Savannah Reid 06 - Sour Grapes
Page 6
"Oh, yes, I know." The lady smiled broadly, showing a mouthful of perfectly straight, dazzlingly white teeth. "I'm delighted that we have professionals like the two of
you. We want everything to go well for the girls and all of our guests here at Villa Rosa. We've never hosted a beauty pageant before, you know. Some cross-country
70 G.A. McKevett
runs for breast-cancer research, canoe-racing on the lake for muscular dystrophy . . . that sort of thing. But never a beauty contest. This is so exciting!"
"I can't imagine that you lack for excitement here at
Villa Rosa," Ryan said. "Your winery produces pure artistry in a bottle."
Her green eyes glistened with pride. "Ah, then you've sampled our wares?"
"I've enjoyed your wines for years. Your 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon and your 1983 Zinfandel Ruby were
amazing."
She nodded approvingly "You have a discriminating
palate. Those were two of my husband's favorites."
Savannah recalled hearing that Anthony Villa's
grandfather had emigrated from northern Italy to the
United States and founded Villa Rosa. She also remembered that Anthony Villa had political aspirations. Was it a seat in the state senate?
One quick glance-over told Savannah that Catherine
WhitestoneVilla was the perfect, politically correct wife for a politician.
"And is our future senator with us this evening?" Ryan asked.
"I believe he's still up at the house, reading bedtime stories to our two boys," she said. "But he'll be joining us later. He's giving the welcoming speech at dinner. He's quite a powerful speaker. Have you had the pleasure of hearing him yet?"
Savannah was quickly amending her initial evaluation
of Mrs. Villa. Old Kate was just a little too perfect, a tad too correct. Listening to her talk about her beloved gave Savannah that same slightly nauseous feeling that
she got when she polished off an entire box of assorted
chocolates by herself at home on Saturday night.
SOUR GRAPES 71
"No, but we're looking forward to hearing him," Ryan replied, "although we won't be able to give him our undivided attention."
"Yeah," Savannah interjected, "nose to the grindstone and all that."
"Of course, you have work to do," Catherine said. "Please keep a close eye on our lovely young ladies. Most of them came without their parents, and I feel like a surrogate mother to them."
"Don't worry, Mother Hen." Savannah wondered if Mrs. Villa could hear that faint, sarcastic note in her voice.
The green eyes flashed, ever so slightly. She had definitely picked it up, but had obviously chosen to ignore it. Yes, Anthony Villa had a valuable asset in his politic wife.
"You must excuse me while I play hostess." Catherine shook hands with them both once again, and Savannah noticed that her palm was even colder and clammier than before.
A moment later, she was milling among the guests, whose numbers were swelling, filling the gallery and flowing over to the tasting room, where dinner was to be served.
Neither Savannah nor Ryan spoke for several moments
after her departure, as they watched her in silence.
Finally, Savannah said, "Do you like her?"
"Not really."
"Me either. She seemed a bit worried, don't you think? As though she might be expecting some sort of trouble."
"I thought so myself. Definitely concerned about something."
1Z MaieVett
Atlanta sat on the bed, putting the finishing touches pn her makeup, attempting to see what she was doing In the tiny, handheld mirror she had brought with her, evhile trying to ignore her roommate, who was hogging he well-lit dressing table. They had reached an uneasy nice. The only details of their unspoken agreement Don't look at each other, say a word to each other, or in my way acknowledge the other's existence.
This was especially difficult for Atlanta, whose mouth
;eldom stopped running for any reason, even selfweservation.
The only sounds were the clatter of makeup parakernalia,
and Barbie's frequent cell-phone conversaions. It seemed her phone was constantly bii7zing, or he was continually calling someone.
Atlanta eavesdropped with interest; Barbie had a fas:Mating social life. Better still, she seemed to be pissing lot of people off. Every exchange appeared to be ome sort of confrontation.
When the phone rang again, Barbie swore, threw town her mascara, and grabbed it, knocking over a botle of foundation in the process. She ignored the Tawny Taupe" puddle that spread across the dressing able's marble top.
"How the hell am I supposed to get ready for din
Savannah
crossed her arms over her chest and continued
to watch the lady thoughtfully. "What sort of wine was she drinking?"
"I believe it was a Merlot"
"You don't chill Merlot, do you?"
He gave her a sly little grin. "Nope, you don't." She nodded. "I didn't think so."
Savannah crossed her arms over her chest and continued
to watch the lady thoughtfully. "What sort of wine was she drinking?"
"I believe it was a Merlot"
"You don't chill Merlot, do you?"
He gave her a sly little grin. "Nope, you don't." She nodded. "I didn't think so."
alJLJI
UriC21.E.Co3 /
ner?" She stabbed at the "on" button and put the phone to her ear. "Yeah, who is it? I told you not to call me anymore! Are you stupid or what?!"
Atlanta continued to apply her blush, but her ears were practically standing out on stems.
"Big deal!" Barbie continued. "Some cheap flowers. What did you do, pick them out of your mother's backyard? Geez, you're such a freakin' loser. I hate you, you know that? I freakin' hate you."
Atlanta glanced over at the flower arrangement that
was obviously from a professional shop, and had set someone back a hundred dollars or more. Backyard flowers my eye, she thought. Some guy is treating her better than she deserves.
Barbie clicked off the phone and began dabbing at
the spilled foundation with a handful of tissues.
Eagerly, Atlanta waited for the next scene of the Barbara Matthew's soap opera to begin. It didn't take long.
Barbie tossed the soiled tissues in the general direction
of the garbage can, then whirled around on her seat. "Aren't you about done with your face there, Georgia?"
"What's it to you?" Atlanta replied. "I'm not escorting you to dinner, so why should you care when I'm ready?"
"I need a little private time in my room, if that's okay with you. Or even if it's not."
Slowly, methodically, Atlanta began to replace her makeup items in her cosmetic bag. While she wouldn't admit that she was deliberately irritating her roommate,
the old metaphor, "As slow as molasses in Janimry" did float through her mind.
"Sorry," Atlanta said, sounding completely remorse
'I
.2$1(41EVEU
free. "I'm not even dressed yet. I'll do well to make it to dinner on time; I'm almost always late for everything. It's part of my charm."
"What charm?" Barbie grumbled as she picked up the phone again and punched in some numbers.
As Atlanta casually strolled around the room, collecting her lingerie, dress, and shoes from her assorted suitcases, she didn't even bother to pretend that she wasn't listening.
Barbie's party answered right away. "Yeah, it's me," she said. "What's up?"
Atlanta sat back down on the bed and began to carefully
check her stockings for runs. She could see Barbie's reflection in the mirror, and one look was enough to see that Ms. Matthews was unhappy with what she heard on the other end.
"Well, did you. . . you know. . . have that little talk?" She paused, tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently. "Yeah, and so? That is no
t what I want to hear! That is so not what I want to hear!" She glanced at Atlanta in the mirror and lowered her voice a notch. 'This . . . situation. . is getting worse, not better. We know who's going to be the sorriest in the end, and it ain't gonna be me. Fix it, dammit! You caused it; you fix it!"
She clicked off the phone and hurled it across the
room onto her bed.
Manta realized she was standing there with her
mouth hanging open, so she snapped it shut. Barbie shot her a look that was so cold and full of hate it gave
Atlanta the shivers. Where did she get off being so angry?
"Plumbing problems at home," she said. "Damned basement's flooded."
SOUR GRAPES 75
Atlanta nodded. "Yeah, sure. Happens all the time. Ours floods every morning, at nine sharp, like clockwork."
Barbie mumbled a nonreply and returned to her toiletries.
As
appealing as the prospect was--of continuing to irritate the heck out of her roommate--Atlanta decided that she had enjoyed as much of Barbie's scintillating
company as she could stand. Besides, in spite of what she had said, Atlanta prided herself on usually being prompt, or at least, not scandalously late.
So she quickly wriggled into the simple, white-linen dress she had brought for the occasion, slipped on sandal, strap-around-the-ankle pumps, single-stud, rhinestone earrings, and a delicate tennis bracelet.
Barbie turned to give her a once-over. "Is that what you're wearing, Georgia?"
For half a second Atlanta felt a twinge of self-doubt. But just in time, the Reid Super Self-Confidence kicked in. She twisted slightly, until the side slit of her skirt showed a shapely expanse of thigh. "Yeah, eat your heart out, Miss Barbie." She sauntered over to the door and jerked it open. "Later," she said as stepped outside and slammed it closed behind her.
"Ah . . . a breath of fresh air. . . ," she said as she strolled down the hallway toward the gallery, with a distinct Reid sashay to her walk.
Chapter
6
rrhe moment Savannah stepped into Villa Rosa's tasting
room, she looked around, caught her breath, and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan's tuxedo.
"Whoa! Get a load of this place!" she said, "I want a living room that looks exactly like this."
Ryan laughed. "I suppose you do."
Savannah gazed about, awestruck, taking in the enormous room with its twenty-five-foot-high, open-beamed ceiling, its old oak wainscoting, its mile-long, brightly polished, mahogany bar, and its massive stone fireplace. The carpeting beneath her feet was the deep, ruby shade of a fine Bordeaux, and when she stepped on it, she felt like she was sinking in to her ankles.
"Yeah, right," she said, giving Ryan a nudge with her elbow. "Easy for you to say. You have a living room like this. Just like this."
He grinned down at her. "Not just like this. You can't
stand up in my stone fireplace, and I don't have twenty dining tables, or forty beautiful girls and their friends and families sitting around them."
"You would, if you just crooked your finger. But then, what would you do with forty beautiful girls?"
"Precisely. And I couldn't stand to hear that much giggling. That's one thing I've always liked about John; he hardly ever giggles."
Savannah sniffed the air, fragrant with the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and wine sauces. China, silver, and crystal gleamed in the candlelight, spread across snowy, linen-draped tables.
The "Welcome Dinner" was semiformal, and gentlemen, looking wonderfully elegant in their tuxedos, escorted the beauty contestants, their mothers, sisters, and friends, who were decked out in evening dresses made of luscious fabrics in every pastel and jewel tone
imaginable.
As usual, when hobnobbing with the rich and famous, Savannah felt a bit underdressed. Her "little black dress" was a good one, and the strand of pearls around her neck had been her Granny Reid's. But her one-and-a-half-inch, practical pumps were $15.99, and she had even waited to buy those until she'd found a 10
percent off coupon from Spend Less.
Savannah wasn't fooling anybody. . . least of all herself
She was hardy, peasant stock without a drop of aristocratic
blood in her veins. But, considering Granny
Reid was only two generations away, she considered herself
fortunate. Royalty or not, she was of noble blood.
"Mmm . . . that dinner sure smells good," she said. "I
wonder what it is." The ruined breakfast that she hadn't
Jt_l 1J IC UrIttir.GO
eaten had worn off long ago, leaving her weak with hunger.
"Whatever it is," Ryan said, "I'm sure that Mrs. Lippincott made certain it has no calories. She's scary, that one. Reminds me of a Marine drill sergeant I once knew."
Savannah looked around the room until she saw the
lady in question. A pale lavender, satin gown hadn't softened Marion Lippincott's stern appearance one bit. Although she had exchanged her sensible loafers for
two-inch heels, she still had a daunting, deliberate stride as she patrolled the room like a Coast Guard
cruiser--everyone snapping to attention in her wake.
"Eh, she's not so bad," Savannah said. "It takes a tough old bird like her to run a gig like this. And it looks like she's doing a good job. Everything's going smoothly."
"So far, so good," Ryan agreed. "Time to do the rounds?"
Savannah nodded. "I'll mill around the room here," she said. "Then I'll check the upstairs hall of the guesthouse."
"I'll go back to the gallery, make sure nobody's trying to crash the party, and then I'll walk the lower hall."
Ryan disappeared, and Savannah slowly circled the room, acquainting herself with all the new faces. And pretty faces they were, too.
She had to admit that the big sister in her was coming
to fore as she sized up each of the contestants. She couldn't help comparing them to her own baby sister. She also couldn't fight the abiding conviction that the
kid had them all beat--hands down.
The vast variety of pulchritude was interesting: fresh
2VILL1t7Jal
faced sweeties, model types with gaunt, chiseled features, and a few girls who appeared to have become women before their time, their eyes reflecting a bit too much worldly knowledge for their young ages.
Savannah recognized a few guests as socially prominent
San Carmelitans, whom she had dealt with on other occasions. Catherine WhitestoneVilla was sitting at the head table next to a handsome, silver-haired gentleman. From the way she was hanging on his arm and gazing at him adoringly, Savannah surmised this was Catherine's beloved husband, Anthony, the wannabe state senator. He appeared less comfortable with the social scene than his effervescent wife. He had a slightly "hunted" look, as though he would much prefer to be somewhere far away from the formal, stuffy crowd.
Strange, for someone seekingpublic office, Savannah mused. He'd better get used to it.
A number of people clustered around the head
table, clamoring for the Villas' attention, but they seemed more interested in the quiet conversation they
were sharing with each other.
It was only when Mrs. Lippincott strode over to their table that Anthony disengaged himself from Catherine
and stood, shaking Marion's hand vigorously.
She pointed to the podium on the slightly elevated, temporary stage that had been assembled at the far end
of the room. Anthony Villa nodded his approval and shook her hand again.
Savannah smiled to herself. Yes, she could definitely take some lessons on People Management and Manipulation
from the formidable Mrs. Lippincott. Even the seemingly shy Anthony Villa was eager to do her bidding.
As
an army of waiters and waitresses dressed in stiffly
kJ it Urn/1r r...0 01
starched black-and-wh
ite uniforms invaded the room, Savannah decided to take her leave. She hadn't been invited to join the guests for dinner, so what was the point of tormenting herself? She'd score something in the kitchen after hours. . . and what the heck, she'd get a double portion of dessert to reward herself for delayed
gratification.
When Savannah reached the top of the guesthouse
stairs and looked down the hallway, she was surprised the difference thirty minutes could make. Half an hour ago, on her last round, the floor had been teeming with tittering teenagers, racing up and down the corridor in all stages of dress and undress, rollers in their hair, curling irons in their hands.
Now the hall was empty--its silence almost eerie.
She strolled along the passageway, her pumps making no sound as she stepped on the carpet that was
nearly as plush as that of the tasting room, only this rug bore a classic pattern--a green trellis on a background of antique gold with grape leaves bordering both edges.
The walls were covered with the same wainscoting of
old oak, while the upper half was stucco-textured in old-world mission style. The ceilings here were also open-beamed, and at the end of the hail was a large window with leaded gla.s.s. An outside light cast its glow through the golden glass, giving the hallway a pleasant, Midas-touch ambience.
Savannah was more than halfway down the hall when
she noticed that one of the doors-2C--was ajar. She heard voices, females voices, coming from within the
TO0111.
Normally she wouldn't have bothered eavesdrop
t3Z Li.11. MC/Cellar
ping on what was probably a frivolous conversation. But something in the tone--an almost ominous, very serious note to the voices--caught her attention. Silently, she took a few steps closer and listened.
"Don't worry about it," one of the girls said. "Now I wish I'd never even told you about it."