Photo Finished (27 page)

That little question produced a flurry of animation and activity. Encouraged by Carmela's apparent interest, infinitely proud to show off her handiwork, aspiring for recognition, Dove Duval grasped Carmela's arm and pulled her down along the wall of artworks.

“Like it, Carmela?”

They stopped in front of the owl painting,
Owl in the Moonlight
. True to her word, Dove had composed an arrangement using poppy heads, dried feverfew, and bright orange Dutchman's trousers.

“Wonderful,” replied Carmela, gazing at the moss-filled wire basket that was tied with velvet ribbon from her store.

“I just love being artistic,” said Dove. With her exaggerated accent, it sounded like she said
I just love being autistic.

 

 

IT TOOK A GOOD TEN MINUTES FOR CARMELA TO finally pull herself away from Dove Duval, make her way through the crowd, then finally locate the large circular table that Baby and Del had reserved. When she finally got there, feeling more than a little discombobulated, everyone was already seated. Baby and Del. Tandy and Darwin. Gabby and her husband, Stuart. And Ava and Sweetmomma Pam. An extra place setting had been added for Ava's grandmother, and she now sat perched expectantly on a folding chair.

After a flurry of greetings, hugs, and air kisses, Carmela slipped into the chair next to Ava.

“Shamus brought a date,” she told her friend in a low whisper.

Ava lifted an eyebrow and held it for a second, letting it quiver in disbelief. “Shamus brought a
date
?” she whispered back. “Date with a capital D?”

“Zoe,” said Carmela. The sick, sinking feeling that had begun in her stomach now seemed to have spread through her entire body. “Zoe with a capital Z.”

“Oh, honey!” Ava grasped Carmela's hand and gave her a look of pure commiseration.

And, as everyone around her clinked glasses, noshed hors d'oeuvres, and made small talk, Carmela sat and tried to puzzle out what she could do to avoid being introduced to Zoe. Something.
Anything
. Even faking an epileptic seizure would be preferable and slightly less embarrassing than having to smile and shake hands with your husband's date. Especially in a room full of scrutinizing society folk who loved nothing better than watching other people squirm like a bug on a pin.

Ava, her curiosity roused, craned her neck and peered across a sea of tables, trying to catch a look at Shamus's date. “Hmm. I think I see her.”

“Dog?” asked Carmela.

“Actually,” said Ava, “she's rather striking.”

On the pretext of reaching for a decanter of wine, Carmela half-stood and craned her neck as well. Finally she spotted Shamus, then Zoe sitting next to him. There was something familiar about her.

Damn. It's the woman in the keyhole dress. Has to be
.

“She certainly is striking,” agreed Carmela. “And youthful.”

Ava nodded. “Particularly if your taste runs toward emaciated girls with a head full of hair extensions.”

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Carmela.

Ava plucked the wine decanter from Carmela's hand and refilled her own glass. “And, if you ask me, I'm thinking her ta-ta's aren't the genuine article, either.”

Once the main entree of roast duck had been served, Quigg Brevard and Chef Ricardo stopped by their table. Carmela made hasty introductions and there were hand-shakes and compliments all around.

“I'd love to take credit for everything,” Quigg told them ebulliently, slapping Chef Ricardo on the back, “but my head chef, Chef Ricardo Gaspar, is the real genius.”

Baby and Del applauded with great enthusiasm, then everyone at the table joined in, with a spatter of applause coming from surrounding tables as well.

Ava immediately caught the eye of Chef Ricardo. He sped to her side with the swiftness of a man questing after the holy grail. Or, more like, lusting after it.

“You like more sweet potato casserole, miss?” he asked her.

Ava tilted her chin up and eyed him carefully. “I'm fine.”

But Chef Ricardo was not to be deterred. “Another glass of wine? I get you
better
wine.
French
wine, not cheap domestic.” Obviously, Chef Ricardo considered drinking California wine tantamount to drinking pig swill.

“Now you're talking my language, sweetie.” Ava, always delighted to be fawned over, fixed Chef Ricardo with a dazzling smile.

He leaned in close to her and inhaled deeply. “
Lovely
perfume, miss. Very sensual.” Chef Ricardo narrowed his eyes and uttered a low Lothario growl. Then he was off on his quest for better wine. French wine.

“What was that all about,
miss?
” asked Carmela.

Ava fanned herself nervously. “I think it's that Banana Frango facial I had earlier. It's still giving off kind of a heady aroma.” She gave Carmela a sideways glance. “Honey, do you
still
see Chef Ricardo as a viable suspect? 'Cause, truth be known, I think the man is kinda cute. And, you know, I never was all
that
fond of Bartholomew Hayward.”

“Go for it,” said Carmela.

As tuxedo-clad waiters cleared away remnants of Chef Ricardo's calorie-loaded desserts—cranberry bread pudding and elegant lemon bars—the orchestra tuned up and the dancing began.

Baby and Del immediately headed for the dance floor to kick off the evening with a tango. Other couples, captivated by the sensuous music, their emotions fueled by the free flow of drinks, rushed to join them. And Carmela finally got her first clear, unobstructed view of Shamus's table.

But Shamus was no longer sitting down. Instead, he was heading determinedly for
her
table. With Zoe in tow!

“Oops,” exclaimed Carmela, “gotta run.”

“Where you going?” called Tandy.

“Ladies' room,” said Carmela. She jumped to her feet, grabbed for her beaded evening bag. But in her state of panic, the bag slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor and she had to dive under the table for what she hoped would be a fast retrieval.

“Carmela,” said Shamus. “I'd like you to meet Zoe.”
Great,
thought Carmela,
Shamus just introduced his date to my butt
.

Embarrassed, Carmela backed out from under the table and scrambled hastily to her feet.

“Hi there, howdja do?” she mumbled hastily. Pumping Zoe's hand, not bothering to really look at her, Carmela tried to make a break for it, but Shamus moved left to block her.

Damn. Guess you can't outflank an old quarterback. Especially one who can still scramble
.

“I understand you're very creative,” said Zoe politely.

“Carmela did all the menu cards,” volunteered Ava. She'd jumped up suddenly to help Carmela in whatever way she could. “And the cards with the floral and art descriptions, too.” Now she moved in on Zoe like a lioness circling her prey.

“Zoe manages a clothing store,” Shamus told them. “The Hive.” He paused. “Perhaps you ladies have heard of it?”

“Nice place,” said Carmela, feeling just a tiny ripple of intimidation. The Hive was a very upscale boutique located on Magazine Street. It carried many of the top designers like Versace, Ungaro, and Armani. She'd heard that they'd recently added a men's line, too.

“Listen,” said Ava, moving in on Zoe, “I've been looking for a hot pink slip dress. Do you have anything remotely similar to that? Better yet, do you have any hot pink
shoes
? Something strappy and fun.” Ava gave a long sigh. “It's so
difficult
to find the perfect designer piece. . . .”

Shamus looked on with amusement as Ava rattled away and Zoe rattled back.

Carmela faced Shamus. “You don't have a costume,” she told him. He wore a black turtleneck under a black jacket, and Carmela wondered where
that
little fashion
faux pas
had originated. Shamus had always told her he despised turtlenecks.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding his arms out, obviously wanting Carmela's reaction to his new look. Expecting a compliment.

“If you swabbed white greasepaint on your face you could pass for a mime,” Carmela snapped.

Shamus looked stung. “You know I
despise
mimes.”

Carmela shrugged.
“C'est la vie.”

Shamus glowered at her. “This hostile attitude you've adopted,” he said. “It's not one bit flattering. I hope you don't intend to keep it up all night.” Shamus was so mad, he stomped off and left Zoe standing there with Ava.

“Only as long as I have to,” Carmela called to Shamus's retreating backside.

Ava stopped chattering and the three of them stood staring at each other. Finally Zoe spoke up. “You're very pretty,” she told Carmela. “Shamus said you were pretty.” She appraised Carmela with a careful eye, like a budding plastic surgery aficionado. “You have very full lips. I've been thinking of having my lips enhanced. There's a plastic surgeon up in Baton Rouge who's supposed to be a genius. . . .”

“Implants,” replied Ava, gesturing at Carmela's lips.

“Really,” said Zoe, narrowing her eyes. “They look very natural.”

“You want natural,” said Ava, “take a gander at Carmela's cheekbones.”

Zoe's eyes widened even more. “Implants, too?”

Ava nodded. “The surgeon made two teensy little incisions inside her mouth, then slipped these little plastic pieces right in. I tell you, the girl's put together with spit and clay.”

Zoe was clearly fascinated. “I've heard about cheek implants. Did they hurt?” she asked Carmela.

“Never felt a thing,” replied Carmela.

“But if you want realistic,” said Ava, “take a gander at Carmela's eyes.”

Now Zoe was completely confused. “Her eyes?” She threw Carmela a questioning glance.

Carmela, who'd never had an implant or a collagen injection in her life, just nodded. “Had 'em done two years ago,” she said. “Love 'em.”

Ava lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmela was born with brown eyes. Didn't the surgeons do a fabulous job?”

Zoe's pouty mouth formed a perfect O. “Oh yes, they
did,
” she marveled. “And I had no idea they could even do a transplant procedure like that. Wow.”

“Biosynthetics,” purred Ava. “Isn't medical science amazing?”

“Yes, it is,” said Zoe, feeling that she'd developed a real kinship with the two women.

“You're evil,” Carmela told Ava as Zoe headed back to her table. “Pure, unadulterated evil.”

“And you're not?” asked Ava. She gave a slow wink.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“I am now,” said Carmela. But ten minutes later, Shamus was back in her face, begging for help.

Carmela stared at him, wondering where he found the nerve. “You want
my
help?” she asked. The man was certainly born with an extra helping of chutzpah.

“There's a problem with Glory,” Shamus hissed, plucking at Carmela's sleeve. “Hurry up! We've got a dire emergency on our hands!”

As Shamus pulled her across the ballroom, Carmela noted that suddenly, somehow, Shamus considered the two of them complicit again. Now
we
have an emergency. On
our
hands.

Glory Meechum was slumped in her chair, one chubby hand still stubbornly clasped around a glass of bourbon. Her older brother, Jeffrey, a pear-shaped banker in a drab gray suit, stared at her helplessly. Two useless banker cousins sat nervously twiddling their thumbs.

“She just drank too much bourbon!” exclaimed Carmela as she surveyed the situation. Over the past couple years Carmela had seen Glory sock it away pretty good, but she'd never seen her this drunk. Glory's face was doughy and slack, her lipstick smudged and smeared. Not a positive sign.

Shamus put a hand protectively on one of Glory's broad shoulders. “That's not the real problem. She only had a couple drinks this evening, but she's been taking this new medicine for her OCD. My guess is the combination of booze and pills must've packed a real wallop.”

“That lady's stoned, all right,” said Ava, who had followed Carmela to Shamus's table. “She's stoned out of her gourd.” Ava peered into Glory's glazed eyes. “Oh yeah, look at her pupils. She's gone.”

“She's gone,” repeated Sweetmomma Pam, who had tagged along as well.

“Carmela, do something!” wailed Shamus.

Startled, wondering why this little family emergency had suddenly been thrust on
her
shoulders, Carmela whipped her head toward him. “Face it, Shamus, Glory's zonked.”

“Carmela . . . please! You've got to
do
something,” Shamus begged as Baby and Del, curious as to what was going on, sidled up to the table as well.

“The woman's clearly stoned, Shamus, what do you want me to do?” Carmela snapped. “Fire up the light show and throw some Jefferson Airplane on the turntable?”

“You don't have to be so nasty about it,” grumped Shamus.

Carmela hesitated. Shamus was probably right. She
was
being a tad bitchy. But wasn't she enjoying this little spectacle as well?

Oh yeah. What goes around comes around, Miss Glory Meechum. Spread enough bad karma around and it'll come back and chomp you in the butt
.

“This is Glory's big night,” pleaded Shamus. “She's supposed to receive her Founder's Award!”

“Might I offer a suggestion?” said Baby. She stood on the sidelines, looking cool and somewhat detached in her Marie Antoinette costume, but also helping to block this rather embarrassing scene from other prying eyes.