.
As soon as Andrea and Stan departed, the smoke party broke up on the porch, and the men passed through the family room on their way to the staircase, the pungent odor of cigars permeating the parade.
Preston was surprised to see Nicole sitting up on the sofa, her soft blonde hair freshly combed and a smile on her face.
She waved him over. “Hey, Preston. Aren’t you going to say goodnight?”
“Uh, sure, Nicole,” Preston replied. He had been hoping to find his wife in an oxycodone stupor, so he could go upstairs and prepare for Margo. It was late, and he was tired. He also didn’t feel so great after all of the eating, drinking and smoking. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”
“I’ve slept so much all day and night. I guess I’m starting to feel a bit better.”
“That’s good, but don’t you think you should take another pill and go back to sleep? Tomorrow is another day, Miss Scarlett.”
“I want to come upstairs with you, Preston. If you help me, I think I can go up the stairs on my butt.”
“Not in your best interests, Nic. I’d never forgive myself if you knocked the pins loose and re-broke your ankle.”
“Then you sleep down here with me,” Nicole pleaded. “I think we should be together, especially after our little spat at dinner. Please, Preston? I’m feeling better, and I think we might even be able to fool around.” She had never known Preston to pass up an opportunity for sex.
“Tempting offer, but I’m beat. I just want to go upstairs and go to sleep.”
“But, Preston...” Nicole’s wheedling turned into a whine. “I’d feel so much better with you here. What if I have to get up and no one is around?”
Preston closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Just call me on my cell phone, and I’ll come down.” He lifted her cell phone from the table next to the sofa, held it to his ear, and put it back down. “I’m only a phone call away.” He smiled and kissed her lightly on the nose. With that, he turned and headed for his fourth floor suite, checking his watch as he mounted the first stair.
***
Margo was debating about whether to go to Preston or not. Her head was pounding with dueling impulses. On the one hand, she simply could not bury the past, not entirely. Preston’s infidelity all of those years ago had left an indelible imprint on Margo’s life.
Her inability to trust him, and men in general, had made her relationships, even her marriage to Roberto, tenuous. How could she, in the space of two days, forgive Preston enough to go to bed with him tonight?
On the other hand, the past two days had awakened feelings in her that she didn’t know she still had. Preston claimed to love her, promised to give up his young wife for her. Didn’t that count for something? Besides, they weren’t getting any younger, and opportunity like this may never come again. And then there was that boyish look of hunger in Preston’s handsome eyes, those incredible dimples, and the supreme confidence that allowed Preston to go after whatever he wanted in life, even her.
I’ll sneak upstairs, she decided, check to see if his door is open, and then make up my mind.
She smiled and nodded her head. Inside, she knew that, open door or closed door, she was going to play this out to its natural conclusion. Not to do so would be to die.
***
As Preston passed the second floor on his way to the fourth, he slowed his step and strained to hear a sound that would suggest Margo’s decision to come to him. He hoped to hear her showering, brushing her teeth, even humming a tune, anything to let him know that she was still awake. So much depended on this. It was not only lust that had drawn him to Margo. It was the chance to redeem himself for his brutish behavior toward her all of those years ago. Finally, he thought, I feel ready to settle down and have a real relationship with a fine woman, not the flash and dash of fast cars and young wom
en.
All was quiet on the second floor, and on the third. Preston entered his fourth floor bedroom, turned on the Oriental lamp at the bedside, and left the door open. He knew it was dishonest. He hadn’t, in fact, told Nicole he wanted a divorce. But he had laid the groundwork. And he couldn’t stop himself from pursuing Margo any more than he could turn back time and undo any of the mistakes he had made, some of which were heavy on his mind since being confronted by Julia and Vicki today.
I wish I weren’t so tired. Margo deserves the best love-making possible. Preston walked about the bedroom suite, picking up articles of clothing and toiletries. As he did, he felt a sudden dizziness.
Concerned that he might not be at peak performance, he opened his buttery leather Dopp kit and took everything out to search for the Viagra. Margo should be here any minute, he thought. He quickly swallowed the blue pill, chasing it with a couple of swigs of tap water. He leaned into the mirror to check for whisker stubble that might have sprouted since he had shaved hours earlier. Finding none, he combed his thick hair into place, brushed his teeth, and smiled into the mirror, admiring his dimples. All that was left to do was wait.
Chapter 18
Dressed in a soft lime-green silk twinset and matching slacks, and feeling incredibly light and sexy with no underwear on, Margo pushed away her qualms as she padded up the stairs in the dark. The second floor was utterly quiet. The only sound on the third floor was a steady, faint whooshing noise coming from Julia’s and Marshall’s room. When she arrived at eye-level to the fourth floor, where Preston’s room was nestled into the eaves of the house, her heart flipped. The door was open.
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