Table for Seven (8 page)

Will had just taken a sip of wine, so when he started to laugh, it came out as a hiccup that quickly turned into a cough. Mark pounded him on the back, hard enough to make Will splutter. “Ack. Jesus, Mark, have you been lifting weights?”

“What exactly did you tell her, Will?” Coop asked.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Audrey said. “Am I missing something?”

“For starters, I’m not gay,” Cooper said dryly.

Will had finally stopped coughing, but now he was laughing so hard, his eyes were watering. Mark, amused at his mirth, grinned. Fran just rolled her eyes.

“You’re not gay?” Audrey asked. She looked from Coop to Fran and then back at Coop again. “Then why did Fran tell me you were?”

“Fran told you that?” It was his turn to look at Fran, his eyebrows arched.

“It was Will’s idea,” Fran said. “Although I’ll admit I may have had a teeny-tiny role in spreading the misinformation.”

“Maybe I should forget the individual filets en croûte and pop some popcorn instead,” Jaime remarked.

Audrey placed her hands on the table in front of her, palms down, fingers spread. “Fran. Why did you tell me that Coop was gay?”

“Yes, Fran, we’d both like an answer to that question,” Coop said.

Fran looked at Will for help, but he was too busy chortling and helping himself to another glass of wine. She sighed, pushed her curls back from her face, and, turning to Audrey,
said, “If you’d known there was a single, heterosexual man invited, you’d have assumed I was trying to set you up.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Leland asked.

“I’m sorry. It was stupid,” Fran said sheepishly. “And, again, it was all Will’s idea.”

“I think it’s hilarious,” Will said, still giggling.

Audrey felt her cheeks flush hot but she didn’t want to throw a hissy fit right in the middle of a dinner party. Revenge would have to wait. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and tried to regain her composure.

“You must have spent most of this evening incredibly confused by my conversation,” Audrey said to Coop.

“It certainly explains why you spent so much time trying to sell me on your
man
-icures idea,” Coop said. “I thought you were oddly excited about that.”

“Is this the anti–set up? Put two single people together, and then try to make sure they’re not attracted to each other?” Mark asked.

It was Fran’s turn to flush pink. “No, of course not,” she said.

“If so, it didn’t work,” Coop said.

Audrey felt her pulse kick up a notch. Was Coop saying that he
was
attracted to her?

“No, there was a flaw in Fran’s plan. She should have told you something that would turn you off Audrey,” Mark said.

“Like telling you that I’m gay, too,” Audrey said.

All of the men at the table—with the exception of Leland, who was listening to the conversation with a puzzled expression—exchanged raised-eyebrow looks.

“Oh, please. That would just have made him that much more interested,” Fran said.

“Why are men so intrigued by lesbianism?” Jaime asked.

“Oh, we’re talking about lesbians now?” Leland asked with interest. “I’ve never fully understood how that works.”

“Well,”
Will said, leaning forward, clearly about to hold forth on the subject. But Fran whacked him on the shoulder before he could continue.

“Don’t start,” she warned him.

“No, what Fran should have told Coop is that Audrey is one of those incredibly needy women who insist that her boyfriend check in with her four to five times a day,” Mark said, twirling his wineglass in one hand.

“Every man’s biggest fear, right after Glenn Close in
Fatal Attraction
,” Jaime said, rolling her eyes. She stood and began clearing the salad plates.

“No, it’s really one and the same. The bunny-boiling is just clinginess taken to the extreme,” Mark said.

Audrey noted that Mark wasn’t making any move toward helping his wife clear the dishes. It also hadn’t escaped her attention that he hadn’t managed to make it home before his dinner guests arrived. Which meant, of course, that Jaime had done all of the work. And the dinner party had clearly been a lot of work—everything from the table settings to the food to the wine had been just so.

What a jerk
, she thought. Occasionally, Audrey wondered if it had been a mistake to swear off ever marrying again. Then she saw how some of her friends’ husbands behaved, and it just reinforced the wisdom of her decision.

She stood and began collecting dishes. Jaime flapped a hand at her and said, “It’s okay, I’ve got this.”

Audrey smiled at her. “No, let me help. I just spent the last hour trying to set up Coop with a handsome architect who has a standing weekly appointment for a massage. I need to take a few minutes to regain my composure.”

“And here I thought you were trying to talk me into hiring that guy,” Coop said. “Which was really confusing because I rent my condo.”

Everyone laughed, and then Will said, “Leland, you owe me a fiver.” He held out a hand. “Bacon-flavored milk.”

“I don’t think we’ve had an official ruling on that,” Leland said.

As the conversation swung back to its previous bacon theme, Audrey followed Jaime into the kitchen, dishware balanced in her hands.

“Wow, it’s gorgeous in here,” Audrey said, glancing around admiringly at the soaring glass-fronted cupboards and professional-grade appliances. “Like something out of a magazine.”

“Thanks,” Jaime said with obvious pleasure. “I’m really happy with how the remodel came out. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Audrey wondered if, for Jaime, the nice kitchen made up for the less-than-helpful husband. It wouldn’t be a trade-off she’d willingly make, but, then, other people’s marriages and how they worked were always hard to figure out.

“What can I do to help?” Audrey asked.

“Nothing at the moment. But it would be great if you could help me carry the plates out,” Jaime said. She leaned over to open the oven door, and, using a red silicone oven mitt, pulled out a pan of perfectly browned individual filets en croûte. The puff pastry exteriors were decorated with tiny pastry leaves. Audrey wondered how long it had taken Jaime to assemble such a complicated entrée, and how she’d managed it with two toddlers running around.

“Where are your kids?” Audrey asked, leaning back on the kitchen counter.

“They’re in the playroom with Iris,” Jaime said. “Fran dropped her off earlier this afternoon so she could help me out. She’s been a lifesaver.”

“Does Iris babysit for you often?”

Jaime nodded. “Yes, she’s great with the kids. And I think Fran likes it that babysitting keeps Iris from going out with her friends. Speaking of Fran … just how angry are you?”

“Do I seem mad?”

“Actually, no,” Jaime said. She spread spiky stalks of asparagus on a rimmed pan, doused them with olive oil, and then slid the pan under the broiler.

“Good. Then I’m hiding it well. I have every intention of killing Fran. I just didn’t want to ruin your dinner party with bloodshed,” Audrey said.

“I appreciate that,” Jaime said. “And I hope I can show similar restraint.”

“Is everything okay?” Audrey asked tentatively. She and Jaime had known each other for a few years through Fran, but they had never been confidantes.

Jaime smiled mechanically, masking whatever anger she might have been feeling. “Yes, fine, I was just kidding. I think everything’s about ready. Can you hand me that stack of plates there? And could you open another bottle of wine?”

“Here you go,” Audrey said, handing the plates to Jaime before turning her attention to the wine. Jaime obviously didn’t want to talk about whatever was going on with Mark, and Audrey had no intention of pressing the issue. She respected a person’s right to keep her troubles private.

“I THINK IT WENT well. What do you think?” Jaime said later that night when their guests had left into the chilly February
night and she and Mark were lying in their black four-poster bed.

Jaime was making notes about the dinner party in an orange leather-bound notebook. She always made a habit of this after they entertained—what was served, who attended, notes on what she might do differently.

The orchids were a bit too delicate looking. Also, taller candlesticks, so the guests can see each other better
, she wrote.

“Hmm?” Mark asked. He was, as usual, fixated on his iPhone.

Jaime tapped her pen against the notebook. She thought the dinner party had been a success overall. Everyone seemed to like the food, although she worried that the filets had been just a touch overdone and thought that maybe the potatoes were just slightly underdone.

“Did you think the potatoes were underdone?” she asked Mark.

“Maybe a little,” he said.

“Really? Do you think anyone noticed?” Jaime asked.

Mark continued to stare at his iPhone. Then he looked up, as if only just realizing she’d been speaking to him. Jaime wondered who he thought she was talking to, considering they were alone in their bedroom.

“The potatoes,” Jaime repeated. “You thought they were underdone?”

“No, they were great. Everything was great. You outdid yourself,” Mark said. He patted her hand, and then turned his attention back to the iPhone.

Jaime sighed and rolled away. The potatoes
were
underdone, she decided, and made a note of it. The chocolate pots de crème—each served with a dollop of freshly whipped cream—had been a huge hit. Will, especially, had loved his,
scraping his spoon against the bottom of the pudding cup to make sure he got up every last bit.

Pots de crème were the perfect dessert
, Jaime wrote.
Simple but elegant
.

“Do you think Will and Fran have the happiest marriage of anyone we know?” she asked.

There was another long pause. Jaime was just wondering if Mark had tuned her out again, when he said, “I don’t know, really. It’s hard to tell about someone else’s marriage.”

“But do you get the sense that they’re really happy together?” Jaime persisted. “I would say that they’re comfortable with each other. But I don’t get the sense that they’re still madly in love.”

Mark put down his iPhone and glanced at Jaime over the top of his horn-rimmed readers. He hadn’t worn glasses until recently, and even now insisted that he didn’t really need them. But Jaime had noticed that he’d taken to wearing them more often while reading, at least while he was home.

“They’ve been married for, what, twelve years?” he said.

“Something like that,” Jaime said.

“I think it’s unrealistic for any married couple to still seem madly in love after that much time.”

“That’s not true,” Jaime said. “Leland told me that he was married for forty-years, and I could tell he adored his late wife.”

Mark shrugged. “I think that’s the exception, not the norm.”

“What do you think other people think about our marriage?”

“Who knows?” Mark said. “And, really, who cares?”

“I care,” Jaime said.

“I meant, who cares what anyone else thinks about us?
People can think what they want to think. We have no control over that,” Mark said. His iPhone dinged, and, like Pavlov’s dog, Mark immediately turned his attention back to it.

Jaime set her notebook down on the nightstand, and then rolled over on her side, her back to her husband. How long had it been since she and Mark had made love, she wondered. A few weeks? Longer? Over a month?

That was worrying.

Although, Jaime had to admit, at first she had been grateful that her husband’s libido had taken a nosedive shortly after Ava’s birth. Her days were spent with one or both children in her arms, picking up their warm, solid bodies, their small hands always reaching out to grab on to her shirt or a lock of her hair. By the time she fell into bed each night, the last thing she wanted was to have anyone else touch her, even her husband.

But a month or more? Jaime felt a prickle of unease. That was a long time to go without sex, even for a couple with two small children. Was this further evidence that Mark might be having an affair? And if he was, was it because she’d been sexually inaccessible to him? Or was it the other way around—had he lost interest in her because he’d found someone else? A swooping, sickly feeling spread through her stomach.

This can’t go on
, she thought.
We need to fix this
. I
need to fix this
.

Jaime rolled back toward Mark, intent on doing
something
. They needed to talk. Or no, forget talking, she’d just seduce him. But Mark’s eyes were closed, and his breathing had deepened, so that he was snoring softly on each exhale. His iPhone was still clasped in his hands. For a moment, Jaime considered taking the phone gently out of his hands and sliding his reading glasses off his face. But for some reason
she wasn’t quite sure of, she instead rolled back over, turned off her bedside table lamp, and closed her eyes.

“ARE YOU TALKING TO me?” Fran asked when Audrey answered the phone.

“No,” Audrey said.

“Will you at least listen while I apologize?” Fran said.

There was a pause. Fran wondered if Audrey was so mad, she’d actually hung up.

“Are you there?” Fran asked.

“I’m waiting for my apology,” Audrey said.

“Oh good, I’m glad you didn’t hang up. I’m sorry I told you Coop is gay,” Fran said.

“And that you humiliated me?”

“You weren’t humiliated, were you?”

“Of course I was humiliated. I spent the entire evening trying to talk a straight man into having a homosexual relationship with one of my spa clients,” Audrey exclaimed.

“Well, yes, I can see how that would be slightly embarrassing.”

“I’m still not clear why you lied about his sexuality in the first place.”

“I didn’t want you to think it was a set up. I know how you feel about that.”

“Are you really going to take the position that you lied to me in order to spare my feelings?” Audrey asked.

“No,” Fran said. She smiled. “Well, yes, sort of. It was Will’s idea, I swear. Back when I wanted to invite both you and Coop to our New Year’s Eve party. I told Will you’d think it was a set up, so he said to tell you that Coop was gay. It all seems so stupid now.”