Ida fanned herself. “I like this bachelorette party already.”
“The limo is downstairs,” Shirley announced. “Let’s get this party started!”
* * *
The maître’d didn’t blinkan eye when we trooped into the Salt House restaurant.
“I figured a place known for its meat would be a good way to start the bachelorette party,” Shirley said as we were seated in a private room.
“I’m paying for this bachelorette party,” Dottie said to the waiter. “So let’s make sure to keep the drinks coming.”
“Oh,” I said, pulling out Blade’s credit card. “My fiancé”—gosh, that still felt weird to say—“said he wants to cover it.”
Dottie started to protest. Ida snatched up the credit card and handed it to the waiter.
“A man wants to pay, Dottie,” she said. “Don’t insult his good name by refusing. We are going to make sure this card gets a very good workout.”
The waiters brought out charcuterie trays and bottles of wine.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Ida said, holding up a long salami. “Girls like their sausage. And some boys too.” She winked at Edward.
“You didn’t want to go turkey hunting with the Svenssons?” I teased him.
He snorted as he piled his plate with meat and cheese. “Hell no. I go hunting by myself, not with a group of a hundred people.” He shook his head. “I bet if you asked Blade, he’d probably rather be at the bachelorette party than the hunting trip.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, looking around. My grandmother was already on her second glass of wine.
“I hope you have more exciting things planned than dinner,” Kitty whined to Shirley.
My friend gave the intern a fake smile. “We’re going to a jazz bar.”
“Boo!” Ida said. “I want to go to a club and pick up men.”
“I was promised a stripper,” Bettina added.
“There will be no strippers,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Why, because you might decide he’s going to be your next fake fiancé?” Cassie shot back at me.
“Blade is not fake,” I said through gritted teeth.
The waiters put down trays of hamburger sliders, platters of sliced steak, little pots of mac ’n cheese, and a tray of roasted vegetables.
“I’m hoping people will be so full,” Shirley whispered in my ear, “that your grandmother and her friends won’t cause any trouble.”
“Yum, this is how I like my meat,” Ida said, scooping slices of steak onto her plate. “Red and throbbing!”
“We can dream,” I whispered back to Shirley.
The heavy meal did nothing to slow down the seniors. Neither my stepsister nor stepmother ate much, preferring to drink their dinner. Stacy and Kitty hardly ate as well, and no one wanted dessert. I looked longingly at the menu.
“Come on,” Ida said impatiently. “You can have men as your dessert! There are so many to choose from. There’s a great club down the block that has excellent reviews.”
“I don’t know if we’re dressed right for a club,” I said, looking down. I was wearing flats and jeans.
“Nonsense. With those tatas, you’re going to be accepted anywhere.”
* * *
