by Betsy Talbot
pen to sign? Just reach into my pocket to get it…to the left a little…whoops, that’s not my pen…but you can still use it, babe.” Lily gave an exaggerated wink as the others roared with laughter, Vi’s face a bright shade of red in response.
“You guys are awful. Jerome is not after me. He just wants a good deal for Barney’s.” Vi knew as soon as she said it how ridiculous it sounded. The jewelry deal was huge to her, but to a store like Barney’s it was everyday business, nothing they needed to ask a lawyer to resolve on New Year’s Eve.
Rose said, “Did he ask you to call him by his first name? Because that doesn’t sound very adversarial to me.”
Ivy put her elbow on the table and leaned forward. “I work for the U.S. Embassy in London, and there is no one in my office who’d work this hard on New Year’s Eve unless it were a matter of national security. I don’t think Barney’s has a jewelry emergency to resolve tonight.” Ivy stopped talking as the Brad Pitt lookalike waiter stopped at their table, two large trays of oysters on ice and another waiter behind him carrying the chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
“The medicine has arrived!” Daisy clapped her hands together, eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Take your dose, Lily. I promise you’ll feel better right away.”
As a food writer, Daisy was on assignment in New York. The whole trip was research for a magazine article on winter city escapes, a boring topic to her but something that paid her rent in Portland, Oregon. Daisy longed to be a chef in her younger days, but practicality won out and she picked writing over cooking. Now that the publishing industry was in such upheaval, she wondered if she wouldn’t have been smarter opening a restaurant after all.
Fake Brad Pitt placed the trays of oysters on the table. As he leaned in, the women could smell just the faintest scent of his cologne. His white shirt stayed flat against his waist, no doubt the result of rock-hard abs underneath.
“You are in very good hands with Ms. Foster. I will allow her to explain the oysters to you.” Fake Brad Pitt flashed his white teeth at Daisy, winking at her before turning away. His helper set new glasses down on the table and began pouring the white wine.
Vi cocked her head at Daisy. “What was that all about, Daisy? Do you know Fake Brad Pitt over there?” Violet asked. The waiter pouring the wine grinned as they talked about his friend.
Daisy sputtered a bit. “Ah, well, I came here for a tasting menu a few days ago. He was my server and we, ah, hit it off pretty well.” Daisy was nervous and quickly started the explanation about the oysters.
Lily interrupted her. “Pretty well? Or very well? Because it looks like you might have taken your meal to go.” The rest of the table laughed as Daisy reached for her first oyster.
“Well, I can reveal to you that the old wive’s tale about oysters as an aphrodisiac is true. I tested the theory multiple times just to be sure.” Daisy grinned at her friends and then downed her first oyster, the briny taste followed by a sip of the crisp white wine. “These oysters are what Blue Point oysters should still taste like but no longer do. These are the originals. Slurp and enjoy!”
Rose reached for an oyster, wondering if she should try to slurp it or use the tiny fork to dislodge it from the shell. “Daisy, you act like we all eat oysters on the regular. Not everyone gets to taste food for a living, you know. I can’t even remember the last time I had oysters.”
Ivy cleared her throat. “It’s easy, Rose. Just put it against your lips, open your mouth, and suck it down.” Ivy grinned as Rose snorted wine out of her nose. “You know, I think Daisy could just as easily write erotica as she does food. It’s all about physical pleasure, isn’t it?”
“Erotica would probably pay more than food writing, that’s for sure. I’ve gotta figure something else out. With everyone posting reviews online, it’s hard to find an outlet that still values the input of a food critic.” Daisy paused to season her oyster with lemon and suck it down. “I do have a something new in the works, though.” She leaned in as if telling a secret, and the others leaned in, too.
“If you’re talking about Fake Brad Pitt, we’re all ears.” Ivy glanced over at their waiter, who had to know they would talk about him. Why else would he have called Daisy by name? He was the second-most handsome man in the room after the bartender, whose chiseled jaw and mop of wavy hair made Ivy want to order her drinks in person.
Daisy held one finger up. “The waiter would make a good story, but this is about something else. I’m in talks to be a food critic on a French cooking show. In France. That’s part of the reason I’m in New York right now, to work out the final details.” Daisy picked up her glass and took another sip of her wine. “There are a couple of problems, though. One: I hate French food. I know, I know, it’s sacrilegious to say that sort of thing, but it’s true. And the second thing is that the producer is a total ass.”
Lily pulled her head back like a turtle to its shell. “You hate French food? Isn’t that like me being a doctor and saying I hate patients?” Lily cocked her head to the side, trying to understand.
“Doctors who hate patients become radiologists or researchers so they don’t have to deal with people, Lil. It’s the same with food writing. You stick to what you know and love and avoid what you don’t. And I don’t like French cooking for the most part.” Daisy sighed. “But that seems to be what the creators of the show like about me, though the French producer is so appalled that I don’t go all Julia Child on every frog leg and cassoulet they put on my plate.”
Lily poked her head back out of her shell. “Will you film in New York? It would be great to see each other more often, especially if Vi will also be here negotiating until the end of time with her lawyer friend Jerome.” Lily winked at Vi as she reached for an oyster.
“That’s the thing, taping is actually in France. I’d have to move there for a couple of months to complete the first season,” Daisy said. “I’ll probably finally get fat on bread and wine since I can’t eat anything else.” Daisy had always been tall and lean with small breasts and a flat butt, the body of a tomboy or athlete. She’d always envied Rose’s curves.
“Wow, Daisy. I’m finding it really hard to feel sorry for you right now,” Rose said. “Please tell me the producer also looks like a troll and the pay is shit.”
Daisy pursed her lips together, wondering how much to reveal. “The pay is great, and if the show picks up, it could solve all my money worries for a while. And Pascal is a total egomaniac, but a very hot one. As much as I want to put him in his place, what I really want to do is put him in my place!” Daisy thought about Pascal and his blue eyes.
Rose slumped back in her chair. “I officially hate you,” she said with a smile on her face.
The five women talked about everything and nothing as they finished off the trays of oysters. Fake Brad Pitt arrived to take their dinner orders, and they let Daisy take the lead for them. How often were they in the company of someone who knew food so well?
As the waiter walked away, Lily excused herself from the table. “I’ll be back in a few, just need to take a minute for myself.” The worried looks from her friends required a bit more. “Really, guys. It’s not a big deal. I just need a minute, okay?” Lily picked up her jacket and purse and walked toward the bathrooms at the back of the bar.
Ivy swirled the remnants of her wine. “Why is she taking her coat to the bathroom? Sometimes I think she forgets how to live in civilization.”
“She’s going out to smoke, Ivy.” Vi nodded toward the bathroom. “The elevator goes up to the terrace.”
“I thought she quit!” Daisy exclaimed.
Vi reminded everyone of Lily’s divorce. “Lily still stress smokes, and in this situation I can’t really blame her. Can you?” Even though they were having a good time, tomorrow Lily would still wake up with the chore of disentangling her life from Nico. Vi looked down at the bracelet on her wrist, the five strands intertwined. There had been serious love affairs for all of them over the years, but nothing that stuck. Vi wondered if t
rue love was in the cards for any of them, or if they’d waited too long to make it a priority.
Maybe this year they’d all find out.
