“Won’t there be Atlanta people there?” Luisa asks, unconvinced.
“The Swansons are members of the club,” I explain, “but theysplit time between Atlanta and Madison. They don’t run in the same circles as Griggs.”
“Do I need to wear one of those hats?” Eli asks derisively.
“We all will,” I respond effusively, much to Luisa’s dismay. “It’s going to be perfect!”
Luisa and Eli launch into a debate, and I excuse myself to head into the kitchen. I want to make sure Irma has found all the ingredients I ordered and then hid in the back of the walk-in.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Justine fires off as I come into the kitchen. “?’Cuz thatgot’damboy ain’t from Mississippi.”
Leave it to Justine to nail our one lingering weakness.
“I don’t know where he’s from,” Irma says, her voice swoony, “but I know he’s gooooorgeous.” She turns to me. “When was he born? I bet he’s a Libra rising.”
“I have no idea, Irma.” I laugh. “I don’t have a habit of asking people exactly what time of day they were born.”
“You’d need to know the location, too,” she says in a tone that suggests I’d seriously consider grilling a recent acquaintance on these minuscule details. “But you don’t even need to ask your friend Luisa. I’m sure she’s triple Aries.” She waves her hand as if to stoke a flame. “That one’s pure fire sign.”
“And totally hot for the not-from-Mississippi kid,” Justine adds.
“Wait, what?” I ask, suddenly anxious. Eli and Luisa? That would complicate things.
“Don’t give her a hard time, ladies,” Byron coos, sidling up beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Our little Holly Berry can be a bit naive when it comes to—”
“Blatant sexual attraction,” Justine snorts.
“I am not naive!” I retort. “Plus, you’re wrong. Luisa’s not, like, into him. It’s a professional relationship.” Justine raises her eyebrows but doesn’t push back.
Anxious to avoid this conversation, I grab Irma by the elbow and drag her into the walk-in, pointing out the stash of extra ingredients. Then I make my way back to the Ivy Room, studiously avoiding Byron and Justine.
I return to my seat, just in time to hear Luisa asking Eli, “All right,My Fair Guy, are you a squeamish eater?”
“I’m not a squeamishanything,” Eli responds, judiciously avoiding the nickname she’s assigned him for Phase Four. “Why?” he asks.
“I’d say your best bet is to just dive in and order,” she replies. “That’s the only surefire way to avoid asking a very dumb question.”
“Like, what the fuck is preserved yuzu?” Eli asks, pointing at an item on the menu. “And aren’t truffles those little round chocolate balls? Seems weird to serve with tuna fish.”
“Which is why you’ll not ask any questions,” Luisa says, laughing despite herself. “Confidently order your starter and main course, avoid words you can’t pronounce, and be sure to let any women at the table order first.”
“And speaking of women,” I jump in, “try not to order anything too feminine.”
“Feminine,” Eli repeats slowly, staring down at the menu. “And how might a gentleman know if a food is, uh,feminine?”
“A good rule of thumb,” I instruct, “is to stay away from anything that seems healthy, like something you might eat on a diet.”
“So, meat and potatoes,” he says in a lovely slow cadence. “Well, thaaat I caaan do.” He winks at Luisa.
Seeing no sign of Justine or Byron, I start to worry that some disaster may be unfolding back there.Where is everyone?
“Can we get some of those crackers?” Luisa asks, looking toward the kitchen longingly.
“You mean the saltines?” I ask, incredulous. “Do people really like those?”
“They’re, like, the only reason I came.” Luisa smirks.
I sigh and excuse myself from the table again, to rustle up some saltines. Heading through the door, I hear her call out, “Make sure they’re warm, please.”
