“I thought you’d never come in here to see me! It’s beenages, VL,” he went on as he took Vivien’s arm. “Tell me how our dear Frankie is doing, will you? I miss herso.”
“Oh, she’s doing fantastic. She’s working at a very chichi pastry shop in Manhattan—they’re even letting her do her own macarons—and she says her summer internship here was the best thing that ever happened to her.”
“Well, you’ve never steered me wrong with summer internships, darling. All these wannabe chefs—I justlovegobbling up their energy during these crazy summer months! And Benjamin is working out just fine—although he’s unequivocallynota pastry chef,” he added in a conspiratorial voice. “I think the best I can expect from him is doing sous work, but that’s just fine with me. He can prep to his heart’s content.” He smiled at them both. “Now, inside or outside today, my lovelies?”
“Outside, in the shade, and Cherry says we need to ask about your secret stash of Sancerre,” Vivien replied.
“Ooh! So it’s one ofthosekinds of days.” He grinned. “I can’t wait to hear all about it. And Officer Sugar, don’t lie—you’ve done something brilliant to your hair.Lovethe new shade. It’s like a honey-lemon, and it makes you look absolutelydeliciouswith your creamy skin tone and that splash of freckles—I’ve always said it looks like a natural bronzer. You’re simply a goddess.”
Her cheeks a little pink—for she was much shyer and more subdued than Vivien—Helga reached up to touch the high ponytail she’d worn for yoga. “Only you would notice, Trib. It’s just a slight tweak in the color, but Emily did a great job.”
“She always does. It’s simply delicious,” Trib said, taking her arm as well. “Now, let’s see about a couple glasses of that crisp white for you both, and I’ll check whether I have something interesting in the kitchen for you to nibble. Marty wanted to try something with grilled peaches, toasted pepitas, and Brie, and who was I to say no?”
Moments later, Vivien and Helga were seated in a prime location in the corner of the restaurant’s front patio—prime because it was in the shade beneath a vine-wrapped pergola with a nice view of the street but not close enough that passersby or vehicles would interrupt their tête-à-tête. A tall pot placed strategically to give some privacy for the diners from pedestrians held an equally tall boxwood trimmed into a conical spiral. There was a small vase bursting with pink sweet peas and yellow pansies on the table.
“Damned birds,” Trib said as he delivered two glasses of nearly clear white wine and a small platter of grilled peaches topped with oozing brie and a side of house-made crackers. Toasted and seasoned pumpkin seeds—pepitas—were scattered on the plate.
Trib paused to shoo away a pair of wrens that had perched among the red-flowering vines above them. “I’ve got nothing against them personally, but I don’t want them sitting—and shitting—above my customers while they’re eating!”
Vivien laughed and pretended to duck as she looked up. “Oops.”
“Yes. It wasn’t part of my master plan when Hector convinced me I needed to install the pergola with trumpet vine. That’s the last time I listen to that gay old fart. Should’ve just put in a retractable awning, but no, he said this would create a better ambiance.” He pursed his lips. “I’ve got a guy coming to install some netting a few feet above it to keep the birds off, but until then, it’s a manual project to keep them from crapping all over everything. Now, how’s the wine, darlings? And what do you think about the Brie?”
They concurred it was excellent, and although Vivien was itching to tell Helga about what happened at the theater, she was also pleased when Trib pulled up a chair to join them.
“Now tell me true, VL, you really wantedmeto play Mortimer, didn’t you?” he said, preening a little.
“Of course I did,” she replied. “But then you’d steal the show from Roger Hatchard and Michael Wold. We couldn’t have that, you know—a small-town restauranteur showing up national celebrities.”
Trib laughed uproariously. “Oh, you’re good, darling. You’reverygood. All those years in advertising and PR have served you well. But admit it—you’d be more worried what Maxine would say if I stole the show fromher.”
Vivien laughed and toasted him with her wine. “You caught me.”
“Anyway, I admit, I’ll be in the front row on opening night. Roger Hatchard issucha lovely piece to look at. All thatlegand that thick head of dark hair even at his age. I had no idea he could act.”
“We are looking for someone to play the dead body in the window seat,” Vivien told him with a sly look. “No lines, you can wear whatever you want, and you’d only be in Act Two.”
“And then I could be backstage, couldn’t I? Can I have my own dressing room? Or, better yet, share one with Hatchard?”
“Nice try. But you can share one with Doug Horner, whoever we get to play Mr. Witherspoon, and Juanita’s friend Ricky.”
“Oh, Ricky’s going to do the show? That’s good—I think his son’s been trying to encourage him to get out more since Clara died. He’ll like that. And you say Doug’s going to be in it too? Poor guy. I wonder how long it’ll be before Juanita accidentally-on-purpose stumbles into his dressing room.”
Doug Horner was the Wicks Hollow veterinarian, and he was a confirmed bachelor in his late sixties. He had snowy-white hair and a bristly gray mustache that looked like a toothbrush. Juanita, who was at least ten years older than he, had had her sights set on him for years.
Trib sighed, shaking his head sadly. “If those two would stop dancing around each other and playing games and just tear off each other’s clothes anddoit all ready! She’s so delicious with all those opera-singer bodacious curves—if I were straight, I’d go for her myself.”
“Ew!” Helga was holding up two fingers in the shape of a cross, warding him off. “That’s a picture I don’t need in my head. Let’s talk about exactly how Vivien got Roger Hatchard to be in the show.”
“Ooooh?” Trib made the word undulate like a writhing belly dancer. “Do tell, VL!”
“Well, I’ve been sort of seeing his son Daniel,” Vivien said. “It’s nothing serious—in fact, I don’t even know if we’ll continue on now that I’m here and he’s back in Hartford. He’s a great guy, but he has no interest in moving away from the East Coast, and I’m not going anywhere now that I’ve bought the theater. But it was Daniel who suggested I ask his father to be in the show.”
“Spectacular,” said Trib. “That’ll be a nice draw, and I’m not just speaking for me.”
“That’s it?” Helga was disappointed. “I was hoping for more scoop about the Hatchard family.”
Vivien laughed and shook her head. “Really, it was pretty low-key.”
