The Hurricane Sisters (8 page)

He took one look at me, slapped his hand over his heart, and gasped.

“Great God!” he said, trying to determine the length of my legs.

“Bill? Leave that child alone!” Judy called from the gallery as though she had eyes in all the walls. Maybe she did. Or radar maybe.

I giggled and squeezed past him intending to find Mary Beth. I had legs like a flamingo but what was I supposed to do about that? Wear a toga?

I loved our special events. The gallery always looked so glamorous with all the flowers and the glow of all those tea candles. The food and bar tables were draped in black to the floor with square white cloths laid over them in diamond shapes. On the ends of the tables were dozens of sparkling glasses in perfect lines like soldiers at attention. All the waitstaff stood at the ready wearing black shirts and pants with white aprons from their waists to their ankles. Very Parisian, I thought and sighed. A sign from God that once again it was clear I was going to have to do something drastic to get to France. Or Italy or how about just Tribeca in New York?

I spotted Mary Beth. She was fanning stacks of cocktail napkins with a highball glass.

“Hey, girl” I said and gave her a hug.

“Ooooh, honey! Look at you!” she said.

“Do I look okay?” I tugged at my hem a little, covering my rear a little more but revealing more of the girls. “I mean, this dress is sort of short, isn’t it?”

“Well, it ain’t PG-13.”

“It’s too skimpy, isn’t it?”

“Hell, no. You’re rocking that thing! Screw the old biddies! Wait till
you know who
sees you.”

“Let’s hope. It’s just not very Jackie.”

“Oh, so what. And you ain’t gonna believe who’s on the waitstaff tonight.”

“Who?”

“Tommy Milano.”

“Well, isn’t that great.”

“Please. He’s a sweetie.”

Soon people began arriving and I stood by the door, checking off names from the list provided by the Friends of
Himself
. Another girl from “the Friends of” helped the supporters attach peel-and-stick name tags to their shoulders. In no time at all there was a crowd of well-heeled people my parents’ age milling about, drinking wine, looking at the watercolors, and talking louder and louder by the minute. I didn’t see Tommy Milano anywhere. But to my surprise, out of the night and into the gallery stepped Maisie with some people I didn’t know.

“Maisie! What a wonderful surprise!” I hugged her and delivered a peck to her cheek.

“Hello, sweetheart! Lorraine? This is my granddaughter, Ashley Waters. Someday, she’s going to be a famous artist! Ashley? Say hello to Mrs. Galloway.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, thinking, Here’s my future mother-in-law. She seemed like a nice woman. I loved her earrings.

“And you too, Ashley,” Mrs. Galloway said.

“Lorraine’s mother, Lucille, and I went to school together,” Maisie said.

“Oh!” I said, sounding like an airhead but what was I supposed to say? I mean, was Mrs. Galloway’s mother still with us? Why didn’t Maisie tell me she was coming with her? “Maisie? Can I get y’all a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you, dear,” Mrs. Galloway said. “I’m the designated driver.”

“I’ll help myself,” Maisie said. “It’ll give me a chance to flirt with the bartender.”

Oh Lord, I thought. “Okay, well then, y’all have fun! Love you, Maisie!”

“Love you too, baby!”

They drifted into the crowd and my mind began clicking away. Maisie might be able to help me with Porter. But how?

Just when my list of names was almost all accounted for, a black car pulled up to the curb. Press from the
Charleston Post and Courier,
the
City Paper,
the
Charleston Mercury,
and
Charleston Magazine
hurried to the sidewalk. Even
Garden & Gun
magazine was there. Camera flashes exploded as his driver opened the back door and Senator Porter Galloway got out and stepped to the curb. His aide got out on the street side and came around. The senator paused, smiled for the photographers, and answered a few questions. His aide began taking questions after that. My heart was racing. I couldn’t swallow. Porter turned to come inside and caught my eye.

“Well, hello there,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Ashley. Ashley Waters.” God, he smelled so good.

“Beautiful. You have a beautiful name.”

He said this so politely I thought I might faint or something.

“Thank you,” I said. “I guess you don’t need a name tag, huh?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. How stupid and awkward could I be? Huh? Why not just say
duh
? Oh my God! I had just blown my only chance to make him notice me. Of all the things I could have said! My mouth got dry.

But he was cool.

“No, save a tree.”

There was a funny little moment when he looked into my eyes and I looked right back into his, a moment of recognition that something potent was brewing. Or that something could.

“Our grandmothers went to high school together,” I said. My tongue was clacking against the roof of my mouth like it had a suction cup on it.

“Really? Well, how about that? Small world. Sadly, I have to go work the room,” he said, “but I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be around,” I said and thought, Okay, this is it, I’m definitely going to drop dead right here. But the other side of my brain was already living in the White House, pregnant with his twins and pushing our toddler on a swing while a Secret Service detail looked on with concern. I had to find Mary Beth right away.

I spotted her across the room passing a tray of mini beef Wellingtons.

“Want one?” she said. “I’ve had four. Delish!”

She really was packing on the pounds lately. But I wasn’t saying a word about that.

“Are you kidding me? I can’t eat. Did you see him talking to me?”

“Yep, so did half the room. I hate to say I told you so, but I did.”

She walked away and I felt someone tap my shoulder. It was Maisie.

She whispered, “I saw that damn fool looking at you and I need to tell you something about him.”

“What?” I whispered back.

“I’ve known him since the day he was born. He used to come around with his grandmother, God rest her soul. But he was bad, Ashley. I mean he was a bully.”

“Like how?”

“Like once he was playing with some neighborhood kids in my yard? He turned the hose on all of them and made them cry. He must’ve been about four or five years old”

“Oh! But he was just four or five years old. Wasn’t Prince William a little stinker when he was that age? He grew up to be great!”

“I’m just telling you what I know.”

“Don’t worry, Maisie,” I said.

“Now you listen to me; I’m just saying all these politicians aren’t worth a hill of beans anymore. Didn’t you read the papers about that idiot, what’s his name? That guy in North Carolina with the four-hundred-dollar haircut?”

“That guy? He’s old. They’re
all
old men, Maisie. They’re from a different time. Porter is the new generation. The new generation of politicians are a lot smarter.”

“Really? They’re all a bunch of egomaniacs. Remember that man in New York sending his you know what all over the country by phone? How one does that, well, I’m uncertain but he did it!
He
wasn’t old.”

I started laughing then. It was too funny to me that my eighty-year-old grandmother was almost hip to texting but not quite.

“Um, Maisie, it was seriously gross but he’s way over forty. That’s old.”

“Whatever. Where does that leave me? Decrepit? Just watch yourself, that’s all.”

“Oh, stop worrying, Maisie. Don’t you think Porter exudes, you know, something special?”

“Yes. Power. And it’s the most dangerous aphrodisiac on this earth. He’s trouble with a capital T.”

“No, he’s not. He’s a sweetie.”

“I guess I just don’t like politicians,” Maisie said, shaking her head. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and handed me an envelope. “This is for you. I have to go and find Lorraine.”

I opened the envelope and saw the two fifties. Now I could pay my cell-phone bill!

“Oh, Maisie! Thanks!”

“You behave yourself,” she said and disappeared into the throng.

“I will, Maisie. I’m a good girl.”

Mary Beth was passing another hors d’oeuvre and paused when she came near me.

“Did you see Tommy? He cleans up good.”

“No. Where is he?”

“Over there with his hair slicked back, wearing black glasses.”

“That’s
Tommy
? Are you
serious
?”

“As serious as anything,” Mary Beth said. “He’s looking mighty fine, if you want my opinion.”

“He’s adorable. Still. Where’s he going with his life?”

“Probably the Amalfi Coast for the month of August for the rest of his life?”

“Yeah, right. And sleeping in a hammock on the beach.”

“Just saying. With our luck he’ll wind up being a bazillionaire. Anyway, I’m having drinks with Samir.”

Samir was a rich Saudi with a huge yacht in Charleston’s harbor. Mary Beth talked about marrying a doctor and having a herd of children, but meanwhile she was working on sleeping with a representative of every country in the United Nations. One of these days . . . well, I hoped she’d be safe and not do anything incredibly stupid.

“Just be careful.”

“Oh, come on! I’m always careful!”

“Okay. Tommy does look pretty amazing,” I said and walked away from Mary Beth and in Tommy’s direction.

I’d say hello to him. Big deal. It wouldn’t be nice to ignore him since I worked here and all. But who was coming toward me from the other direction, waving to get my attention? Porter Galloway’s aide.

“Hi!” he said and then whispered to me, “The senator wanted to know if you’d like to join him for a drink when this is over? Say about ten? He’s staying at Charleston Place.”

“Sure,” I said. “That would be fun.”

“So can I have your cell-phone number? You know, in case something comes up?”

“Sure,” I said and gave it to him.

Before I could ask for Porter’s number, his aide gave me his card with his own cell number.

“In case you can’t make it,” he said with a wide smile.

“Thanks,” I said and thought, Well, it was a good thing that I didn’t embarrass myself again by asking for the senator’s number. Of course he wouldn’t have given it to me! For all he knew I might tweet it to the entire world!

I continued across the room looking for Tommy. He was taking a tray of dirty glasses to the service area behind some pipe and drape.

“Hey!” I said. “How are you?”

“Great,” he said. “Wow. You sure look, um, wow.”

“Thanks! How’ve you been?”

“Good. Really good. You?”

“Okay, I guess. You know, working and just regular stuff.”

He noticed the card I was holding.

“You going out with that jerk?” he said.

“What jerk?”

“The politician’s gofer?”

I don’t know why but he really irked me when he said that.

“No. For your information, I’m meeting
the senator
for a cocktail.”

“Really? Well, have fun.”

We were just standing there now, staring at each other. I was being reminded why I even sort of liked him in the first place (because he had this way about him that made me feel like he was in charge and I’d be better off for it, even though he had no life plan as far as I could tell) and why suddenly, Porter Galloway made me feel a little bit uncomfortable. I was meeting Porter for a drink and that was all. Big deal. Still, Tommy’s disapproval made me uneasy.

When the last light was turned off, I said good night to the Turners.

“Fabulous night,” Judy Turner said. “Didn’t you think so?”

“It was!” I said, still floating on air, knowing where I was headed.

“I saw the senator flirting with you,” Bill Turner said.

“Hush, Bill!” Judy said. “MYOB! I think Porter Galloway is absolutely adorable!”

“Me too!” I said. “Night, y’all!”

So I made my way to my car and drove over to Charleston Place, a supernice hotel in downtown Charleston. I went to the first bar, the one inside the restaurant, and there was no sign of him or of his aide. So I went to the other bar where there was a man playing piano. I sat on a sofa and ordered a glass of white wine. Was I being stood up? I opened my purse and took out the card Porter’s aide gave me. George Zur was his name. Should I call him? I decided, oh, what the heck and dialed his number. He answered right away.

“Hey! It’s Ashley from the gallery. Where’d y’all go?”

“Oh, hey! Right, I forgot to call. Senator Galloway wants you to come up to his room.”

“Really? Well, I don’t know, I mean, who’s in his room?”

“Just him as far as I know. I’m hitting the sack because we have an early call in the morning. Gotta be back in Columbia by nine for a breakfast meeting.”

My mind was racing about a million miles an hour. And my face was so hot I knew I was blazing red with embarrassment. There was no way I was going up to a man’s hotel room, even if he
was
Porter Galloway. I wasn’t like that. In fact, the idea of him expecting me to just hop on up there like a ho made me feel a little bit sick.

“What room is he in?”

“Four sixteen.”

“Okay, thanks. See ya!”

I punched the end call bar on my phone and felt like crying. I drained my glass instead while I debated what to do. Should I go up there and slap him in the face when he opened the door? I texted Mary Beth.

I’ve got a situation
. I tapped the send button.

She wrote back
. What’s the situation?

He asked me to come up to his room at Charleston Place.
I pressed send.

She wrote back.
Yikes.
There was a pause and then she texted me again.
He couldn’t buy you a drink in the bar first? This has an ick factor of ten on a one to ten.

Maybe he can’t afford to be seen drinking alcohol? You know how conservative all these guys have to be these days.
I hit send again.