“Oh, I bet he is.” Hildy’s tone was twice as suggestive as a brow wiggle.
“He’s going to open his own restaurant.” Which was way more impressive than anything Lillibet had pretended to do.
“With my help.” Mr. L patted his lapel, indicating either his wallet or his heart.
“So you’re a patroness of the arts.” Hildy was still focused on Libby. “Generous with your assets.”
Generous was not the first word that came to mind when people described Libby’s assets. There was a reason Keoki’s older brothers had called her Tiny Lychees, and it wasn’t because she could put away so many of the spiny little fruits. Though that was also true.
“I need to get into that,” Hildy said. “The arts. I worry the symphony is too obvious. So then I was like, maybe theater could be my thing?”
“Oh, aye begonia. ’Tis your lucky night. Luck o’ the Oirish!” Jean’s arm twitched in a salute. Sticky red liquid splashed from her glass onto the floor. Mr. L hissed like a cat.
“I’ve got it,” Libby said before his head could spin around. She knelt in front of Jean, grabbing a napkin from the tray to wipe up the spill.
Hildy set down her glass. “This is so educational.”
As a PSA about drinking too many margaritas, or the importance of hiring a dialect coach?Libby kept those thoughts hidden behind what she hoped was a smile of polite interest. As opposed to the look of a woman on the verge of losing it.
“Sometimes it’s easier to take care of business yourself.” Hildy gestured at Libby, who was trying to rise from the floor without flashing anyone. “Other times you delegate. Preferably to someone who looks like the Rock, only soft.”
“Dad bod,” Keoki said with unmistakable pride, jiggling his belly like Santa. Libby half expected him to bust out the ultrasound pictures to prove it, but he was too busy patting his topknot. “And I have hair.”
“Excellent hair,” Hildy agreed, fluffing her own curls. “Although I’m kind of off men lately. Besides JJ, of course.”
Who wouldn’t swear off other guys after finding someone like him? Libby guzzled more of her drink.
“Good on ya,” Jean slurred, tapping the side of her nose.“Menfolk canna be trusted, with their lying eyes and wee wandering willies.”
“I think somebody could use a sandwich,” Keoki said, reaching for Jean’s arm.
“I’ve heard a sandwich can fix anything.” Libby gave Jean a syrupy smile, wondering how she liked being on the receiving end of patronizing sandwich discourse. Keoki raised his eyebrows (unlike the Rock, he couldn’t do one at a time), reminding her that Lillibet was too evolved to be passive-aggressive. “Did you know I grind my own millet?”
Hildy looked delighted by this non sequitur, but before she could ask for details, Mr. L cleared his throat. “Has anyone used the bathroom?” It sounded like he was about to accuse one of them of leaving a floater.
“My—he designed all the plumbing himself,” Libby explained, gesturing at her faux-husband.
He preened. “Let me know if you experience any problems. Not that you will.”
“The pipes, the pipes they’re callin’,” Jean warbled. “No doubt everything’s flowin’ like a river for these spry young things. Unlike me poor old uncle Malachi. Speakin’ o’ dribs and drabs, can I get a refill?” She rattled the ice in her glass.
Hildy had gone back to studying Lillibet’s Me Tree centerfold. “So do you decorate a Me Tree?”
Sure,Libby thought.It’s like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, only with nipple tassels.
“Aye,” Jean said. “She’ll be needin’ the finishin’ touch.”
“A beret?” Mr. L guessed.
“Nay. Though she can wear it on her head if she likes. Sure, an’ our Lillibet can reach that high, bein’ the tall drink o’ water that she be.”
Libby was always aware of her height, but the combination oftoo-short dress and everyone staring made her feel particularly giraffe-like, as if her knees were growing knobbier by the second. Since she wasn’t really twelve feet tall, she set down her drink and headed for the ladder propped against the wall. Jean must have left it there after setting up her special surprise.
When Mr. L showed no inclination to move, Jefferson walked slowly across the room to join her. The set of his mouth was grim, like she was a hitchhiker he’d picked up despite the high probability she’d turn out to be an ax murderer. “Let me help you.”
She was too tongue-tied to argue. Now that they were sort of alone, as they’d been on the beach, Libby was painfully aware of the undercurrents filling the room like one of those crisscrossing laser security systems in an action movie. In silence, they lifted the ladder, positioning it next to 2D Naked Libby.
“It’s just there,” Jean called out to Jefferson, pointing at a box on one of the end tables. “Be a love and fetch it for her.”
