Once Upon a Project (6 page)

Chapter 8

“B
ack to tonight's party,” Elyse said to Grace. “What time does it start?”

“Oh, probably around nine. Do you think you'll come? You can come home with me until it's time to go down there. We can stop and get something to eat on the way.” She glanced at her watch. “It's already two-fifteen. I doubt we'll feel much like dinner before seven-thirty or eight.”

Pat, who had paused to briefly talk with reporters after announcing that the buffet was open, finally joined them. “I see the late Grace Corrigan made it,” she teased as she took a seat.

Grace shrugged. “A few less minutes of being bored.”

Elyse put her hands on her hips. “Susan, I think we've just been insulted.”

“You know that's not what I meant, Elyse.”

“Grace considers any social function without eligible men present a waste of time,” Pat explained with a knowing nod.

“Why shouldn't I be on the lookout for a husband? I'm almost fifty years old, and I'm by myself. I never thought
that
would happen.”

“You could have had a date tonight with Judge Arterbridge,” Pat said lightly.

“I didn't want to go out with him. The man turns me off. I've worked hard to keep myself in shape, Pat, and I just can't get all worked up over a man whose waistline is so big he can't even see his dick.”

Susan frowned and gestured with her head toward her children, sitting at a table for two barely a foot away, certainly within hearing distance. “Grace. Language, please.”

“Sorry.”

“I get the feeling you two have been over this many times,” Elyse guessed.

“One of the judges saw Grace and me having lunch and came over for an introduction,” Pat explained. “He got me on the phone that afternoon and asked if Grace was married or involved with anyone. I gave him the number to her office.”

“Without even asking me first if it was all right,” Grace added, her tone suggesting it was anything but.

Pat's reply was equally indignant. “Cut me some slack, will you? It's not like I gave him your home number. He's not going to start stalking you. The man is a respected county judge, for crying out loud.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Is he all that bad, Grace?” Elyse inquired.

Grace thought carefully before replying. “He's actually rather handsome. He's in his upper fifties, I guess. He's got a commanding speaking voice, and he seems witty.”

“He sounds perfect,” Susan said, her forearms resting on the table and her upper body leaning forward with interest. “You can't overlook a few pounds?”

“It's more than a few pounds, Susan. It's practically a whole other person.” Grace sighed. “If I can't do any better than that, I guess I'll never get married again.”

“At least you've
been
married,” Pat pointed out.

“Twice,” Elyse noted with a smile. Pat was too tactful to point that out, but Elyse felt Grace had it coming for her pointless remark about Pat.

“Look at me,” Pat continued sadly. “The only man who ever proposed to me is sitting on the other side of this room with his wife.”

Grace's head jerked. “Ricky's here?”

“Yeah, he's sitting over—oh, no. They're getting up. I think they're going to the buffet line. That means they'll probably stop by and say hello.”

Grace watched with trepidation, only half-aware of the soothing remarks Elyse and Susan said to Pat, as the still-handsome Ricky accompanied his wife toward the buffet. What the hell was
he
doing here? Didn't he know that this gathering was mostly for old folks?

God, now she
really
wished she hadn't come. How was she supposed to look him in the eye after that fling they'd had back in 2000? A fling Pat knew nothing about, and would never forgive her for if she found out. A fling over which Grace had been willing to risk ending her lifelong friendship with Pat had it developed into something permanent.

For a few weeks Grace had thought she might be on track to becoming the second—and
last,
if she had anything to say about it—Mrs. Enrique Suárez. Ricky seemed captivated by her, and he couldn't get enough of her in bed. But then guilt had gotten the better of him, and suddenly it was over.

Her eyes focused on Ricky's second wife. What must Pat feel when she looked at the two of them together? Damn, why didn't the woman have thick ankles or bad skin or something? Instead she was gorgeous, a Salma Hayek look-alike with an hourglass figure to match. And she appeared young, in her late thirties at most. And here
she
was, experiencing the hot flashes of perimenopause.

It was getting hot in here now, Grace realized with dismay, as if someone had turned up the heat. Her neck felt like it was saturated inside her turtleneck sweater, and her chest was damp. Beads of sweat began to form on her upper lip and her forehead, a palpable reminder that she was about to turn fifty.

She watched helplessly as Ricky guided his wife toward their table.

“What do you know,” he said jovially, “the Twenty-Two Club, together again.”

Susan and Elyse eagerly stood up, clearly happy to see him again after so many years. Pat, who of course had seen him when he came in, remained seated. Grace didn't dare look at Pat, but as she reluctantly rose to her feet she wondered what her friend was thinking. However awkward Grace felt, Pat had to be feeling ten times worse. Besides, no one knew about her fling with Ricky, much less how badly it ended; but
everybody
knew how difficult it had to be for Pat to see Ricky and his wife. He'd moved on, marrying twice in the thirty years since their breakup, while Pat remained unmarried.

Ricky introduced his wife as he hugged each of his old friends. Susan took a moment to introduce the Suárezes to her children, and then suddenly it was Grace's turn to say hello.

She pasted a beauty pageant–contestant smile on her face. “Hello, Ricky.”

“Grace! You look fabulous.” He moved in for a hug that was over in three seconds.

“Thanks.”

“Grace, this is my wife, Miranda. Miranda, Grace Corrigan.”

Grace dutifully held out her hand and said hello, uncomfortably aware that Miranda Suárez looked even more stunning close up, with skin absolutely flawless and not so much as an eyebrow out of place. The wide band of her paisley-print skirt showed off her tiny waist. Grace had a good figure, too, but she worked at it seven days a week. She doubted Miranda had to do that.

“We were just about to get on the buffet line,” Ricky explained. “I wanted to say hello to all of you.”

“And to invite you to stop by Nirvana,” Miranda said. “Ricky's introduced some new menu items that I'm sure you'll enjoy.”

Wasn't that cute,
Grace thought bitterly.
The little woman trying to promote the business that pays their bills
.

“My husband and I will be sure to do that the next time we come to Chicago for a weekend,” Susan said.

“Good to see all of you,” Ricky said with a little wave as he backed away, his palm resting on Miranda's shoulder.

The four friends suddenly became quiet, lost in their own personal memories that stemmed from seeing Ricky again.

Quentin spoke up. “Mom, can we get some food?”

“If you want to stand in line, go ahead,” Susan replied. “I'm going to wait for it to die down a bit. But if you go, bring your sister with you and help keep her plate steady.”

“Okay. Come on, Alyssa.” The children's chairs scraped noisily against the floor as they pushed back from the table.

“And don't pile up more food than you know you can eat!” she called after them. Then she sighed. “They're bored to tears. I guess it was a mistake for me to bring them. And because I did, I can't go to Junior's with y'all.”

“I thought about telling you and Elyse about that,” Pat said, “but I really didn't think either of you would be interested in coming.”

The remark raised Elyse's curiosity. “Why, because we live in the suburbs?”

“I suppose. And because both of you have husbands to curl up with on a cold March night, which to me is a far sight better than going to a bar to hang out with some folks you've known all your life.”

“Well, I've got a surprise for you, Pat,” Elyse declared. “I'm going to Junior's.”

“You are! Well, good!”

Elyse glanced at Susan. “I wish there was some way we could get you there, too. I guess you don't want to drive the kids all the way home and then come back.”

Susan shook her head. “Maybe if I lived in Evanston, but not Pleasant Prairie. It's just too far, and I'd be exhausted.”

Grace spoke up. “You know, Susan, Shavonne would probably agree to watch your kids for you. She and her husband don't do a whole lot on the weekends unless they can get his parents or me to babysit. My grandson is six. He'd love having some kids to play with. How about it, Susan? All I have to do is call her.”

“Oh, I don't know. I know they'll be safe with Shavonne, but I don't want to intrude on her time with her family by dumping two more kids on her. And we're likely to get home late, which means I'd have to disturb her to pick them up.”

“I don't think that'll be a problem. Their youngest is just four months old. I don't think anybody gets a whole lot of sleep in that house.”

“That seems like all the more reason not to impose on her.”

Elyse held up a hand, index finger pointing upward. “I know. My daughter came home this weekend. She said she's just going to watch some TV or read a book. I'm sure she'll watch your kids for you, Susan.” When Susan opened her mouth to say something, Elyse held out a hand, palm out, like a police officer directing traffic. “It's perfect. You can follow me home, we can chill at my house for a few hours, then you ride back with me, and when we get back to Lake Forest you can spend the night. Franklin and I have plenty of room, and tomorrow morning you can be home in thirty minutes, forty at the most.”

“Sounds perfect,” Pat said confidently.

Elyse pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “I'm going to call Brontë right now, just to make sure she hasn't made any plans for tonight. I want to see how Franklin is feeling, anyway”

Susan watched in amazement as Elyse called Brontë and secured an agreement for her to sit with the children, giving Susan a thumbs-up. Then she heard Elyse ask to speak to Franklin. “Tell Brontë I do plan to pay her; I don't expect her to babysit my children for nothing,” Susan managed to say as Elyse moved a few feet away from the table.

She could hardly believe how everything had fallen into place, thanks to Elyse. Now she could go to the party. She could imagine the surprise in Bruce's voice when she told him that she and the kids wouldn't be coming home until the next morning. He'd demand to know where she was leaving them, but he probably wouldn't say a word once she told him that Elyse's college-age daughter was keeping them, with Elyse's husband in the house as well. Their overnight absence would give Bruce an ideal opportunity to spend time with whomever he was sleeping with, but she couldn't make herself care.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ann Valentine's tall form waiting on the buffet line. Within seconds Ann looked her way, her smile replaced with a hostile stare.

The antagonism in Ann's eyes made Susan consider something else.

Who knew, maybe she would see Charles tonight.

Chapter 9

“E
lyse, I'm not trying to get into your business, but Franklin didn't look too happy to see you leave,” Susan remarked from the passenger seat as Elyse merged onto the highway.

“He wasn't. He didn't want me going to the South Side in the daytime by myself, so you can imagine his reaction when I told him I was driving back down tonight. I'm glad you decided to come with me, but if you had decided not to, I still would have gone, even if it meant hanging with Grace until it was time to head back to the South Side.”

Susan smiled. While it had been sweet of Grace to try to get her daughter to babysit, she understood why Elyse would be reluctant to spend the rest of the afternoon with her. But Susan already knew all about Grace and her ways. Franklin Reavis was somewhat of a mystery man to Susan; she barely knew him. “Is Franklin the possessive type?”

“No. He's just trying to keep me in the house with him. All he wants to do is sleep on the couch all weekend, and he expects me to hang around waiting and hoping he'll want to do something.” Elyse sighed. “I think his age is catching up with him, Susan. He never wants to do anything anymore, at least not with me. And that makes me wonder if he's getting tired of me.”

“I'm sure he's not tired of you, Elyse. And I know he's older than you, but I doubt he's ready to sit on the front porch in a rocking chair. Didn't you say he wasn't feeling well?”

“He's sixty-two, and I think he's blowing his occasional indigestion out of proportion. He has no trouble keeping up with his golf and his bowling, that's for sure.”

“Oh.” Susan didn't realize Franklin was past sixty. He hadn't seemed that much older than they were when he and Elyse got married. But of course they'd still been in their early twenties back then, and he in his midthirties. It seemed weird to have a husband past sixty when you were still in your forties.

“He's always claiming to be sick,” Elyse continued, “but he's taking his time going to the doctor.”

Susan tried again. “Are you sure you're not taking this too lightly? I know I'd be concerned if Bruce told me repeatedly that he didn't feel well.”

“Oh, Susan. If there's really something wrong with Franklin, I'm the pope. He's just making excuses for not going out with me. Not only doesn't he go to the doctor, but he hasn't missed one day at work. The only time he says he doesn't feel well is when it's time to follow through on plans he and I have made.”

Susan absorbed this. So she wasn't the only one who felt hurt, even betrayed, by her husband's behavior. The moment she made that statement about dining at Ricky's place the next time she and Bruce weekended in the city, she regretted it, knowing it would never happen. They used to take weekend trips frequently, but they hadn't gone anywhere since her cancer diagnosis.

She noted that Elyse struck back against Franklin by refusing to stay in the house like an obedient little wife, and hoped that eventually he would come around and want to reclaim a social life. That seemed fair enough, but Elyse's problem was different from her own. Franklin might be slowing down some, but from what Elyse said, he wasn't cheating on her.

She could think of only one way to strike back at a cheating husband, and that was to have an affair herself, tit for tat. But that seemed childish.

Still, she couldn't help wondering how she'd react if she was to come face-to-face with Charles Valentine after all these years.

 

 

Excitement sparked the air around the nondescript corner building of dirty tan brick that was Junior's Bar. Cars jamming the street, coupled with the man just inside the door taking money and stamping the backs of hands, told onlookers a special event was taking place.

The crowd started arriving at nine o'clock. Ten dollars got a person in the door, a complimentary glass of beer or wine, and a dinner of fried chicken, spaghetti, and a roll. Susan and Elyse each paid the cover charge and entered, leaving their overcoats in the car because they knew there was nowhere to hang them up inside.

Soon the seats at the elongated bar were filled, along with the booths opposite it. Tonight the usually active jukebox stood silent and dark, with oldies music provided by a CD player and two large speakers in the back room, which was not enclosed but merely divided by the center bar. The back room had tables and chairs set up alongside the walls, and a long buffet table with chafing dishes parallel to the far wall but with about two feet of space between it and the wall.

“I'm sure Pat got here early. Do you suppose Grace is here yet?” Susan asked Elyse.

“You know Grace—no telling when she'll show up!”

Pat was standing at the bar, her right hand resting on the back of a stool while she carried on an animated conversation with its occupant and the person sitting on her left.

Pat had always been outgoing and personable, even as a child. In high school she'd been voted Most Popular. A too-strong jawline prevented her from being a classic beauty, but with her hourglass figure and attractive face she turned plenty of heads, both then and now.
The shortage of eligible black men must be a lot worse than I thought
, Elyse said to herself,
if no one has snapped up a good catch like Pat.
Elyse hoped Brontë would be able to find someone suitable when she reached marriageable age. She'd read someplace that more black women than men earned college degrees, and she knew enough about men to know that some of them didn't take kindly to women more educated than they were.

Elyse had spent a few minutes at the luncheon speaking with Pat's parents, and she recognized right away the pride Moses and Cleotha Maxwell had in their only surviving child. “She's got the best conviction record of any ADA in Chicago,” Mr. Maxwell had told Elyse.

“If she wasn't so good at what she does, she probably would be presiding from the bench,” Mrs. Maxwell had added.

Looking at her friend move from patron to patron, exchanging words of welcome like they were all guests in her home, Elyse wondered whether the Maxwells ever wondered if they'd made a mistake in their opposition to Pat's romance with Ricky Suárez. Had they ever considered that Pat could have achieved the same success and still provided them with a grandchild or two?