Cocktail Hour

by McTiernan, Tara

  But, no. No matter how she tried to frame Alan’s forced retirement positively, her gut knew something was wrong. And that feeling was sealed by his endlessly ringing phone. She stood and gathered her things. There was only one way to get rid of this anxiety: she'd swing by his house this weekend, bring a pie or something. See for herself. Hell, she'd bring the whole lot of chocolates she'd been getting and unload them on Alan. He loved chocolate.

  Her eye caught on the large peony blossoms in a vase on her desk and her head echoed again with Chelsea's words.

  "Oh, flowers! Are they from him? Dean?" she had twittered earlier that day, stopping by for her daily visit.

  Sharon had shaken her head, sorry she'd ever told Chelsea his name. "Yes. But no, they don't mean anything. I just didn't have any place in the house left to put them, that's all. I'm not going to throw out perfectly good flowers."

  Chelsea's eyes widened. "You have that many flowers? Oh, my God! He's so in love with you!"

  "No, they're I'm-sorry flowers. Not I-love-you flowers," she said, feeling an odd pang and shrugging it off. "He's apologizing. I just wish he'd stop; it's over the top and its starting to get embarrassing. The most important thing is that he stopped having those all-nighters. That's what I wanted, not flowers and chocolate. It's been really quiet over there. I can sleep at last."

  "Flowers and chocolates mean I love you," Chelsea said with a knowing nod. "He does."

  "They come with cards. The cards all say, 'I'm sorry'. It's pretty clear."

  "I don't buy it."

  "Well, you don't have to. And if you're going to keep up with this, I'm not sure I'll come tonight after all."

  "Oh, yes, you will!" Chelsea sang. "You had fun last time. You even said so."

  "Well," Sharon said and then rolled her eyes and smiled.

  And she had. Which surprised her as the reason she'd stayed on after Chelsea and Lucie left was that she had a strange feeling about Bianca and Kate, a feeling that Bianca intended to hurt Kate somehow. But Bianca couldn't have been nicer to Kate. And Kate, nervous and insecure at first, simply blossomed that night, particularly once Sharon relaxed her vigilance and let herself have fun. Dean had left, so she didn't have to deal with him, and she wanted to just forget things for a little bit, let loose for a change - particularly after the bad news at work. Bianca turned out to be very funny and cool, and Kate was one-hundred-percent sweetheart.

  When Sharon got home later, she surprised herself by picking up Fred when he ran to greet her at the door, kissing his soft furry forehead, and saying, "Fred, my sweet. I had fun tonight. Real honest-to-goodness fun. I might just have to do that again sometime." Fred had looked at her and purred.

  Now it was three weeks later. When Chelsea invited her this time, Sharon didn't hesitate. Yes, please, may I have another? The pleasant memories from the last extended cocktail hour combined with an excitement she'd been feeling lately, a part of her enjoying the flowers that filled her house and the boxes of chocolates piled up on her hallway table, all left on her doorstep daily.

  But it was getting ridiculous: his early-morning tiptoeing across her dew-covered lawn, her ducking and hiding from him inside her house. That morning she’d found the peonies on her back doorstep with another note, this one reading, “Forgive me yet?”

  “Yes, enough already!” she’d exclaimed. And then she realized. She’d never said it to him.

  So she went back into the house, sat at her small study’s roll-top desk, written him a note and then deposited it in his mailbox:

  Dear Dean,

  Please stop dropping off all the flowers and chocolates. I forgave the whole thing the minute it grew quiet on your side of the fence and I was able to sleep through the night again.

  Your consideration is very much appreciated.

  Regards,

  Sharon

  She started to write a postscript saying that he was very nice, that the flowers were pretty, and stopped herself. She was too smart for that. In fact, flowers and chocolates were exactly how Jack, her ex, had wooed her when they first met. How she used to dance with delight at every surprise gift, each elaborate bouquet that was delivered at the office, each sweet-nothings-filled note Jack had sent her. She had been completely snowed, acted like an idiotic child, not looking for a second before she leapt. When her parents questioned their swift and short engagement, she’d brushed them off. They were too old, didn’t remember what it was like to fall madly in love. Her friends were jealous, too, with their questions and narrowing eyes. And, it being real life and not a fairy tale, she’d gotten exactly what she deserved.

  No, it wasn’t the chocolates and flowers that were making her feel so light on her feet, so soft-hearted. Maybe it was the spring, how it made you feel as if love was in the air along with the scent of growth and blossom. Of course, love wasn't in the air for her, her wise decision to shut that door after the divorce was a permanent one. Still, springtime had that effect – and it was fine, a pleasant passing phase that meant nothing.

  Bianca and Kate would be there tonight as well as Lucie, and, of course, Chelsea. This time, as it was an unusually warm day for April with highs in the eighties, they were going to have their cocktails and some shared appetizers sitting outside at an Italian restaurant, Cafe Luna, in downtown Stamford. Sharon had seen the place often in passing, noted the romantic couples and its perfection for a date, so she was surprised that Chelsea wanted to go there for a cocktail hour, but Chelsea had said it was Lucie's idea, something about the food being good. Walking out to her car, the warm gentle air enveloping her, Sharon thought that good food was the least of it. You simply had to be outside on a beautiful evening like this, particularly after a long cold dreary winter.

  She rolled down the windows of her car and drove, trying to shake off her day, but the effect of Bob Crandall’s condescension at the team meeting and again in the hallway would not let go, so she turned on the radio and switched it to a rock station.

  “Jailbreak” by Thin Lizzy had just started playing and she turned up the volume.

  “That’s right, Bob. Tonight, I’m breaking out,” she said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat.

  This evening already felt like getting out of jail, running free from her new boss and her increasingly unpleasant job. She deserved a break. Chelsea had suggested they go next door to a restaurant-slash-dance club afterward for their weekly Latin night that featured free salsa dancing lessons. The idea, which had seemed ridiculous at first – Sharon had to be at work early tomorrow – now seemed like the answer to her unsettled jazzed-up feelings. She was glad she’d decided to dress up a little this time, wearing a navy blue patterned wrap-dress that flattered her figure by narrowing the appearance of her wide hips and drawing attention to her small waist.

  When she arrived at the restaurant, she was first again and was seated immediately at a large table on the sidewalk. Her martini delivered promptly, she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the façade of the restaurant with its red awning and rustic painted window-boxes filled with colorful pansies. This wasn’t bad at all. No strivers, peaceful surroundings, a drink in hand. She could get used to this.

  Just as she was lifting the glass to her lips, a loud voice startled her, causing her to slop a few drops of vodka on her chest. “There you are!”

  She hurriedly wiped at her chest, crystal droplets scattering like beads, and looked up.

  It was Dean, standing on the sidewalk next to her and beaming at her like some long-lost buddy.

  “Oh. Hi,” she said, putting her drink back down without sipping it. Really? What was he doing here?

  “I can’t believe it! What a co-inky-dink! Can I sit?” he said and pulled out the chair next to her, sitting down without waiting for her assent.

  “Yes, help yourself. Just sit on down and make yourself at home,” she said, eyebrows arched.

  “Ha! You’re funny! So, did you like the flowers? You seem like a flowers kind of girl.”
<
br />   “Such a rare breed we are, us girls of the bloom.”

  He looked confused and then laughed again, a barking nervous sound. Propping his elbows on his knees and leaning towards her, he continued in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “I got your note. But see? I can’t stop. I’m addicted. Addicted to giving you stuff. It’s a neighborhood addiction. By being your neighbor, it happens.”

  She curled her lip at him. “I’m sure there’s help for that.” This cute-act had to stop. “You know, you should try this on that bartender. Sam? She’d love it.”

  “Try what?”

  “This act of yours.”

  “What act? Oh, waiter!” He looked up and started waving wildly at a passing server, who came over. “Can you put this woman’s tab on mine? In fact, I’m going to pay for the entire table’s dinner. Whatever they eat or drink tonight, it’s on me.”

  Sharon felt a stinging slap of recognition. Dean really was like Jack. Full of shit. The same over-the-top generosity and big romantic gestures and….guaranteed… the same cruel nature underneath, waiting. If Dean thought he was taking her for a little stroll down his own landmine-filled primrose path, he had another thing coming.

  She turned to the waiter. “No, we’re paying for our own meals and drinks. Do not take this man’s payment.”

  “Aw!” Dean said, “Come on! Even if you don’t like it, your friends will? Who doesn’t want a free meal?”

  She made her voice very low. “Please stop it.”

  He leapt up from his seat, put his arm around the noticeably flustered waiter and steered him away. “Come on, we’ll take care of it over here, away from the little lady’s tender ears.”

  She couldn’t take it. Had he really just called her a "little lady"? A part of her wanted to be polite, just let him buy whatever he wanted to, let him throw his money around and stupidly try to impress her. Just let it go. The other part of her raged, had been raging ever since Alan was let go and Bob had taken his place. And that was the part that won.

  “No!” she said. The two men paused, looking back. She stood up, her eyes focused solely on the waiter. “If you take his money, we’re leaving and eating somewhere else. All he’ll be able to pay for is a martini I didn’t even drink. Do you really want to lose the business? That’s five people's drinks and food and who knows how many other meals we might have had here.”

  “Ooo, she’s a feisty one! I love that in a woman!” Dean said.

  The waiter nodded at her and then shook his head at Dean. “Sorry, sir. But I will honor our guest’s wish,” he said and backed away before turning and fleeing inside to safety.

  Dean walked toward her, tilting his head and still smiling. "Come on. It's all in friendship? Neighborly love? Love thy neighbor? May I love thy neighbor? Right now?"

  "You know what you can do right now?" Sharon said, feeling as if burning steam was coming out of her ears. Anger was bubbling up that she had stifled for years about the bullshit TMB was famous for and the people she cared about who were damaged by it, like Alan, while others, like Bob, were unfairly rewarded. It combined with old but still-hot fury about her disastrous heartbreaking marriage and her disappointing life, a life she had imagined very differently once.

  "What, my little buttercup?"

  "You can shove your flowers and your chocolates and your stupid apologies. It's all a game and I'm not playing."

  "Whoa, maybe this is more than being feisty? Have I angered thee?" he said, faltering a little while trying to maintain his jovial manner, his smile coming loose and hanging crookedly on his face.

  "Get the hell away from me. I don't ever want to see you again. Just leave me alone," she said, and as soon as the words were out, felt remorse bolt through her, electric energy turning into sodden blue heaviness. Was any of this - Bob, Jack, TMB, her imperfect life - this man's fault?

  "I was just...," Dean's face grew slack with surprise. He stopped and stood. "It was..."

  Exhausted and confused suddenly, she shook her head. "Just go. Please."

  "I...fine,” he said, standing up straighter, his relaxed posture of familiarity gone. "You got it."

  He looked so bewildered, Sharon wanted to reach out and put her hand on his shoulder, reassure him. But then he turned away and she was too drained to pursue him and apologize. She stood and watched him walk away, Dean pausing and glancing back only once before shaking his head and turning away again.

  Sharon sighed, her breath huffing out raggedly. He'd be fine. He was the type you could tell off ten million times and he'd keep coming back for more, impervious to slings and arrows. And, if he really was just like Jack, he could dish out his own slings and arrows forever as well, always finding the tender vulnerable spots and piercing them again and again with glee.

  Sitting back down, she reached for her glass and reminded herself that tonight was supposed to be fun. To hell with Dean and his obnoxious manipulative games. Sipping her drink and trying to recapture the ease and lightheartedness she'd felt only moments before, instead she was shaky and numb - as if something important had been lost.

  She had almost finished her martini and was starting to wonder if she should go ahead and order an appetizer, her head was getting a little fuzzy from the vodka hitting her empty stomach, when Bianca and Kate arrived together.

  “Hello!” Bianca sang, wearing a beautiful red and white dress with a tasteful floral pattern that was a wrap-style like Sharon’s, but on Bianca’s incredible body it was spectacular rather than just simply flattering. Bianca was steering Kate toward their table with one arm around her, long manicured fingers clutching Kate’s shoulder, which Sharon would have noted as excessively controlling if she hadn't been lost in shock witnessing Kate’s altered appearance.

  Last time Sharon had seen her, Kate had been a pale skinny little thing with lank shoulder-length blond hair that clung to her face and neck from static. She’d been wearing a simple outfit much like Sharon’s that night: jeans and loafers and a large baggy bubble-gum-pink sweater. Now, her hair was short, bleached, and cut in a punky pixie that would look good if she had the kind of pretty fairy-like face necessary to carry it off. Instead, she had a largish nose and it looked much larger now. As well, her mild overbite seemed more pronounced. Longer hair hid a lot. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Kate had been made up so much with red lipstick and heavy eye makeup that she looked clownish. Her always-nervous eyes darted around under long false eyelashes, looking at Sharon and then looking away as if embarrassed. And her outfit was a nightmare for her figure: a low cut blue dress that accentuated her bony flat chest and made her lower half look larger, dumpy even. What completed the ridiculous aspect of her appearance is that she was wearing black flats with this ensemble, even though it clearly called for heels. Even Sharon, who preferred comfort over appearance most of the time, had worn low heels with her dress.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Bianca continued when they stopped in front of the table. “We were doing a little shopping, weren’t we, Kate? I’ve been helping Kate out. Don’t you love this dress on her? It really brings out her eyes, doesn’t it?”

  Sharon looked into Kate’s blue eyes and thought she saw fear. Or maybe it was just anxiety. She had to admit Bianca was right; the color really did bring out Kate's eyes. It also brought out her butt, and not in a good way. “Oh, yes. It’s a very pretty color,” Sharon said.

  Kate shrugged and looked down.

  Bianca gave Kate’s shoulder one last squeeze and released her. “Come on, let’s sit,” Bianca said, as if talking to a child. Kate dutifully sat down and Bianca sat next to her. Bianca looked around with her heavy-lidded gaze that always seemed mildly amused and said, “Why are we here again? This place is for dates, isn’t it?”

  Sharon glanced at the cowed-looking Kate before looking back at Bianca. She started to answer but then saw the scurrying of Café Luna’s waiters out of the corner of her eye as they rushed forward to wait on them. Within moments, three waiters arrived beside t
heir table, all of them focused on Bianca.

  “Madam? What can we get you?” asked the first waiter to arrive at the table, a little breathless after his scramble across the pavement.

  “Do you enjoy champagne, madam? We would like to offer you a complimentary bottle tonight,” said one of the other waiters leaning over her.

  The first waiter shot the second a dirty look, presumably for topping him. The third was trying to help Bianca by pushing in her chair. Only Bianca was already seated. She looked up at the waiter behind her and smiled, melting him glazed-eyed.

  Sharon looked at the men and their greedy expressions. It really was amazing, the effect of this woman. Even though she’d witnessed it at Ibiza weeks ago, she’d convinced herself that the whole thing was exaggerated by her memory. Now she knew that it was not. She could physically feel the pull of the woman’s magnetism.

  Below it was something else familiar to the last night she’d spent in Bianca’s company. Sharon could feel it too. Something dangerous, dark and glittery-sharp. Something that made her want to protect Kate - again.

  The champagne was delivered minutes later with a flourish and poured, Kate brightening and giddy with a childlike excitement while Bianca received the offering as if it were her due. Sharon watched them both carefully.

  Corona

  "I'll just have a little sip?" Kate said, and lifted up the fluted glass filled with golden bubbling liquid to her lips.

  Just one sip wouldn’t hurt. Champagne was a luxury and also very appropriate. How thrilling it was being with Bianca – always getting things for free as well as VIP treatment wherever they went. And today Kate had something very special to celebrate; something she’d announce in a moment and then sit back and enjoy Bianca’s astonished happiness.