“Recently?”
Beatrice lowered her lips toward Jamie. Why was she whispering? Etta wasn’t home!
“A few months ago, she commented that she had a dream about you and her getting married in the garden. She asked me what I thought of that.”
“Really, now?”
“It’s the truth. That woman has been thinking about marrying you pretty much since you moved in here.”
“I have a hard time believing it.”
“Believe what you will. Anyway, I need to get started on these floors so they’re dry by the time Ms. Coleman comes home.”
Jamie went back to the address book and a pile of index cards while Beatrice went about cleaning the floors, humming to herself.I wonder what kind of wedding she had. Probably something comparably simple to Jamie’s upcoming affair of the summer.Don’t think about that kind of pressure.The last thing Jamie needed!
Her darling fiancé stood her up for lunch downtown on Tuesday afternoon. Oh, she called Jamie to tell her that a business function came upthat she couldn’t say no to, but that call didn’t come until Jamie’s car was already entering the city limits.Too late to turn back. She told Etta she could make it up later at the penthouse. It was Harris and Beatrice’s night off anyway, so they might as well stay downtown and order take-out.
Except that left Jamie to fend for herself for lunch. She was dressed too fancily to go to the kinds of places she liked to frequent before she met Etta. That left the higher-class establishments. The kind that closed by five and had fantastic views of the cityscape, since they were high in office buildings and department stores. She liked those places fine. The service was always top-notch, the food delicious, and she could put whatever she bought on Etta’s tab and she never said a thing – probably because only her accountant ever noticed.Pretty soon I’ll be able to say “Put it on my wife’s tab.”Jamie didn’t like the pretentious air of such places, however… she was more than willing to use that line whenever it was convenient. Right now, she had to rely on servers and hosts recognizing her as the newly affluent girlfriend – and now fiancée – of one of the biggest businesswomen around. Luckily, most were paid to remember. Jamie always tipped well.
Nevertheless, she was never excited to go by herself. There was one restaurant she stuck to, and she went there now, but only because the host was willing to listen to her requests to sit in a corner segregated from the rest of the rich fray coming in and out for tea and sandwiches. More than once some uptight jerk glared at her while she ate. Chihuahuas often growled at her. The only dog she got along with in that café was one elderly woman’s service dog, who always took the opportunity to flop on the floor and snooze while his lady ate pasta and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of her playing Candy Crush on her iPad.
That lady wasn’t there today. Few people were there, although the place was far from empty. Jamie got her favorite seat, and the server was the same young man she often had, and thus remembered what she liked to get. Jamie had a latte and water before she could blink.
She drew her phone from her purse and took a picture of the latte art for her amusement. Beyond that, however, the most entertaining thing she had on hand was the bridal magazine she kept in the car for trips in and out of town. But she had already read every article and dog-eared every cake and dress she fancied.I can’t even think about the dress right now.Granted, she was excited to find her perfect dress, but the stress of everything else that she had to get out of the way first… forget it!
Occasionally, she glimpsed around the room, catching this socialite, that businessman, and that elderly rich couple who sniffed more than they spoke to one other. The only person of real note in that restaurant was Kathleen Allen sitting in another far corner, commandeering a four-person table so she could spread out a million papers and hunch over something with a ball-point pen.Shewouldbring her work to lunch. Seeing her wasn’t an unusual occurrence at this café.She adopted a kitten from me here…After some people made fun of Jamie.
Some things never changed.
Two young women Jamie barely recognized snickered in the corner. She tried to ignore them, even after she realized these women who couldn’t be much younger than her were gesturing at her and then laughing like two baby hyenas.
I’m getting tired of this shit. What could she do? Jamie wasn’t in any position – yet – to go up to them and call them out on their bullshit. Nor could she passive-aggressively send them letters or get to them through their fathers. Not only did she not have this power, but she was not interested in it. Why couldn’t adults be, oh, adults? Jamie knew she could look silly in her fluffy, pastel-colored coats and with barrettes in her hair, but she didn’t look inappropriate for her age or environment. The server said not a word as he brought her the usual salad and bagel. Jamie thanked him and pretended to only be interested in her magazine.I need to start carrying earbuds so I can listento music here.
Eventually, Jamie had to use the restroom. Most places had single-stall affairs, but this restaurant still had communal restrooms located in the back. Most of the time, Jamie was in there by herself. Yet as she locked herself in the only stall, she heard the door open again.
“I know, it’s so embarrassing.” Heels clacked. Purses hit the sinks. Whiny voices pealed. “She’s always by herself. Doesn’t she have any friends?”
“Yeah, she has friends. Poor people, like her.”
They laughed, one of them yucking in her throat. Jamie could almost hear the friend scoffing at that atrocious sound. “Poor people and the hot mess Monique Warner.”
“Poor people and sluts?”
“She is the epitome of that.”
“I get the slut part.” One girl’s lipstick accidentally clattered in the sink. “But why would a woman like Etta Coleman go for someone so poor? She could have her pick of upscale girls. Like us.”
“Please. She was the ultimate playgirl for a while.”
“I thought that was Ira Mathison. Or are we still calling themthem?”
“She took the title after Etta Coleman took herself out of the game.”
“Oh.” One of them snorted. “I think I slept with her once.”
“Which one?”
“Dunno. It was at a party. Everyone was wasted.”
