Страница 23 из 58
“It’s supposed to be good,” Luke says cheerfully. “Oh, look. Sweetbreads.”
“That’s guts,” Chaz says. “I had to stand for an hour outside to sit at a bench at a tiny table at a place that’s going to serve me guts. We could have gone to the Polish place in my neighborhood and gotten guts for five dollars and no waiting. And I could be sitting in a chair and not on a bench.”
“But then you wouldn’t have seen that girl’s thong,” Valencia points out cheerfully.
“True,” Chaz agrees.
I shoot Valencia a dirty look. It’s not her fault, of course, that she’s so perfect—tall and tan and thin with perfect straight dark hair that she’s caught up in a classy single silver barrette—a lovely complement to her ruby red sleeveless sheath dress. She can’t help that she’s witty and charming and intelligent too. Even her pedicure is perfect.
I want to reach across the velvet banquette we’re sitting on and grab her by that perfect hair and pull until her face hits the tabletop and then keep pulling until I’ve dragged her across the restaurant and then maybe when we’ve reached the bachelorette party at the table next to ours (when did the city become so full of bachelorette parties that you couldn’t seem to go out without encountering one?) I’ll turn her loose and say to the bachelorettes, “Have at her, girls—oh, and by the way, she’s a tenure-track professor at a major private university.” Then maybe, when they’re done with her, I’ll give her back to Chaz—if he still wants her.
Oh, wait—did I think that?
No, I didn’t. Because I’m way too busy exchanging text messages with Ava Geck to think things like that.
Ava: LIZZIE, WHERE R U?
Me: I’m at the Spotted Pig in the West Village. Why?
Ava: I’M COMING.
Me: What? Ava—Why aren’t you in Greece?
No response. Calls to her cell phone go immediately to voice mail. I’m not sure her “I’M COMING” actually meant that she was coming to the restaurant. Knowing Ava, it could just as easily have meant she was coming… literally, in the throes of passion, and also happened to be texting me.
It’s not something I’d put past her.
“So I’ve been meaning to ask you guys something,” Chaz says as the waitress brings the dozen oysters Luke has ordered. I’m not eating oysters tonight. Not because I don’t like them, but because it’s June and I can’t risk a bout of food sickness. I’ve got twenty gowns to get to twenty nervous brides, or my name will be mud in this town.
I mean, Chez Henri’s name.
“Hit me,” Luke says. He’s in a good mood because his classes are over. He’s not sure he exactly aced his exams—he thinks he might have tanked his bio final, actually—but that doesn’t seem to be bothering him too much. He’s just relieved they’re over, and that he’s going to be getting on a plane for Paris in a couple of days.
If I weren’t feeling so guilty over the fact that I’ve barely had two minutes to spend with him all month anyway—and won’t for the next two days he’s in town, either—I’d be a little miffed over just how excited he is to be leaving me for the summer.
“So, are you guys ever actually going to set a date, or is this just going to be the longest engagement in the history of mankind?” Chaz wants to know.
I choke on the sip of white wine I’ve just taken. I can’t believe he asked that. I mean, it’s refreshing, on the one hand, that someone is actually asking Luke and me—instead of just me—about the engagement for a change. Luke’s the one who always seems to escape this kind of questioning—and who also seems so perfectly content with how things are going, him living in his mother’s doorman building on Fifth Avenue and me living in my hovel on East Seventy-eighth, where I have to answer the door with a lighter and a can of hair spray just in case it’s a rapist and not the UPS man after all.
And okay, true, I still can’t even think about my own wedding without telltale hives showing up—oh God! There’s one on the inside of my elbow now!
But still. Why is it that when it comes to the wedding pla
And I seem to break into hives at the mere mention of the word “engagement.”
“Charles,” Valencia says.
That’s the other thing about Valencia. She calls Chaz Charles. No one calls Chaz Charles. Except his parents.
Chaz can’t stand his parents.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Luke says, after slurping down one of the Caraquets. “Of course we’re going to set a date. We were thinking September, right, Lizzie?”
I stare at him in total astonishment. This is—literally—the first I’ve heard of this. “We were?”
“Well, that’s when there’s an opening in the rental schedule at Mirac,” Luke says. “And it won’t be too hot then. And that’s when most of my parents’ friends will be back from their summer places. We want to make sure they can come, because they’re the ones who are going to pony up with the best gifts.” He winks at me.
I continue to stare at him. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I mean, I do, but I can’t believe he’s saying it. Out loud.
“And that should give you plenty of time to start pla
I look down. It’s amazing. But there’s another hive popping up inside my other elbow.
“I… ” I can’t stop staring at the angry red welts in the romantic restaurant lighting. The walls are red. Just like Valencia’s dress. Just like my hives. “I don’t know. I guess. But… don’t you have to be back for school?”
“I can miss the first couple weeks of classes,” Luke says with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
Something in his tone causes me to look up from my hives—there are two new ones—and into his face.
“Wait,” I say. “You are going back to school in the fall. Aren’t you, Luke?”
“Of course.” Luke grins at me, that handsome, easy smile that so enchanted me from that first moment I met him on the train to Sarlat. “Lizzie… you look like something just went down the wrong way. Is everything all right?”
“She’s been working too hard,” Chaz says, speaking for the first time since popping his most unwelcome question. “Look at her. She’s got those dark circles under her eyes.”
I fling my hands to my face, horrified. “I do not!”
“Charles,” Valencia says again, gri
“Does she even sleep anymore?” Chaz wants to know.
“She’s like a machine,” Luke says. “I’ve never seen anybody work so hard.”
“Of course I’m working hard,” I say, flinging open my handbag and digging through it for my compact mirror. “It’s June! What do you think happens in June? That’s when people get married. Normal people, I mean, who actually talk about when they’re going to get married, instead of avoiding the subject like it’s a ticking bomb that has to be defused the way we do, Luke. I’ve been working on twenty gowns, all at the same time. I’m trying to start a name for myself, you know. Single-handedly, I might add, since my boss has been out sick for the past half a year. And having you guys tell me I have circles under my eyes and that I work too hard totally doesn’t help!”
“Lizzie,” Chaz says. I can see him staring at me from behind the compact, which I hold up to check on the circles. “I’m totally teasing you. You look beautiful. As always.”
“Really, Lizzie,” Luke says. He picks up another oyster and swallows it without chewing. “What happened to your sense of humor?”
“She’s terribly solipsistic, isn’t she?” I hear Valencia murmur, though I know she hadn’t meant me to. I’ll have to look up the word “solipsistic” later.