Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (21 page)

I mixed Ethan’s mimosa, poured myself some champagne, and refilled Harriet’s glass, adding a toothpick-skewered olive.

“Ethan,” Bernie said, appearing in the doorway. “Nice to see you here. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t know I was, either.” Ethan smiled.

“You know Bernie?” Althea said, her brows drawing together in confusion.

“Bernie had dinner with us last night,” he explained. “She brought her famous crab puffs.”

“I think I ate most of them myself,” Vanessa said.

“Bernie was at your dinner party?”

“Yes.” I nodded, enjoying Althea’s flummoxed expression. “She was kind enough to fill in as Clinton’s date.”

“But. . .”

“It was a lovely party,” Bernie said with a grin. “I was honored to be included.”

“Times today are so much more open,” Harriet said. “In my day, employees would never have been allowed at an employer’s function.”

“Well, Bernie’s a lot more than just an employee,” I protested.

“I think Harriet just meant that things have improved since her day,” Ethan offered.

“Exactly.” She beamed at him. “The world is more relaxed now. Less stuffy. Fewer rules. And I like it that way.”

“The world is what it is,” Bernie said with typical ambiguity, “but while we’re standing here debating the intricacies of upstairs/downstairs relationships, the food I spent all morning cooking is going south. So might I suggest a change of locale?” Bernie’s expression left no room for argument, and, drinks in hand, we moved quickly through the French doors that divided Althea’s living room from her dining room.

Bernie had outdone herself. The buffet was lined with silver platters and tureens. Eggs Benedict and a cheese-and-egg casserole were accompanied by smoked applewood bacon, fresh croissants, and, of course, Bernie’s amazing blueberry muffins.

“Mexican vanilla?” I asked as Bernie headed hack to the kitchen.

“You know it’s not,” she said, disappearing through the swinging door.

“Vanilla?” Ethan asked.

“Andi’s been playing ‘re-create the blueberry muffins’ for the last ten years or so,” Harriet said, taking two. “To no avail, I might add. It’s like trying to crack a top government code. Only better, since you get to keep eating muffins.”

“My money is on Andi.” Vanessa smiled. “She’s an expert, after all.”

“At copying recipes,” Althea snorted. “Not exactly a marketable skill.”

“She’s making a living, Althea,” Harriet said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “A good one at that.”

“Does Bernie always cook like this?” Ethan said, shifting the subject as he heaped food on his plate.

“Actually, she’s cut hack,” Althea observed. “Now that it’s only me. Which means that she loves it when I have people over. Sometimes I think I only have parties to please Bernie.” Her soft smile was sentimental and completely un-Althea.

“So tell me about your bid for prime time,” Harriet said, purposely giving Althea a chance to regroup. “Althea tells me that it’s looking really good.”

“I think so,” I said, sitting down next to Vanessa. “Although I’ve still got to secure the interview with Philip DuBois.”

“Did you say Philip DuBois?” Harriet asked.

“Yes, Mother,” Althea cut her off. “He’s a very famous chef.”

“I know that, Althea. I’m not senile. I was just going to tell Andi—”

“She doesn’t need your help,” Althea said with a withering glance that was very much more in character than her earlier nostalgia. “She’s got everything under control.”

“Well, I appreciate the positive thoughts,” I said, “but it’s far from a slam dunk.”

“Do you have a backup plan?” Vanessa asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “I probably should. It’s just that I’ve been channeling all my energy into the idea of getting DuBois to agree.”

“Well, I think Vanessa’s right,” Ethan said. “You need to have an alternative ready. From what I hear, DuBois is a tough customer. And unfortunately, there’s a very good chance that he’ll turn you down.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, frowning across at him. It was surprising how quickly I’d come to count on his support.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.” He shook his head. “I just think it’s always good to have alternatives.”

“Well said,” Althea agreed. “But I’m sure Andrea will prevail. She has a way of taking the negative and turning it around into something wonderful.” I was completely flabbergasted. Coming from Althea it was high praise. And somewhat inconceivable. There simply weren’t words.

What a day this was turning out to be. Ethan hadn’t gone screaming for the door. And now Althea was actually singing my praises.

Something was definitely off.

Maybe I was stuck in a dream. One where Althea was my champion and things always fell my way. And any moment now I was going to wake up—alone and definitely deluded.

With a sense of both purpose and dread, I grabbed the skin on the inside of my arm and pinched. Hard.

Nothing happened.

Of course, if you believe in Murphy’s Law then the cold truth is that when everything seems to be going right, something is most definitely going to go wrong.

Oh, bother.

Chapter 16

“That’s a wrap,” Frank said, closing out the shot as I lifted my signature glass of wine, signaling an end to this week’s show.

After a weekend that can only be described as amazing, the last few days had been fairly uneventful. I’d managed to spend time with Ethan, of course, but between his business interests and mine, not as much as I’d have liked. After Althea’s brunch, we’d spent the rest of the day together. In bed, if you want to know the truth of it. And it had been wonderful. But the advent of the work week had brought reality crashing in, which meant we’d only had time for a couple of quick lunches. Not exactly rose petals and satin sheets. Not that I’m complaining.

On the positive side, my bruises were almost gone, and the doctor had pronounced me healthy after removing my stitches. So at least now I could avoid the daily physical reminder of my fall from grace. If only the mind healed as quickly as the body.

And, so far at least, I’d managed to avoid Althea. Not for lack of trying on her part, mind you. She kept leaving messages. Most of them about Ethan. And how much they’d loved having him for brunch. She made it sound as if he’d been the main course. Although, considering her preoccupation with matchmaking, maybe the statement wasn’t that far from the truth. Anyway, the point is I’d been able to avoid discussing any of it with her. It most definitely wasn’t her business. Everything was so new with Ethan. The kind of thing I wanted to cherish. Not pick apart and analyze to death. I wouldn’t be able to avoid her forever, but for the moment, let’s just say I was still screening calls.

At least I hadn’t had to duck Dillon. He’d actually stopped calling, which was a relief—sort of. I mean, if I was to be totally honest, there was some part of me that still wanted him to come crawling back. I know it’s totally not healthy. But relationships seldom are. And so I was delighted and disappointed all at the same time, which probably meant I was overdue for a session with a therapist. But my family has a long-standing aversion to the profession. Quite possibly because we’re all certifiable.

Anyway, even if he hadn’t called, I couldn’t avoid him altogether. Well-meaning “friends” made a point of letting me know that he and Diana had been seen out and about, hitting all the hot spots. The idea of Diana in those kinds of settings was almost laughable—except that she was tripping said light fantastic with Dillon. And no matter how much I was enjoying my burgeoning relationship with Ethan—Dillon’s defection still hurt.

But at least his not calling meant that I could quit worrying about Bentley. Which was good news for us both. My constant attention was starting to wear on my normally affable dog. I mean, even a dog needs a little privacy now and then. And I was more than ready to drop the Fort Knox-style protection. Vigilance has its price. Mainly out-and-out exhaustion. It was nice to think that Bentley could go back to just being a dog. And that I could quit envisioning
Sopranos
-like wiseguys sneaking up my fire escape to snatch my pet.

And I suppose the most frustrating part of the week had been that we’d heard absolutely nothing from the DuBois camp. This despite Cassie calling—twice. I was trying to hang in. Tell myself that DuBois had agreed to see me. It was only a matter of finding the right time. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was starting to get a little worried. Then, to make things worse, the network bigwigs began making noises indicating that not getting DuBois might spell disaster for the show.

So in very short order, I’d found a new lover, lost an old one, ditched my aunt, saved my dog, and gone from having a great idea for a prime time segment to potentially killing my show.

But then what’s life without a little adversity? Spices things up, right?

“Everything looked good,” Clinton said as I walked off the set. “Another show in the can.”

“Let’s hope it’s not the last one,” I sighed, putting words to at least some of my fears.

“Still fretting over DuBois not calling?” he asked, not looking the slightest bit concerned at the thought.

“That combined with Cassie’s news about the network brass,” I said. “I never meant for us to lose the show.”

“Stop talking like it’s the end of the road. We’re not going anywhere. The show’s doing fine. The suits are just using the threat as a ploy to try and spur us into coming through and producing DuBois.”

“Well, it’s working. Except that we can’t do a damn thing about getting DuBois. Hell, we can’t even get him to return our phone calls.”

“Calm down. Everything will turn out all right. You’ll see.”

“So what? You’re channeling the Dalai Lama now?” Clinton wasn’t exactly known for his positive outlook. “Who fed you the happy pills?”

“Let’s just say that you’re not the only one with a new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protested automatically. Although even I had to admit the protestation was starting to wear a little thin.

“Honey,” Clinton said with a wave of his hand, “he survived brunch with Althea and still came back for more. If that isn’t the definition of commitment, I don’t know what is.”

“You’ve got a point.” I smiled. “Anyway, for once this isn’t about me. It’s about you. And what I assume is the new man in your life ... so spill.”

“Well,” he said, drawing it out to play up the moment, “I met him in a bar. I know, very cliché. But it was Vlada.”

“Very chic. And you went on your own?” Clinton wasn’t exactly a “cutting-edge scene” kind of guy. Dillon had always given him a hard time about his homebody tendencies.

“No. I’m not that brave. I went with a couple of friends. Rupert and Jason. You remember them. They worked for me a while back.”

“Fun guys. I remember. Anyway, tell me more.”

“Well, there was this amazing-looking man. And it turned out that Rupert knew him. So he introduced me. And voila. Instant attraction.” Clinton settled into the chair next to me as I started to rub Pond’s on my face to remove my stage makeup. Believe me, the stuff is lethal to the complexion if you let it stay on too long.

“Maybe there’s something in the water. First Bethany. Then me. And now you. Now all we need is to find someone for Cassie, and we’ll have a trifecta.”

“Actually, a trifecta means three, and we’re four. So the analogy is a bit off, but I get your point,” Clinton said, handing me a Kleenex.

“So do I know this guy?” I asked, wiping the cold cream off my face.

“I don’t think so,” Clinton said. “Paul Maroney?”

I shook my head.

“He’s an investment banker. Worked on Wall Street for a number of years, then got sick of it all and opened his own online firm.”

“Sounds promising.” Like Cassie, Clinton tended toward artistic types. Blame it on our occupation. So it was nice to see him fall for someone less likely to jump ship at the slightest provocation.

“It is. At least I’m hoping so. We had a fabulous time. And then we went out again last night and it was even better. So you could say that I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“It sounds wonderful. And you deserve someone fabulous.”

“I know,” he agreed with a grin. “But I don’t want to jinx it. That’s why I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“So are you going out with him again?”

“This weekend. We’re going to see the play with Norbert Leo Butz.”

“I heard it’s good. And even if it’s not, Norbert Leo Butz always is. I saw him in Twain’s
Is He Dead?
It was hysterical.”

“I know. I was with you. Remember?”

“Sorry. I’d forgotten,” I admitted. Dillon was supposed to have gone, actually. A treat for my birthday. I adored Broadway. Dillon not so much. And so when the night had arrived, he pleaded a conflict, and Clinton had gracefully agreed to fill in. I guess I’d just pushed the whole thing out of my mind. For obvious reasons. “Anyway, sounds like a nice evening.”

“That’s what I thought. And of course we’ll go somewhere for dinner afterward.”

“Somewhere romantic,” I agreed. “So when do I get to meet him?”

“I don’t know. It’s too soon, I think, for that sort of thing.”

“So no dinner parties.” I smiled.

“Definitely not,” he said, holding up his hands to ward off the thought.

“Well, when the time is right. I do want to meet him. Party or no. And you’ve got to admit the one I threw for Bethany and Michael went rather well.”

“Yes. Except that you were rather preoccupied.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I laughed. “I was the perfect hostess.”

“Even if you did only have eyes for Ethan McCay.”

“Guilty as charged,” I acquiesced. “But seriously, I thought the party was a success. Didn’t you?”

“Absolutely. And Bethany seemed pleased with it all.”

“Except for her rooftop admission,” I said with a frown. Bethany had shared the news of Michael’s invitation with Clinton the morning after the party, so I wasn’t breaking a confidence. “Has she said anything else about it?” he asked.