She called out to Davey as she ran her brush over her long chestnut hair. “How are you doing out there?”
“Spilled the flour,” he muttered. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
Smiling, she twisted her hair around hot rollers and left them in while she did her makeup. When that was done, she brushed out the big curls, wrapped a Christmassy-red bow around the top of her head and let her hair cascade over it.
“How are you doing?” she asked again, joining Davey in the kitchen. She pulled an apron from the drawer, tied it on, then grabbed a rolling pin. “That looks good. Now roll it out to a half inch, like this, then cut them into two-inch sticks. Bake them fifteen minutes, and they’re done.”
“If I ever have my own kitchen, I’m going to make those, like, every day.”
She kissed him on the cheek then rubbed off the lipstick she’d left behind. “You left your blue shirt in my closet, if you want to change.”
He headed off, humming to himself, while Sassy set out her recent purchases of six glasses and three bottles: rye whiskey, sweet vermouth, and Angostura bitters, in case anyone wanted a Manhattan. She was developing a taste for those. She poured a few maraschino cherries into a bowl in case her friends wanted them for a garnish, but she held her breath as she did it. As cheerful as they looked, Sassy would rather drink poison than eat one of those cherries. She’d gorged on an entire jar as a child then brought it all up on her grandmother’s white rug. Even now, she could barely stand the smell of them.
“Want me to turn on a record?” Davey asked just as there was a knock on the door.
“Yes, please. Oh, and can you please pour those M&M’s into a bowl and set it out?”
“Got it.”
She walked past him toward the door, hearing the click of the record player being turned on, then a crackling sound as the needle dropped onto the Byrds.
Marion was at the door, holding out two bottles of wine. Her friend was dressed beautifully as always, with a classy elegance that made Sassy feel a bit like a slob. She wore a light blue knitted dress with a short navy jacket over the top, and she’d let her long blond hair down for a change.
“Your hair! You’re a knockout.”
Marion handed Sassy the bottles then touched her brow, self-conscious. “You think so? I wasn’t sure.”
“Oh, it’s fab. You gotta wear it down more often. Come on in. You’ve met Davey, haven’t you?”
“I don’t think so,” Davey said, walking across the room with his hand out. “This is far out. Sassy’s told me all about you.”
Sassy laughed. “You’re, like, my only classy friend,” she explained, then she paused, thinking of Tom. “You and my boss.”
“I’ve heard lots about you, too. Are you joining us for dinner?” Marion asked Davey.
He grinned. “Sassy said I could. The snow’s pretty bad, you know?”
All three gazed out the balcony door at the thickening blizzard. “I hope everyone has a place to stay tonight,” Sassy said, then she saw Marion’s stricken expression and immediately felt bad. Right away she realized her friend was thinking of her patients, out there in the cold when they should have been safe at the hospital. She curled her arm around Marion’s waist and drew her close for a gentle hug.
“I’m sure Daniel’s warm somewhere,” she said softly. “He knows how to take care of himself.”
Marion’s smile battled back onto her face. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I’m glad I’m here,” Davey put in, having no clue about what was going on around him, as usual. “Thanks for letting me stay, Sass.”
“No flying your freak flag,” she warned. “We’re eating at the grown-up table tonight.”
“I’ll even do dishes after. Thanks, ladies. This’ll be cool.”
Having Davey around would add a different dimension to the gathering, Sassy thought, pouring Marion a Manhattan. She poured one for herself at the same time.
“Cherry?” she asked.
“Please.”
She had never thrown a dinner party before, and she hadn’t been sure how her guests would get along, but she needn’t have worried. Once the other two couples arrived, each with food and a bouquet of flowers, everyone started up their own conversations. She had invited Mr. and Mrs. Moore as well, but they had graciously declined, saying they weren’t up to it.
“I brought music,” Marion said, producing Ella Fitzgerald’s Christmas album, and suddenly, everything felt festive.
