Dean's long face spread, his cheeks becoming rounded with a huge grin. "Hey! Just in time! Let's mangia on some pasta, cara mia!"
"Can we turn this song down? I'm screaming here!"
"Oh, sure!" Dean said, throwing the dirty spoon on the counter and leaving a smear of red sauce across it. "I'll get it. You sit! Prepare to be served!" He pointed at the kitchen table that was still piled with bags of groceries that Dean had bought and apparently forgotten to put away. She walked toward it as he searched the counter for the stereo's remote control, and failing to find it among the clutter, he darted into the den to turn it down manually on the stereo there.
Sharon was just starting to put away the groceries when the volume dipped and he bounded back into the room. "Hey? What are you doing? Leave that."
"Well, how are we going to eat? There's no space?"
"Here," he said, swooping in and grabbing all the bags up with both arms before setting them on the floor. "Like magic, they're gone! Disappeared. Poof, see?"
"Ah...they're right there on the floor."
"Oh, details, details," Dean said, throwing his hands up and walking over to the stove. He lifted up the pot filled with boiling pasta just as a timer went off and then poured everything into a colander sitting in the one empty spot in the dirty-dish-filled double sink.
Sitting down and watching him work, Sharon asked the question that had floated around in her mind for weeks, brought to the surface by the refrain still playing over the speakers, "Okay, I've got a question for you."
"What? Shoot," Dean said, using tongs to portion out the pasta into bowls before topping with sauce.
"Why, oh why, do you love this song?"
Dean looked over at her, his face incredulous. "Are you kidding?"
"No, I'm not. I just don't get it."
Dean shrugged. "Okay," he said, placing a bowl of pasta along with a fork, a napkin and a glass of ice water in front of Sharon, doing the same for himself, and then sitting down across from her. "It's the greatest song ever," he pronounced, as if the words were self-evident.
"Um, you're going to have to do better than that. I mean, I have to listen to this song..., what, three, four times a day?"
"Well," Dean said, pausing and looking off, his eyebrows lowered with thought. "I guess it's great because it's so true. That's it. It's true. You can't always get what you want. But," he said, holding up a finger. "If you try, sometimes, you get what you need."
"I know the lyrics. But what does that really mean? What do all the lyrics in the song really mean? They're confusing."
"Aha!" Dean said, leaning forward. "Exactly. Confusing! Life is confusing. It's complex. It's never simple. Things work out in crazy and mysterious ways. Like us. When I moved in next door, I was done with women."
Sharon twisted her lips wryly, an eyebrow arching. "Ahem, you were certainly not 'done with women'. I got to hear a crowd of shrieking girls every night, remember?"
"No, I meant anything serious. I was never going to care about a woman again. Even you, I just wanted to date you. I had no idea what I was getting myself into," Dean said, looking unusually serious.
Sharon had to laugh. "You can say that again. I didn't either."
"But that's life, isn't it? Crazy?"
"Like this song?" Sharon joked, pointing up just as the last refrain played over the stereo. But in that moment, she saw how very serious it was, what Dean was saying about the song, about life. She, too, had shut the door to her heart, but life being contrary, it pushed the door wide open, forcing her to make room for the very things that bothered her most: noise, mess, disorder.
The rest of things that mattered to her were the same. Although Alan had finally given in to her pressuring and checked himself into a rehab in Westport, he could turn around in a year and pick up the gin and tonics right where he left off, maybe hurting or killing himself or someone else next time. There was no guarantee. Her new boss at work was okay, but there would be another round of reorgs soon and who knew what the result would be for her? Kate, someone Sharon had started to consider as a friend, was moving away, back to Vermont, and promises of future visits had been broken by many others before her. Would Chelsea get involved with another jerk like John? Would Lucie's business falter again, some new trouble stirred up by outside forces? What about Bianca? Who knew how long they would keep her under lock and key, how long it would be before that frighteningly evil woman walked free again, on the prowl for her next victim? The answer to all these questions was that there was no answer. Life was too complex, too perverse, to know.
"Yeah, like the song," Dean agreed comfortably and dug into his spaghetti marinara, shoving a huge mouthful of it into his mouth and attempting to chew, noodles dangling down and dripping sauce on his chin.
"Oh, my God," Sharon said. "Who taught you manners?"
Laboriously chewing and swallowing and then chasing his bite with a mouthful of water from the glass of water he'd placed in front of Sharon, he grinned at her and said, "My mom tried, but I think you'll do better. It can be like a group class."
"Group?"
"Yeah, me and our kids."
Sharon had been about to take a bite of pasta, but put her fork down when she heard this. "What? Kids?"
"Don't you want any? I do."
"Sure, but....I'm nearly forty. I think that ship has sailed. Sorry."
"Sorry nothing. Hello? Adoption? Even if we can't get pregnant, we can adopt?"
Sharon didn't answer right away. Adoption - something she hadn't even thought of. And they could do it, it wasn't farfetched at all. Dean would be a wonderful, involved, and energetic father. Suddenly she could see it, their family, right here in this once quietly sighing house. Looking at Dean's hopeful expression it hit her: she was getting not what she thought she wanted, but, instead, what she needed, and it was beautiful and messy and loud and full of love and roaring right at her.
Mojito
Bianca sauntered into Dr. McKenna's office for her weekly session knowing she had already won, her plan that perfect and Dr. McKenna the key. During her first month here, she had thought simply seducing her original doctor, Dr. Lerner, with flattery would work, but he was toughened by years working at the high-security psychiatric center with patients like her. His eyes had only gleamed briefly before hardening. It had irritated Bianca for a minute or two.
Then she started planning.
Sitting down in one of the seats on the opposite side of Dr. McKenna's ugly metal-and-wood-laminate desk, Bianca put on her sad face for the doctor. The psychiatrist went around to her chair and sat, pulling Bianca's file toward her and opening it. Watching the doctor attempt to hide her problem made Bianca want to smile, but she knew better than to show her cards yet. In fact, she knew better than all of them, these bloated self-important idiots who pretended to be her superiors. What a joke!
Example: how simple it had been to switch doctors when she heard about Dr. McKenna. All she had to do was wait until the night orderlies fell asleep as they always did around three in the morning, sneak over to the nearby unlocked first-aid drawer, and steal the small bottle of ipecac that she knew was there. When they searched for it later, they didn't think to check anyone's rectum, so it was safely hidden. A few drops in Dr. Lerner's coffee was all it took when Bianca asked what that was outside the window followed by Dr. Lerner's race from the room after a few sips from his mug followed by her folding and stuffing her file down the back of her jeans and then letting her large t-shirt hang over it.
Then she left his office, complaining about being abandoned and was returned to her shared room with a heavyset woman named Lorna who was so easy to torment, it was obvious why she had killed her husband with a sledgehammer. Later, when they found Bianca's file in her small bureau - that was after it had provided her with plenty of entertainment and a lot of handy-dandy information she could use to get herself free - Dr. Lerner was sanctioned and Bianca had to be switched to the only other therapist that wasn't already overload
ed with patients: Dr. McKenna.
Of course, all you had to do was ask any semi-sane patient and they could tell you why Dr. McKenna didn't carry a full caseload. Officially, she had a "health problem" that kept her out of circulation every few weeks. Unofficially, she had a cocaine addiction that led to a bender every few weeks. All you had to do was watch the doctor, see her darting eyes and clenched jerking muscles and raw red ever-dripping nose, but none of the other doctors or administrators seemed to pay attention. Bianca was paying attention. She even knew where the good doctor kept her stash thanks to a blow job Bianca had given to an orderly who happily found it for her in return for a promise of more oral ministrations.
This was Bianca's third therapy session with Dr. McKenna, the first two kept purposefully dull and routine in order to lull the doctor into a comfortable state of complacency.
Dr. McKenna closed the file that Bianca had found so funny and put her notepad on top, clicking her pen repeatedly as was her nervous habit. "So, Bianca, how are you doing?"
"Oh," Bianca said, "I'm doing all right. The bugs are-"
"They're back? Now-"
"No, they're gone. No, I have bigger things to worry about now. I think that's why."
Dr. McKenna took a long sniffle and reached for her box of Kleenex that was used more by her than by any of her patients. She wiped at her nose and said, "What are your worries?"
Bianca sighed and shook her head sadly. "I just...you're the best doctor I've ever had. I mean, before, when I was married? Sometimes I needed to see a therapist, would go for a few sessions. I was afraid that my husband was cheating on me. And they would convince me that he wasn't. You would never do that, would you? Lie to me? I need to be able to trust people again," she said in her most wobbly voice, readying herself to pop out a few tears if necessary.
"I don't think any of the therapists you've seen were lying to you, Bianca. You can trust that."
Bianca squeezed out a few tears that dripped down her cheeks. "But don't you understand? I would've never done what I did if I wasn't in such a state of shock. It was so horrible. My best friend! And John, the love of my life! Together!" Bianca put her hands over her face and wept a little before pretending to pull herself together and resuming. "And now I'm worried again. Can you really tell me not to worry? How can you?"
The doctor blew her nose heartily and then balled up the tissue and threw it in the wire trash can beside her desk. "You're worried about your husband? Is that it?"
"No! I'm worried about you!"
"Oh," the doctor said, visibly relaxing and letting out a little laugh. "You don't have to worry about me. You have to think about yourself and getting better and examining the reasons behind what you've done."
"But how can I if you're not my doctor anymore?"
"Now, why would you think that I wouldn't be your doctor anymore?"
Bianca leaned forward and said in a low voice. "Because of your cocaine problem. I know, and I promise I won't tell anyone. But what if-"
The doctor sat up ramrod straight. "I don't know what you're talking about. Are you hallucinating?"
"It's right there in your lower left drawer, in the cookie tin underneath the tin with the real cookies in it. I have to say, you're very clever to put real cookies on top."
Dr. McKenna's eyes grew wide and her red nostrils flared. "How...okay. I think our session is over for-"
"Now, now, now? I have evidence. Lots of it. A Polaroid of your open desk drawer as well as a sample of your stash. All I'd have to do is tell someone, show them. They'd definitely make you take a drug test. You'd lose your job, your license. And you can't stop doing it, I can tell. But you don't have to worry, I won't tell a soul."
Other than her wide brown eyes and red wiggling nose, the rest of the doctor's face had become very pale. "Why...." she said, and then seemed unwilling or unable to say more.
"I'll tell you why. Because you're going to help me. You're the best doctor here and I want to get better. I want you to heal me and help me leave here, so I can be a mother to my son again and live a happy and productive life out in the world. You can do this for me, I know it...but you mustn't forget one very important thing," Bianca said, raising a finger in the air like a teacher with an essential point to make.
"What?" Dr. McKenna barely managed, staring at Bianca.
Bianca smiled and said, "You owe me."
Note for Readers:
I hope you enjoyed Cocktail Hour! Reviews are essential to both writers and readers - making a huge difference. Please consider taking a minute to review this book on Amazon by following this link to product page and clicking on the button at the bottom of the page called "Write a Customer Review": http://www.amazon.com/dp/Cocktail_Hour/
Thank you!
Tara
Acknowledgements
I'm indebted to my editor and friend, Elise Gallivan, whose efforts and wisdom helped make this novel what it is.
The book The Sociopath Next Door by Martha Stout, Ph.D. provided vital information regarding sociopaths living undetected in our society and helped shape a realistic Bianca Rossi.
A huge thank you goes out to my friends, family members, and fans of my first novel, Barefoot Girls, and my short story collection, Earth & Air, for your enthusiasm and support as I continue my journey as a writer. Most of all, I owe a debt of gratitude to my husband, Ash, whose unshakeable belief in my life's work guides me through my darkest hours and gives me the courage to keep on reaching for my best.
Cocktail Hour by Tara McTiernan
READING GROUP QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1. Although the reader is exposed to the true Bianca, none of the other four main characters are aware of the kind of person they were dealing with until the climax of the story. Did you find their tendency to write off their gut feelings and other small signs that something was wrong believable? Have you ever brushed off warnings signs about a person and lived to regret it?
2. Why do you think Chelsea continues to invite Bianca out for girl's nights? What does she stand to gain from it? Do you agree with her decision to continue to be friends with Bianca after Bianca steals her boyfriend, John, away from her and marries him? What about Chelsea's feelings of guilt about Jenna Butler's murder in high school and her continuing loyalty to Bianca in spite of damning evidence?
3. Family is clearly an important value in Lucie's life - what do you believe is at the root of this? Is her decision to accept financial help from her father a well-thought-out one and worthwhile in perspective?
4. What do you believe was the turning point for Sharon in the story in terms of her life's direction? Was Dean necessary to this change of perspective, or simply a beneficiary of it?
5. Kate was mesmerized by the glamour of Fairfield County, yet in the end the area lost its glitter due to Bianca's destructive role in the Palmers' life. Do you think Kate and Grant would have moved back to Vermont no matter what the circumstances or would they have remained in Connecticut?
6. As the novel progresses, more and more is revealed about Bianca's true nature. Do you agree that she is a sociopath? Have you ever been involved with someone who seemed to lack a conscience?
7. Discuss John and Chelsea's ill-fated affair: Were they truly soul mates? What were they to each other? Was there ever a similar romantic relationship in your life?
8. What role does Fairfield County play in the novel? Is it merely a setting, or does it actually influence the story?
9. How did this novel comment on the status of today's women's friendships? Do you believe that the characters, other than Bianca, grew to value their friendship more? Do you believe that they will remain friends? What about Bianca and the danger she poses?
About the Author
Tara McTiernan grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut and spent most of her childhood summers on an island in the Great South Bay on Long Island, New York - both of which are the settings for her novels, Barefoot Girls and Cocktail Hour, and her short stories. She curre
ntly lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with her husband, Ash. Visit the author's website at http://www.taramctiernan.com for more information including upcoming book releases and events.
Also by Tara McTiernan:
When her hometown newspaper reviews Hannah O’Brien’s newly released novel, the nature of her book is called into question when the reviewer suggests it is a memoir depicting her neglectful alcoholic mother – Keeley O’Brien Cohen, the most beloved of the Barefoot Girls - a little too accurately for fiction, citing rumors rather than sources.
Deeply hurt and betrayed, Keeley cuts Hannah out of her life. Desperate, Hannah does everything she can to apologize and explain, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. Meanwhile, the rest of Hannah’s life starts to unravel, pushing her to risk her engagement to Daniel, the one man who had been able to scale the high walls around her heart. At the eleventh hour, the Barefoot Girls are able to convince Keeley to send Hannah the keys to the Barefooter house, the home and heart of their friendship. Barred from their clubhouse since she was twelve, Hannah grabs the chance to visit the little shack filled with memories and perched at the tip of Captain’s Island in the Great South Bay on Long Island, New York.
As Hannah battles to come to terms with her equally blessed and troubled childhood and understand her mother and her sister-close friends, she’s confronted with the power of forgiveness and the dangers of holding on to the past.
Available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Barefoot-Girls-ebook/
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