Cocktail Hour

by McTiernan, Tara

  Chelsea turned and, seeing Lucie, brightened, "Lucie! Yay! Oh, I'm so glad you're here. Please talk to Sharon. She's talking crazy-talk."

  "Crazy talk?" Sharon said, "I just-"

  "I know exactly how you feel," Lucie said and smiled at Sharon. "I'm a homebody, too."

  "Hey, I know you," Sharon said, tilting her head.

  "Lucie Scott, I used to work at TMB. HR admin? Only a little while."

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Sharon said. “It’s amazing you’re still alive. Did Molly chew you up, or what?”

  Lucie sighed happily. Someone who understood! Even Chelsea was blank-faced when Lucie tried to explain how bad it was, or had been. “Yes. And spit me out.” She shivered a little as Molly's last words echoed in her mind.

  “That’s IR for you,” Sharon said, shaking her head.

  “IR?”

  “Inhuman Resources?”

  “Hold on, are you the one that made up Too Much Bullshit? Chelsea’s always taking credit for that,” Lucie said, nudging Chelsea with her elbow.

  “Hey!” Chelsea said, “I could’ve thought of it! Wait, where you going?” Chelsea called after the retreating back of the man she’d been talking to, who had evidently gotten tired of being sidelined and was moving away through the crowd without looking back.

  Sharon put her hands out, palms up, “Guilty as charged. And it continues to live up to its name. They announced another round of reorgs today. Will they ever learn?”

  Lucie grinned and shook her head in wonder. “Never. Actually, Molly kicking me to the curb worked out for the best. It gave me the push to start my own catering business, something I've always wanted to do.”

  Sharon’s eyebrows shot up, and she nodded, looking impressed. “Really? Wow. That’s great. What kind of catering? Weddings?”

  Just then, the dark-haired woman standing with her back to Chelsea turned around to face them. “Honestly, I love the way Italian men look, but they're all the same. It's fine if they're married, but if you are - quelle tragedie! So, what have I missed?” she asked, turning her heavy-lidded eyes on Chelsea before glancing around, her gaze finally falling on Lucie.

  Lucie felt a sparking hot shock run through her arms and legs before racing up her spine. It was her. That Bianca. When Chelsea had mentioned her old friend, Bianca, from time to time, Lucie knew it had to be a different girl with the same unusual name. That Bianca would never be good friends with sweet child-like Chelsea, who, though she could act like a disappointed two-year-old when she didn’t get her way, was essentially a good person.

  Bianca was definitely and certifiably not.

  Lucie had met her in her late-twenties when she was still happy being an executive assistant, one with a solid track record and excellent references - back in the good old days before a black and stormy cloud had descended over her career. She’d been working at a hedge fund company on Greenwich Avenue with all the usual perks, over-the-top benefits, and a fat salary to match. To top it off, she liked her boss. Bill Sanders was one of the good ones: a straight shooter who expected the best of those who worked for him, never micromanaged her, and regularly praised her work.

  When Bianca started working there, as an executive assistant to the CEO, Al Miller, there had been a bit of a stir. Although all of the admins working at Pinnacle Funds were at least mildly attractive, none looked like Bianca, who was startling in her beauty. And she turned out to be much more than just a very pretty face: she was smart, hard-working, and had the kind of innate style and poise that reminded Lucie of Parisian women.

  Bianca and Lucie had become friends within the first two months that Bianca worked at Pinnacle, often lunching together on the Avenue, regularly stopping by each other’s desks to catch up, always pitching in to help each other during crunch time. Lucie was even considering inviting Bianca over for dinner at her apartment when Bianca said something strange one evening.

  They were working late, talking over the table in the workroom while assembling booklets for a client presentation. The subject of the well-married women they saw on the Avenue daily – shopping, lunching with each other, flitting in and out of the Avenue’s spas and salons – had come up and Lucie was wondering aloud how they could take it: sometimes being nothing more than a prized trophy to the man they were married to, being held to such high physical standards, living constantly under the Sword of Damocles of encroaching age and subsequent expiration.

  “Oh, I could handle it, believe me,” Bianca said, nodding.

  “What, for the money? It wouldn’t be worth it,” Lucie said.

  “For the money, sure. Honestly, as long as his wallet’s fat, I don’t care how old or fat he is. A girl’s gotta have priorities,” Bianca said, lightly.

  “You’re kidding.”

  Bianca placed the booklet she’d just bound on top of the pile and looked at Lucie, raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  At that, Lucie didn’t know what to say. Uncomfortable, she simply shrugged and looked away, focusing on the pile of collated documents to punch and bind, trying not to think the worst of Bianca.

  But then Bianca went ahead and proved the worst.

  A few weeks had passed and their friendship had cooled a bit. They hadn't gone out to lunch in awhile and, though they still stopped by each other's desks, the visits were perfunctory and polite rather than warm and cozy as they had been. It seemed that Lucie wasn't the only one who'd been offended by their conversation; Bianca's distant manner suggested disturbance on her side as well. Lucie was disappointed. She liked Bianca enormously - if only she hadn't said something so shallow and blatantly materialistic. It didn't seem like her.

  Lucie was working late again on a Thursday night, this time without Bianca's assistance. Bill ensconced in his office on a conference call and her eyes hurting from staring at the spreadsheet she was working on for him, Lucie decided to rest her eyes and stretch her legs by taking a turn around the office. As the office took up the entire top floor of the building, it was a perfect rectangle for a circuit.

  She limped slowly, luxuriating in not feeling observed and paranoid about her bad hip. As she passed the fresh flower arrangements that dotted the office and were refreshed weekly, she stopped to dip her face in the petals and breathe in their perfume, something she longed to do all day but restrained herself while people were around. Now, at eight in the evening, the office was empty for the most part. Only a few offices were still lit, their occupants hunched in front of their computers. Soon the cleaning crew would be coming in with their rattling garbage cans and carts loaded with various odiferous sprays and polishes.

  As she turned the corner for the last stretch of hallway before arriving back at her cubicle, she saw that someone had left the lights on in the small conference room that was typically used by Bill’s sales team, all of whom were gone for the day. An interior room with smoked glass walls that ended halfway to the ceiling, it gave the illusion of privacy, but anyone walking by could listen in on any conversations within, making it popular with the sales guys who liked to be overheard blowing a lot of self-satisfied hot air.

  Lucie reached for the door handle to the conference room just as she heard a low growling moan. She hesitated. Silence. That was an odd sound?

  She shrugged, pulled open the door to the room and started to cross to the row of lit green tabletop lamps that ran down the center of the conference table when she saw what had made the noise.

  At the far end of the table, Al Miller, CEO of Pinnacle Funds and one of the wealthiest men in Greenwich who was very married with three young children at home, was leaning back in one of the conference room's leather chairs with his hands behind his head in a posture of relaxation, his neck arched and mouth half-open in ecstasy, while a dark-haired head bobbed at his lap. The rest of the person was hidden below the table.

  Lucie stuttered to a stop, eyes bulging, unable to tear her eyes away. Slowly, Al’s head turned to look at her and his open mouth shut and
tightened. Then his hand went out to tap the person’s shoulder below him. The dark-haired head that had been relentlessly rising and falling lifted and large heavy-lidded eyes regarded her. Bianca’s mouth was puffy and raw looking.

  Taking a stumbling step backward, Lucie almost fell before grabbing the door frame, and then catapulted herself away from the room using the leverage from her grip on the doorway and her good leg. Her face burning, she hobbled as fast as she could down the hallway and back to the safety of her cubicle. What was she going to do? In her mind's eye an endless loop was playing of Bianca's face appearing from beneath the conference room table. She felt both appalled and bourgeois for caring. Was it her business at all?

  Frozen by indecision about what to say or do about what she had witnessed, she never said a word to anyone. The next day Bianca was gone and she didn’t return. Word was that she had been fired for insubordination, which was darkly comical considering the truth. Lucie was both relieved and anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Al to have her removed as well, for the stench of the whole sordid thing to permeate the office. But nothing happened, except for Al studiously avoiding Lucie whenever he saw her. And she never saw Bianca again. Until today.

  Feeling the stinging shock shooting through her, Lucie tried to keep her face impassive. Did Bianca recognize her? It had been six years since they last saw each other and Lucie's hair was now naturally brown again and cut in a short pixie instead of the highlighted longer hair of her twenties. More importantly, did Bianca blame Lucie for what had happened? Even though the fault was clearly with Bianca and Al, Lucie had found that people often preferred to shift blame for their own misdeeds to convenient bystanders and bit-players.

  Bianca’s expression remained aloof and amused, not a tic or a flinch. Lucie took a big breath and hoped.

  Chelsea said, “Lucie was just telling us about her new catering business. Isn’t it exciting? I’m so jealous. Oh, that’s right. You haven’t met Lucie yet! This is Lucie, from work! Well, at least she used to be from work. Lucie, I’m so psyched you can finally meet Bianca. She’s my bestie from way back. High school, we were like, glued at the hip or something. Well, until junior year when Bianca-“

  “So glad to meet you,” Bianca interrupted, stretching out her hand.

  Lucie jerked a little with surprise and, not knowing what else to do, shook it. Bianca’s palm was warm and dry. Pulling away, Lucie felt that her sweaty hand must have left a moist smear on Bianca’s and surreptitiously placed her hand flat on the absorbent fabric of her lightweight silk jacket. "Same here."

  "Oh, this is great!" Chelsea said. "Now that we're all here, let's get a table and eat. I'm starved."

  "Well," Bianca said. "We're not all here yet. I invited someone to join us. I hope you don't mind."

  "Really? Who? Not John?" Chelsea said, blinking rapidly and looking flustered.

  "John?" Bianca said, turning to look at Chelsea. "Why?"

  Chelsea's large blue eyes grew enormous and she shook her head, "No reason! Just wondering how he is!"

  Bianca regarded her for a beat longer and then shrugged. "He's fine. No, I invited one of my doctor's wives. She's new in town and I thought she'd like to join us. That's okay?"

  "Oh!" Chelsea said, nodding enthusiastically. "Definitely! The more the merrier!"

  Lucie looked at Chelsea and then at Bianca and wondered what was going on. Who was John?

  Sharon said, “You know, that’s perfect. I was going to head out and, now that you have four, you’ll be better off anyway. It’s a lot easier to get a four-top.”

  “Four top? What’s that?” Chelsea said,

  “Waitressing lingo. Four top, table that seats four. From those lovely college years when that was the best-paying job I could get. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Chel. Great meeting you all,” Sharon said, raising her chin to Bianca and then Lucie.

  “But wait,” Lucie said, seeing Chelsea starting to stamp her foot out of the corner of her eye. “You used to waitress? I was hoping to interview a waitress and get some tips. I know food, but I have not the first clue about service. Any chance you’d stay for dinner and give me some pointers? You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

  Sharon slumped a little, her head going to the side. “You guys are really not going to let me go, are you?” Though she smiled a little as she said it.

  “No!” Chelsea said. “We’re not! I’m going to go put us down for a table for five right now before you change your mind again.” She turned on her heel and started making her way through the crowd toward the hostess’s podium.

  "Well, that's that, then, huh?" Sharon said and sighed, watching Chelsea disappear into the wall of bodies.

  “Speaking of favors,” Bianca said, “I’d love to have your business card if you have one. I’ve been looking for a good caterer.”

  Lucie looked back at Bianca. The last person on earth she would want to work for. Should she pretend that she didn’t have one? But then she wouldn’t be able to take advantage of this evening to hand out cards as she planned. And she had to. She had to get her business off the ground as fast as she could before she ran through her savings. What to do? Well, Bianca was probably looking for someone to cater a big party and that would take care of the whole problem. “Um, I’d be happy to, but, just so you know, I only do little parties. I max out at twelve people to serve. I don’t have the staff or the ability to do bigger parties or events. It’s…more than I can handle. If you want that, Farmer’s Day is supposed to be pretty good.”

  Bianca closed her eyes briefly and smiled while shaking her head before opening them again slowly like a relaxed cat. “Oh, their catering is dreadful. Salmon, salmon, salmon. And dried out chicken that practically splinters in your mouth. Actually, a small dinner party was exactly what I had in mind.”

  "Oh, okay." Dread making her arms heavy, Lucie slowly lifted up her purse and searched through it for her wallet. She found her business cards and gave Bianca one, trying to smile and look relaxed and realizing her face was twitching weirdly.

  “Thank you,” Bianca said, her smile warm and friendly. She looked at the card. “Petite Soiree. What a wonderful name!”

  “Oh, thanks. I…” Lucie couldn’t think of what to say. She cringed inwardly, thinking of the evening ahead in the company of this woman. Worse, Bianca was just as engaging and appealing as she used to be, back before Lucie knew the truth. Or was it the truth? Had Lucie been too quick to judge her? Maybe it had just been a terrible moment in Bianca's life, one she regretted and wished she could forget?

  At that moment, Lucie felt a tickle on her hip and realized her purse was buzzing. Her phone. She put her hand up. "I'm sorry, but I've got to get this call. Be right back."

  Sharon and Bianca nodded and smiled politely just as a tall blond man with a chiseled handsome face tapped Bianca on the shoulder, "Do I know you?" he asked when Bianca twisted to look up at him.

  Making her way through the crowd toward the bathrooms where it might be quieter, Lucie pulled her phone out of her purse and answered it. "Hello?"

  A deep unintelligible voice said something.

  "Hello? I'm sorry, it's loud in here. Hold on a sec." She made it to the bathroom door and pushed it open to find a quiet low-lit interior, a lone woman washing her hands at the trough-like stone sink. "Sorry. I can hear you now."

  "Lucie, it's Dad."

  "Dad! Uh, what's up? Is everything okay?" She closed her eyes and prayed they hadn't found out about her hiring Erin. She had promised them she would stop rescuing her stepsister; said that she understood that Erin needed to learn things the hard way and would never learn while Lucie was protecting her from life's school of hard knocks.

  "Absolutely. More than okay. You know, I'm really proud of you for taking a chance and starting this business of yours."

  Lucie swallowed. It was so good to hear words of praise from her father, but she hadn't taken a chance. She'd been pushed. By her last and worst boss, Molly Knowles, Queen of In
human Resources at TMB - good hard push and a promise that she could never go back to the corporate world and be an admin again. At least, not in the tri-state area. Molly would make sure of it. And she'd said it with the calm confidence of someone who was slippery enough to keep it all looking rosy while she did it, who knew the mud she'd sling would never end up back on her because she knew exactly when to throw it and when to duck.

  Finally, Lucie managed, "Oh, thanks Dad."

  "Here's the thing. Flo and I have been talking. We want to invest in your soon-to-be empire. We believe in you, and we know you'll go far. And a little seed money is probably exactly what you need to get off the ground. That secretarial work couldn't have paid enough for you to have been able to save a lot. So, what do you say? Are we on?"

  Empire? She didn't want an empire. She wanted a little successful business, something fun and manageable. And Erin! How would she hide what was going on now? At the same time, it had been so long since her father last spoke to her like this, so full of enthusiasm and rock-solid belief in her. Elation battling with a sinking fear, she gasped, "We're on. But-"

  "No buts! You can do this. Come see me at my office tomorrow and we'll talk."

  "Okay, Dad. Thank you."

  After they made their plans and hung up, Lucie leaned back against the cool marble wall, oblivious to the women that entered and exited the bathroom, holding her phone against her chest and staring into space.

  Mojito

  Bianca kept Lucie’s card in her hand, absently stroking its smooth face while pretending to be interested in what the beautiful blond Adonis currently leering down at her was saying. Something about knowing her. As if. He wanted her so badly he would clearly make anything up. She knew she had never met him and her memory was always right.

  In fact, it was so accurate and detailed that it was frightening to people when she recounted events that they had experienced as well. Their minds, like most people’s, were like sieves, moments sliding through the holes of memory and disappearing. Confronted with events that they had lost, the individual would invariably jerk back physically and their eyes would dart around before widening with surprise as the memory resurfaced from some deep and rarely accessed region of their brain. It was a consistently comical performance that might have been enjoyable except they always turned on Bianca afterward, asking too many questions and acting put-out, as if it was her fault they’d forgotten. She hoped that Lucie’s memory was also full of holes.