Was that an apology? At the very least, the self-awareness was endearing.
Fran looked around at the club. “I was worried—I mean the theme seemed a touch off—but I have to hand it to you, Camille. This is going to be a night to remember.”
Gabby had almost forgotten that Fran had accused her ofstealing office supplies just yesterday. In retrospect, that seemed almost silly, and the least scary thing that had happened to her this week. And really, she had been trying to steal something, so Fran wasn’t wrong.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday,” Gabby said.
Fran set down the projector and really looked at Gabby. “And I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about office supplies. I’m pretty sure it was Carmen.” She shook her head in Carmen’s direction.
“Nah, Carmen couldn’t care less about office supplies.”
“Maybe I should drop it,” Fran said, in one of those gratifying moments of unexpected growth. Gabby almost teared up.
Fran might be a pain, but there was no one more competent and reliable. In a different world, Gabby could have been her friend, following a lot of needless rules about office etiquette and helping to police expired yogurts in the break room fridge. Every friendship came with its own oddities. Instead, tonight would be the last time she’d see Fran, just when they’d overcome their first disagreement.
“What made you decide on the mob theme?” Fran squinted at the speakeasy.
“That was the party planner, Betty Danger. I have to admit I wasn’t supervising very closely.” Understatement of the year. She’d just said “you decide” to every question. She’d fallen into a mob theme the same way she’d fallen into a lukewarm marriage and an undercover job. Really, this was a moment she needed to learn from. Take action. Make decisions.
Just then, Betty Danger walked in. Betty was dressed to the nines as the mob boss’s best girl, Judy Garland meets Susan Lucci.
Before Betty had a chance to yell, “Gabby motherfucking Greene,” at top volume and expose her true identity in the most sensational way possible, she ushered Betty into a private booth.
In a hushed voice, Gabby said, “I need to tell you something. And look at your legs! It’s not even fair.”
Betty Danger’s legs went all the way up.
“Don’t make me blush, darling.” Betty wiggled all the way into the booth and whispered, “Tell me what’s going on,” she said conspiratorially. “I knew something was up this week. Besides Burt’s penis.”
Gabby grabbed Betty’s hand and leaned forward. “This isn’t going to make any sense, but I really need you to call me Camille tonight. I can’t explain why.”
Betty leaned back to get a good look at her friend. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her. “Okay…Camille. That’s nice. What’s your last name?”
“Walker. Camille Walker.”
“Walker?” Betty narrowed her eyes and then just threw up her hands. “I think you could have done better than that, but okay.” She gave Gabby a “this isn’t the end of this conversation” look and said, “I’ll roll, but you better dish over cocktails this weekend.”
Gabby smiled ear to ear. “You’re the best. Thank you.” Her best friend’s only enemy was boredom—the mob wouldn’t even faze her.
“Camille, before the guests arrive, you should change.”
“Change?” She had planned to wear yoga pants and a black turtleneck and just blend into the background.
“You’re the host, Gabs. You have a part to play.” She pulled a garment bag off the back of a chair. “Plus, I brought you something.”
“You know I need to be comfortable tonight.” She needed to wear something she could run away in.
“Don’t worry. This will be perfect.” Betty unzipped the bag toreveal a pair of high-waisted, pin-striped black slacks with a pair of suspenders and a white collared shirt.
“I change my mind. That’s cute.”
“Of course it is. Don’t forget your lipstick.” Betty waved her off. “Go get changed.”
With her bold red lip and girl gangster costume, Gabby looked like the star of a black-and-white film.
When she tried to weasel away without any eye makeup, Betty put her hands on her hips. “Camille, I don’t know what you’re up to, but what I do know is that you need to fully inhabit the role you’re playing. If you don’t believe it, no one will. Wear the costume, walk the walk, talk the talk. This eyeliner”—she held up the tube of liquid liner—“isn’t about enhancing your natural beauty. It’s about becoming.”
Gabby sighed. So much drama.
