An Affair to Dismember (32 page)

“A neighbor heard you scream at her from across the street, something about high school.”

I held my glass out. “Fill it up again,” I said. I took a big gulp, then gave Spencer the whole story. I told him how Betty had come to the door, how she’d threatened me, spit at me, poked me. Spencer took notes.

“Do you believe me?” I asked. “Should I open my robe again?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the typical Spencer smirk. “You’re always welcome to open your robe, Pinkie. This should do it for now.” He closed his notebook and slipped his pen in his shirt.

I groaned. “For now?”

“She’s persistent. As you know.” Spencer leaned back on the couch. “What a day. What a week. And this headache tonight. Crazy town and its ball moved outside at the last minute.”

I jumped up. “The ball! I have to get ready for the ball.”

“You too?”

“Yes, I haven’t done a thing.” I tugged on Spencer’s arm. “You have to go. I have to get ready. Shoo!”

I dragged him toward the door.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re trying to get rid of me,” he said. I waved goodbye and slammed the door behind him.

I DIDN’T look half bad. I had opted for Spanx and a push-up bra. It was a calculated risk. It meant I didn’t want to get naked, but I wanted Holden to want me to get naked. I found a blue sheath dress and strappy sandals
with impossibly high heels in my secret clothes closet. I slathered lotion wherever I could reach, and I put a smidge too much makeup on. I was still bruised and scraped from the escapade with Peter. The overall result was slightly less than Cinderella but much more than her ugly stepsisters.

Grandma was still asleep when Holden came to the door exactly at eight-thirty. He was breathtaking in a black suit. “You must be Bond, James Bond,” I said.

“At your service, my lovely, lovely lady,” he said with an uncanny Sean Connery impression. “It’s a few blocks away. Can you make it in those heels? The entire town is there. I heard they moved the swing set and taco stand for this shindig. Shall we?”

He took my hand and kissed it. “This promises to be a memorable evening.”

THE CITY council had gone all out. The ball was a bash to end all bashes. The streets were blocked off. The taco stand was long gone, as were the swing set and slide. The little playground in the historic district was strung with white lights. A jazz band played on a raised platform. A large dance floor covered the entire area. On the side, elegant tables were set with champagne glasses and little finger foods.

The most magical aspect of the evening was the fog. It had come in just as predicted, covering the ground and giving the evening a romantic, Old World ambiance.

No wonder the whole town turned out for the affair dressed to the nines. I was glad Holden had asked me.

Holden put his arm around my waist, and I leaned into him. We found Lucy right away, standing with Uncle Harry.

“You clean up nice,” I told Uncle Harry.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Legs,” he said. “Who’s the pretty boy?”

Holden put his hand out. “Arthur Holden.”

“Arthur Holden. Your face looks familiar. What line are you in?”

“This and that.”

Uncle Harry furrowed his brow. “Is that right? Same here. And how do you know Legs?”

Holden’s eyes cut to my legs. “She’s the girl next door.”

“Lucky you.”

It wasn’t clear which of us Harry was speaking to, or if “Lucky you” was a good thing or not. There was a definite protective energy emanating from Uncle Harry, and even though he only came up to the middle of Holden’s chest and Holden was at least twenty years younger and vastly more fit, I thought Uncle Harry was going to jump him any second and give him a good pounding. Lucy picked up on the vibe, too. She took his arm.

“How long are you going to keep me off the dance floor, Uncle Harry? You promised me every dance,” she said. She twisted her hips, making her dress fly up to reveal her perfect legs. Lucy winked at me and pulled Uncle Harry into a samba.

THE DANCE floor was packed. I spotted Bridget dancing with Terrence Lafferty, her on-again, off-again boyfriend. He was a CPA like Bridget, and they’d met at
a conference. I had never actually heard him speak, but Bridget said he was almost perfect. She’d explained to me one day that she could never be serious with him because of his views on the Mideast peace process.

“Why don’t we start with a glass of champagne?” Holden asked me.

“I can’t think of a reason against it,” I said.

“I’ll be right back.”

It was going to be a while. The champagne line was crowded, and a fight had broken out between the champagne lady and someone wanting three glasses at once.

The music was excellent. I swayed a bit in place to “The Way You Look Tonight.”

There was a tap on my shoulder. “Gosh, you look awfully pretty.”

Fred stood there, all alone. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Where’s Julie?”

“The heel popped off her shoe, and she fell into the punch bowl. Ruth took her home.”

Somehow it didn’t come as a surprise. “Is she coming back?”

“Her great-aunt said if she doesn’t get eaten by a pack of wild dogs, she’ll be back.” I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance.

“How was it until her heel broke?” I asked.

“All right. She seemed more interested in the dessert selection than me.”

“That’s perfectly normal, Fred. Don’t worry. I have a good feeling.”

“You like this music?” he asked.

I nodded. “Oh, yes. It makes me want to move my feet.”

“Well, I know how to dance.”

“Are you asking me to dance, Fred?”

In answer, Fred swept me up in his arms and twirled me around the dance floor with polished expertise.

“Fred, you’re a really good dancer,” I said, breathless. Who would have thought clumsy Fred could trip the light fantastic?

“The only child of a dance teacher,” he explained. “I was named after Fred Astaire.”

The music changed to a slow number, and Fred pulled me close. “You smell better than anything. Better than bacon in the morning. Better than honeysuckle in June.”

He nuzzled the top of my hair and sniffed.

“Uh …,” I began.

Suddenly Fred stopped dancing. Spencer was standing right there. “I can’t watch this another minute. I’ll be sick. Get off her or I’ll drop you back to meters.” He yanked Fred away and took his place.

“I thought you were joking about Fred,” he said. “I might lose my lunch.”

“I was joking, actually.”

Spencer’s face relaxed. He was a good dancer, too, but he concentrated more on body positions and less on fancy footwork.

“You’re dancing awfully close, Spencer.”

“Your point?”

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I delegated.” He dipped me slowly. His eyes flicked to my boobs, which threatened to pop out of my dress. “I’m glad to see you out and happy Betty Terns hasn’t gotten to you. I’m sure we’ll get that mess straightened out eventually.”

I hoped he was right. “I’m surprised to see you out alone, Spencer. Where’s your posse?”

He nuzzled my neck. “You like me being alone? You like that idea?”

I was just about to swallow my tongue when a shadow covered us. “I have your champagne.”

I stumbled backward. “Holden. Thanks.” I took a glass and downed its contents in one gulp.

“I thought we had an understanding,” Spencer said. “You were going to stay away from Gladie.”

“We thought otherwise.”

“We,” Spencer echoed. His eyes slid to me, and he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

I nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said. “It’s your funeral, so to speak. And perfect timing—there’s my date.”

A stunning, six-foot-tall supermodel wearing a mostly see-through gown glided toward us. “There you are, dahling,” she said to Spencer in her Zsa Zsa Gabor accent. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long kiss, smearing red lipstick over his face. “I tink it is lovely, zis leetle party. Tank you for inviting me.”

“Olga, allow me to introduce you to Gladie and her little friend.”

“How do you do?” She thrust her hand in my direction. It remained limp as I shook it.
Yuck
. Spencer had terrible taste in women.

“How do you do,” said Holden. “You look familiar to me.”

“I am swimsuit model. I am cover of magazine
Sports Illustrated
,” she said.

“That must be it,” said Holden. Swell. I sucked in my stomach.

“How about some champagne, honey?” Spencer asked.

I cleared my throat. “Hold on, Mr. Chief of Police. Doesn’t she have to wait ten years or so before she can legally drink champagne?” My voice came out catty and shrill.

Spencer shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s just that
as you get older, Gladie, people look younger and younger to you.”

I grabbed Holden’s glass of champagne and downed that, too. “I need some fresh air,” I told Holden.

“We’re outside,” he said.

“I need fresher air, away from the noise.”

We found a bench half a block away. The fog swirled around us, and the music played in the background.

“This is nice,” I said. I cuddled in close, and Holden caressed my arm.

“You wanted me to punch him, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Just a little. A broken jaw or nose. I wanted to see blood.”

“I didn’t have to fight him because I’ve already won. I have the girl.”

“You don’t read
Sports Illustrated
, do you?”

“Me? Never. I just happened to see a copy at the doctor’s office. Spencer must have imported her. I hear he gets around.” His eyes twinkled, and he pulled me onto his lap. “So,” he said. “Here we are. Alone in the fog, dressed up and smelling nice. But we didn’t meet under the most romantic circumstances.”

“I wasn’t dressed very well.”

“You weren’t? I didn’t notice. I noticed your eyes. And your lips. But then, our first date was in a cemetery.”

“You’re right. It was. I forgot,” I said.

“It was eclipsed by what happened later in the day. Do you want to talk about that part?”

“No.” I shut my eyes, trying to shut out the memory of the church and the priest murdered in front of me.

“But this is decidedly romantic, the fog, the music, the dancing,” he said.

“And I’m dressed well.”

“Yes, you are. I noticed that.” His finger traced the top of my dress, gliding over the top of my cleavage. I
gasped. I wondered how fast we could get back to the house, running in my heels. I thought of ways to get out of the Spanx without him noticing.

“There you are!” Ruth Fletcher from Tea Time plopped down on the bench next to us. “Can’t see a damned thing through all this damned fog. What a night. I lost my date.” She wagged her finger at us. “No funny comments about him running away. Hank couldn’t run away to save his life. He’s older than dirt and half his body parts are paid for by Medicare.”

“You look nice,” I said. Ruth wore a purple velvet shirt dress with four long strands of pearls and large gold hoop earrings.

“Thanks. Wasted on Hank, of course. He couldn’t see a cow if it was flying directly at him.” Ruth gave us a long look. “Something going on between you two? Huh. I had you pegged for the cop. Oh, well. What do I know? Anyway, you have to come along now, Gladie. You have to speak to my grandniece.”

“Julie?”

“I caught on how you’re trying to match her to that tall sip of water, Fred what’s-his-name. Well, she’s in crisis. You gotta come, now. You’ll excuse her a minute, handsome?”

“Of course,” said Holden, removing me from his lap. If Julie and Fred hadn’t been my first match, I would have told Ruth to bug off so that I could get naked with Holden, but if I was going to prove myself and really give the matchmaking thing a go, duty called, and I had to heed it. Holden kissed the palm of my hand.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

Julie stood at the punch bowl—an unwise position, I thought, considering her past experience with it.

“How you feeling?” asked Ruth.

Julie blew a strand of hair away from her face. “Better,
I guess. Fred went to get me some cake. I just wanted cake, you know.”

“Sure you did,” said Ruth. “The girl’s got blood sugar issues,” she said to me.

“He’s not my dreamboat, though, Gladie. You were wrong.”

“Have you danced with him yet? Once you dance with him, he’ll be your dreamboat,” I said, even though I was having some doubts.