by Vicki Tyley
In her peripheral vision, she glimpsed Brenda stretching an arm across the table in the act of swapping her place tag with the one at the still vacant chair, the one next to Lawson. Just as Megan grabbed Brenda's arm, Pauline Meyer, Dinner for Twelve’s owner-manager, arrived on the scene. With her hands resting on the vacant chair’s back, she surveyed the table and frowned. The rearranged place tags had not gone unnoticed.
With an almost imperceptible shake of the head, Pauline pulled the chair out and settled herself at the top of the table. Now it was Megan’s turn to frown. Surely this wasn’t standard practice. Did Pauline attend all the dinners?
No one had uttered a word since Lawson and Pauline had arrived. It was as if a spell had been cast and they had all been struck dumb. That suited Megan. As far as she was concerned, the less blather the better. And she wished that the man with the moustache would stop gawking at her. He sent chills up her spine. She was definitely in the wrong place. This was the first time she’d contemplated, let alone carried through, anything remotely like dinner dating, and it would be the last, Brenda or no Brenda.
A waitress, her notepad and pen poised, appeared at the table corner. The bored, deadpan expression on her face turned to irritation when she realized no one was ready to order. With an audible sigh, she turned and left. Megan empathized with her, but at least the waitress was being paid for her efforts.
She turned her attention to the menu in her hands. On cue, her stomach growled. She’d skipped lunch, expecting that dinner would more than make up for the missed sandwich.
By the time the waitress returned, taking orders as she worked her way around the table, Megan decided to bypass the entrée course, sample the uninspiring sounding Cajun chicken dish, and treat herself to something chocolate and decadent for dessert. At least that way she had something to look forward to.
Without the menu to act as a shield, she suddenly felt vulnerable. She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, plucking at the fabric at her waistline. The clingy dress accentuated bumps she would’ve much rather hidden. It was just another of Brenda’s bright ideas. According to her, black was supposed to be slimming. Megan would’ve felt far more at ease in the tailored suits she was accustomed to. One day she would learn how to say no.
Dropping her hands into her lap, she lifted her head and straightened her back. Then, with more enthusiasm than she actually felt, she scanned the faces of her dinner companions, smiling and nodding as her gaze met each of his or hers in turn. She raised her glass of wine and was about to propose a toast – anything to break the ice – when all heads swiveled in unison in the direction of the large double doors that led into the room. Biting her bottom lip, Megan managed to suppress the chuckle welling in her throat. Her dinner companions, especially the males, reminded her of the old laughing clowns sideshow attraction with round gaping mouths. Her eyes automatically followed their stares, but she made sure she kept her mouth firmly closed.
The woman sashaying across the polished wooden floorboards, although diminutive in stature, would never go unnoticed. She teetered atop high heels, the muscles in her bare, slender calves elongating in her effort to stay upright. With every step, the thigh-high split in her black skirt flashed a provocative patch of naked skin. And if that weren’t enough for the poor love-starved – or rather sex-starved – men desperate enough to join a dating agency, there was the plunging neckline that almost reached her navel.
As she neared the table, the newcomer tilted her head and pursed her ruby-red lips into a coquettish smile, before glancing at Lawson from beneath her dark eyelashes. Even in the low light the effect was dramatic. Lawson immediately blushed, a small smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. He lowered his gaze to the tabletop and twiddled with the stem of his wine glass.
Mata Hari, as Megan mentally christened the raven-haired woman, skimmed past Pauline to the vacant chair next to Lawson. Before she took her place at the table, Mata Hari laid her hand on Lawson’s shoulder, bending down to whisper into his ear. Her lips couldn’t have been any closer to his ear without touching. If Lawson had been red before, he was now positively glowing.
Megan shook her head. The depths some women would sink to never ceased to amaze her. But then it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps they already knew each other, that this wasn’t their first meeting. But if that were the case, what were they doing at a dinner meant for singles? Her eyes dropped to the place tag reserving Mata Hari’s spot at the table and read “Linda.” Quite a letdown after Mata Hari. Linda and Lawson? They say opposites attract. She lifted her eyes from the place tag only to meet Mata Hari’s, or rather Linda’s, amused gaze. It was now Megan’s turn to blush.
“Linda. Linda Nichols.”
Megan accepted the hand extended across the table. “Hi Linda. I’m Megan Brighton.” She extracted her hand, and gestured to her left. “And this is my friend Brenda.”
At the mention of her name, Brenda immediately snapped out of her trance and nodded across the table. “Brenda De Luca. Is this your first time?” Her eyes shifted slightly to the left. “And you, Lawson? Is this your first time?”
Megan gave a small frown. Her friend was never one to be shy, but even she was taken aback by Brenda’s bluntness. However, she waited in anticipation for their answers.
“Sadly, no. Mr Right has yet to sweep me off my feet,” Linda said with a light tinkly laugh. “But maybe,” she paused, running a long manicured fingernail down Lawson’s shirtsleeve, “tonight’s my lucky night.”
It was at that moment Pauline interjected. “Lawson, there’s some people I’d like you to meet.” She tapped his hand, pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. “Come with me.” With a smug grin, she turned to the table. “Carry on. We’ll be back shortly.”
Megan sympathized with the clearly bewildered man. How could she not? Except for ordering his dinner, and that’d been done in not much more than a whisper, Lawson had not uttered one word. Pulled in all directions, he appeared powerless to do anything about it.
Pauline had Lawson’s elbow firmly in her grip as she propelled him in the direction of the foyer. The woman in all her wisdom might have considered it a rescue mission on her part, but Lawson obviously didn’t see it that way. He kept glancing over his shoulder back at the table. The drooping jaw, twisted mouth and wide eyes spoke volumes. He really had no idea what was happening.
As Pauline and Lawson disappeared from sight, Megan turned to Brenda. “Poor bugger. When I first saw him, I was mystified why someone with looks like that would need a dating agency. But he’s just so painfully shy.” Megan picked up her wine and took a tentative sip, swilling it around her mouth.
Brenda flicked her eyes in Linda’s direction. “Doesn’t help when you have women like her digging their claws in,” she hissed under her breath.
Megan nearly choked on her drink. She glanced at Linda who, oblivious to Brenda’s catty comment, was using all her wiles on Mr Ginger Moustache. He was lapping up the attention, his eyes focused on her cleavage. That suited Megan fine. If he was salivating over Mata Hari, he wouldn’t be bothering her. Taking another mouthful of wine, she wondered again about what had possessed her to sign up with a dinner dating agency.
The time between ordering dinner and the first courses coming out was taking forever. Megan had drunk more wine than she should’ve on an empty stomach and now started to feel a little light-headed. And besides, she really needed to pee. Wayne was still talking flat out, plainly unaware he’d lost her attention way back. She doubted he had stopped long enough to take a breath.
“…bridging finance. Turned it over in three months and invested the proceeds—”
“Sorry, Wayne…” Megan gathered up her handbag and pushed her chair back. “You’ll have to excuse me.” Not waiting for a response, she bolted for the ladies’ toilets.
She’d just stepped into the quiet and still of the white-tiled restroom when Brenda came barreling after her, swinging the door so hard it connected with the door
stop with an almighty crash.
Megan made a beeline for the nearest cubicle without a second thought for her friend’s dramatic entrance. It didn’t surprise her; Brenda swept through life like a hurricane. Just watching her was enough to exhaust Megan. Keeping up with her was certainly out of the question.
“Thought you could make a quick getaway without me noticing, eh?” Brenda’s cheeky laughter reverberated around the room. “No such luck, girlfriend.”
“How did I let you talk me into this again?” Not waiting for a reply, Megan stepped into the cubicle and snibbed the door behind her.
“It was easy.” More laughter followed.
“Yeah, I know. I’m a real sucker for a sob story. You’d have thought I’d have learnt by now.”
Brenda continued, making no effort to conceal her mirth. “It wasn’t a sob story. I don’t want to be single all my life, and I really do need my best friend for moral support.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll believe you but thousands wouldn’t.” Megan pressed her lips together in a flimsy attempt to stop herself laughing.
As she emerged from the cubicle, Brenda looked at her with an overacted innocence, her eyes wide.
Megan shook her head and laughed. “Well, at least life is never boring with you around.” She rinsed the soap from her hands under the tap, and flicked the excess water off before turning to Brenda. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you hook me up with any of those desperadoes.”
“They’re not all desperadoes,” Brenda said, drawing out the word “all.”
Megan fished around in her handbag, hunting for the lipstick she’d tossed in there earlier in the night. “I assume you’re referring to Lawson.” She continued searching for the elusive lipstick, expecting to hear the usual smart-alec retort.
When Brenda didn’t respond, she looked up. Brenda grinned at her and nodded.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Megan retorted. “Sure, he’s good looking, but I don’t think he’s really my type. He’s too quiet.”
Brenda tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Megan snapped her fingers and pointed at Brenda. “Oh, now I get it. You fancy young Lawson.”
Still grinning, Brenda raised her eyebrows.
“But, Brenda, he’s so timid. It would be like pairing up a lion and a rabbit. And he’s no lion.”
Brenda threw her head back and roared with laughter. “Don’t you know it’s the quiet ones you have to watch?”
“Maybe so. Can I also remind you that you’re not the only one lusting after the delectable Lawson.”
“Ha! Pouty-lipped Linda is so not his type.”
Lipstick found, Megan refreshed her lip color. “If you say so. What about Pauline Meyer?” She bared her teeth at the mirror, checking there was no Perfect Plum adorning them.
“Does she think she’s his mother or something?”
“Or something, I reckon.”
They exchanged looks, pulling exaggerated faces of incredulity, before shoving the door open and making their way back out into the dining area. As they crossed the open space in the middle of the floor, Mata Hari, aka Linda, sailed past them with her shoulders back and her breasts thrust forward.
Brenda’s stride lengthened, leaving Megan trying to keep up on heels that threatened to pitch her face first onto the floor. Megan soon saw the reason for her friend’s haste. With Linda on her way to the toilets and Pauline nowhere to be seen, Lawson was a sitting duck, defenseless to predatory females.
Lawson’s surface vulnerability somehow brought out the protective instinct in Megan. She felt like mothering him. Almost. However, she was quite sure that it wasn’t this same instinct driving Brenda in an unswerving course towards Pauline’s vacated seat.
By the time Megan reached her seat, Brenda was well and truly ensconced at the head of the table. With her forearms resting on the tabletop, she perched on her seat edge and leaned in towards Lawson as if she had a secret to share with him.
Megan dropped into her chair and reached for her wineglass. Too busy giving the woman on his right the same spiel he’d given Megan, Wayne hadn’t noticed her return.
Whilst not able to hear the conversation further up the table, she observed Lawson visibly relaxing. His face no longer seemed as tense and his eyes had stopped darting all over the place. He even managed a small smile. Once again Brenda had woven her magic.
The magic was short-lived. As the first courses arrived, Linda flounced back to her chair on Lawson’s left, trailing her hand across his shoulders as she did so. Linda threw a dismissive look at Brenda, and turned her attention to Lawson. He in turn gave her what appeared to be a sly wink. Megan couldn’t believe it. Her initial maternal instincts evaporated in a flash.
From where she sat, Brenda wouldn’t have seen the wink. Besides, she was too busy glaring at Linda to have noticed. Megan herself was starting to doubt what she’d seen, or at least thought she had seen. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? It didn’t make any sense.
The music stopped and a few seconds later Pauline Meyer’s artificially posh voice filtered through the sound system. Megan turned in her seat, watched and listened as Pauline, microphone in hand, welcomed everyone to the dinner. It was the first opportunity Megan had really had to study the statuesque blonde without appearing to be rude. Megan wasn’t good at estimating ages – especially women’s – but she guessed Pauline had to be nudging her mid forties, if not her early fifties. Even though the other woman’s complexion appeared smooth and flawless, Megan wondered how much of it could be attributed to cosmetic intervention. Earlier she’d noticed the backs of Pauline’s hands, the slight crinkling of the skin telling a different story to that of her face.
Her figure, on the other hand, would be the envy of any woman half her age. Megan herself certainly envied the lean, verging on sinewy, lines of her body. She, too, could look like that. She only had to cut out the chocolates and the wine, swim ten kilometers each day and spend a minimum of two hours every morning at the gym. Simple. That and a stretching rack. Pauline had a good twenty centimeters in height on her.
While Pauline was still in the throes of her speech, Brenda slipped back into her own chair, her pursuit of love abandoned for food. For the time being anyway. Megan had to admit the multicolored herb salad Brenda was already tucking into looked rather appetizing, even to someone like her who thought vegetables should be reserved for garnishing.
After a perfunctory toast from Pauline, conversation at the table quickly came to a standstill as everyone became preoccupied with their entrées. Megan felt like the odd one out when, with a quick glance around the table, she realized she was the only one who’d not ordered a first course. Watching other people eat had never been her idea of fun, but she only had herself to blame. Thank goodness her dinner companions didn’t dally too long over their meals. With the plates cleared away, conversations were soon resurrected.
Wayne stood, clearing his throat. “Be back in five.”
Megan nodded, waited for him to leave and breathed out. After a minute, she sensed rather than heard a movement behind her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said the spectacled guy from across the table as he dropped into the vacated seat. “But you looked like you were in need of rescuing.”
“Was I that obvious?”
He leaned in close. “Not obvious enough in my opinion.” His warm breath tickled her ear. “Some people just love the sound of their own voice.”
“Nick, isn’t it?” She caught a whiff of cologne.
“Right. And you’re Megan.”
She nodded, shifting in her seat.
“First time?”
“Guilty.”
Propping his elbow on the table, he peered around her. “Your friend’s first time, too?”
Megan drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Actually, she’s only here to support me.”
“Good friend.”
“The best,” Megan said. “What a
bout you? Are you a Dinner for Twelve virgin, too?”
He laughed. “I wish. No, I’ve attended a few of these functions. Call me a sucker for dinner parties with strangers.” Nick’s gaze strayed to the other side of the table.
“Or new friends.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Dinner parties with new friends.”
“Right.”
At that moment, Wayne returned. “Do you mind?”
“Just keeping it warm for you, mate,” Nick said, standing.
Megan reached for her wine. By the time the main courses arrived, she was famished and more than a little tipsy. Her Cajun chicken could have been made of cardboard for all she cared as she devoured it with gusto. With eating as an excuse, she didn’t have to continue feigning interest in Wayne’s prattle. If she heard negatively-geared or positive cash flow one more time, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.
Brenda, on the other hand, appeared to be in her element. The small clique that’d formed around her consisted of Pauline on her left and Lawson directly opposite her. Even the wanton Linda wasn’t impervious to Brenda’s charms.
However, those charms didn’t extend to Mr Ginger Moustache. His interests lay elsewhere, and unfortunately for Megan, she chose that instant to look up. She found to her disgust he was leering openly across the table at her breasts. And then the sleaze winked at her. She gagged, her appetite promptly deserting her. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She only just managed to refrain from throwing what was left of her wine over the creep.
COMING SOON: BITTER NOTHINGS
PROLOGUE
She stirred, her hand seeking her husband’s reassuring touch. Cold sheets. Panic fluttered in her chest and then died. She remembered now. What had happened to them that they could no longer talk? Her splayed fingers caressed the empty space next to her, as if searching for some imprint of the man she’d married, the father of her two children. What or who had come between them?
