Chapter Fourteen
FOURTEEN
Ben’s Plant Emporium was packed for the opening event on Friday night. Between the people browsing the plant selections and those gathering next door at the Annex to sample coffee, tea, wine, beer, and a range of pastries and sandwiches, they were nearing full occupancy.
A great problem to have, but Ben was about to sweat through his dress shirt, and his body was torn between extremes. His pulse raced and nausea gripped his stomach, but the thrill of seeing people turn out filled his chest with sparking fireworks of excitement. He manned the plant counter himself for the first hour before turning it over to Rani so he could circulate among the guests.
“Heck of a place you’ve got here,” his cousin Avram said, slapping his back. The tall, good-natured werewolf lived in nearby Fable Farms, and since the two of them were the same age, they’d grown up together. Avram’s thick brown hair matched Ben’s and they both had the Rosewood jawline, but Avram’s sparkling hazel eyes and easy smile were all Levine.
“Thank you,” Ben said. “It’s been a lot of work. It’s hard to believe it’s actually happening.”
He looked at the venue with pride. He’d knocked down a section of wall between the nursery and the adjoining building so people could circulate freely, and the windows and roof beams were festooned with white holiday lights. The overall aesthetic was warm, homey, and handmade, with a rustic bartop and furniture commissioned from the same carpenter who had constructed the stage. Local artisans had provided woven rugs, pillows for cozy seating nooks, and art to adorn the walls, and he’d built display cases for them to sell their work. The local elementary schoolers had a corner display full of colorfully painted terra-cotta plant pots for purchase—maybe Ben’s favorite detail, since a customer could walk out with a plant and a one-of-a-kind adorable piece of art, and a small child would end up thrilled as a result.
“The sandwiches are amazing,” Avram said. “I had the turkey pesto and…” He kissed his fingers. Then he spotted someone over Ben’s shoulder and waved. “Oi, Kai! Get over here and tell Ben how amazing this place is.”
Kai was a good friend and another member of the Fable Farms pack. A transplant from New Zealand, the charming black-haired werewolf also captained the Fable Farms Furies rugby team. With a roguish smile, a primal love of the moonshift, and an incredible amount of self-confidence, he was the quintessential werewolf Ben often wished he could be.
“This is ace,” Kai said, joining the group. “Amazing job, mate. What do you think, Lili?”
Speaking of an incredible amount of self-confidence, Kai had his arm around a short, beautiful redhead—his girlfriend of the past two years, Lilith. Her black horns were smaller than her son Astaroth’s and she might not look physically imposing, but if Ben had to bet on anyone in a fight, it would always be the Mother of All Demons.
Tonight the demoness’s smile was eerily wide, and her pale blue eyes had an unfocused look that meant she was probably a million miles away, thinking of heavens only knew what. Her attire was, as usual, vaguely piratical, and she had an actual cutlass strapped to her hip. “I tried to eat a cactus,” she announced.
Ben blinked, then looked over his shoulder at the plant nursery portion of the store. Rani was standing at the counter, shaking her head as she cradled a pot containing a small barrel cactus. Catching Ben’s gaze, the naiad rolled her eyes, pointed at Lilith, and mimed gnawing on the plant.
“The plants aren’t for consumption,” Ben said, returning his attention to Lilith. “The only food is in this half of the shop.”
Lilith pouted. “So I was informed. But what’s the point of immortality if you only eat safe things?”
Ben wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He had his own temperamental, odd, immortal-ish redhead to deal with, but Eleonore was of sound mind—though traumatized—and he was no longer afraid she’d eat his liver. Lilith was a stick of dynamite no one knew was lit until it went off. “That’s an interesting perspective,” Ben said cautiously.
Kai leaned in and winked. “That’s why she likes me so much. Not a safe bone in my body.” He flexed, showing off his tattoos.
Avram snorted. “You’re about as dangerous as a pillow fight, Kai.”
Lilith looked Kai up and down disdainfully. “Silly puppy. Are you due for a flogging?”
“Absolutely,” Kai said, clapping a hand to his chest dramatically. “I live to tremble at your feet, my beautiful demoness.”
“Jesus Christ,” Avram muttered.
Lilith’s lips curved in a smile reminiscent of Astaroth’s when he was feeling wicked, and she slapped Kai’s ass. “Good wolf.” Then she grabbed him by the belt buckle and dragged him away. Kai tipped back his head and howled to the ceiling, then shot Ben a thumbs-up. “Back soon! Maybe!”
Ben shook his head as the pair vanished out the door. “Kai’s a braver man than me.”
Avram snorted again. He and Kai were the kind of friends who constantly took the piss out of each other. “He’s been waiting for a pretty woman to walk all over him for ages. I just don’t understand what Lilith gets out of it.”
“A willing and eager victim?” Ben suggested.
“Good point.”
Thoughts of Lilith receded as a stream of new guests descended on Ben to deliver congratulations. Somewhere amid the chaos, Calladia pressed a glass of champagne into his hand, and then Themmie insisted on taking interminable pictures of him with guests, plants, the wine rack, and an espresso machine manned by Hylo, whom he’d poached from Le Chapeau Magique to manage the Annex and the new employees on that side of the business. Ben smiled gamely, following Themmie’s instructions. He’d long ago learned that avoiding photos with the pixie was an impossible task and that no matter how awkward he felt, she’d somehow manage to come up with a brilliant, flattering image he could use for his website or text to his parents to elicit a flurry of delighted emojis.
Speaking of his parents, they had arrived with the latest throng of well-wishers.
“Benjamin, I am so proud of you,” his mother said, wrapping him in the best hug known to mankind. Even though he’d topped her five foot ten inches by half a foot twenty years ago, her warm embrace still made him feel cozy.
Ben was grabbed in a bear hug from the side, this time by someone nearly his height. “Atta boy,” his father said, clapping his back. “You’ve done wonders with the place.”
Ben grinned. “Thank you both so much. I’m glad you could make it.”
His parents were a coordinated pair as always, wearing matching shades of blue. They were both over seventy but had the energy of people much younger. Violet Rosewood wore her silver hair in a ponytail, and her skin was creased with lines from a lifetime of smiling. Loren Rosewood had sun-coarsened cheeks from working in his garden and dramatically peaked eyebrows. Both of them were sturdy in the way of people who lived life hands-on, as eager to build a house for the needy as they were to cook a feast for the neighbors.
Some of Ben’s tension relaxed at seeing them. Come heck or high water, his mother had always said, we Rosewoods stick together . His parents were no longer as robust as they’d been in his youth—age was wearing its unwelcome way over them, leaving arthritis and stooped frames in its wake—but they still loomed large over Ben’s existence. Introverted Ben might be an exotic species amid the rambunctious Rosewood-Levines, but Loren and Violet Rosewood’s exuberant brand of love had been the bedrock he’d built a life upon.
“When’s the performance?” his mother asked, looking around. “Will there be singing?”
“I’m not sure,” Ben said. “I gave her total creative freedom.” The least he could do after ordering Eleonore to perform.
There was a hurried consultation between his parents, which they whispered at a volume he could absolutely hear. He braced himself for the coming interrogation.
“This is your supposedly not-girlfriend, right?” his father asked, not at all casually.
“She is not my girlfriend, that’s correct.”
“Kind of interesting, don’t you think?” Loren mused, stroking his white-bearded chin. “You said the stage would be put in next year, and then suddenly you started calling in favors and paying extra for the builders to set it up early.”
Damn this town’s love of gossip. “I changed my mind about timing.”
His dad cackled. “Yeah, just in time to host a pretty redhead’s debut show.” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t think you can trick me. I was young once; I know how this goes.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Stop badgering me about my nonexistent love life and go find some champagne.” Spotting one of the staff passing by with a tray of chicken wings, he pointed. “Free appetizers!”
“Free, you say?” His father was already on the move.
Violet Rosewood wasn’t so easily distracted, though. She slapped Ben’s arm lightly and gave him a reproving look. “You know your father can’t resist free food.”
“Exactly.” It was Ben’s trump card because it always worked.
She sighed. “We just want to see you happy.”
“And I am happy,” he said. At this moment, anyway. “So go eat and give me another hug later.”
His mother popped up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then straightened his tie before joining her spouse.
Ben looked around, wondering if he could slip away for a breather. He was proud and excited to share the results of his hard work at long last, but this was also…a lot.
Astaroth approached, holding out a small box. “Congratulations,” he said.
Ben took it hesitantly, unsure what the half demon could possibly have brought him. Ben had gotten off to a rocky start with Oz and demons in general, and though Astaroth was fun to hang out with, the two men were completely opposite in personality and taste.
Inside the box were silver cufflinks—a pair of beautiful, undoubtedly expensive full moons. Ben’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to smile and be appropriately grateful for a kind, thoughtful gesture. Astaroth couldn’t know Ben didn’t particularly love the full moon, since Ben was too embarrassed to tell people, and he probably thought every man had a suit in his closet just begging for fancy cufflinks. “These are incredible,” Ben said, giving the demon a brief hug. “Thank you so much.”
Astaroth nodded and tapped his skull-topped cane against his boot. If Calladia was to be believed, it contained a sword. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to Lilith’s offspring. “You’re doing a good thing for this town,” Astaroth said, ice-blue eyes sweeping over the room. “People need more places to gather and feel welcome.”
It was a surprising sentiment from the witty, sarcastic demon, who wielded words like both weapon and armor. But he’d softened considerably since meeting Calladia and giving up his power-hungry ambitions as a member of the demonic high council, and he seemed earnest now.
“Thank you,” Ben said. “I agree.”
Then Astaroth popped on his charming grin and winked, raising his champagne. “And they always need more places to drink.”
Ben laughed and clinked his glass against Astaroth’s. “Cheers to that.”
The music faded, and Gigi stepped onto the stage, tapping the microphone. “Is this thing on?”
The microphone was, indeed, on. The speaker emitted a shrill squeal, and everyone winced.
Ben looked toward the soundboard, where one of the high school thespians was turning dials frantically. She gave a thumbs-up.
“Check check,” Gigi said. This time her voice was an appropriate volume, and the assembly cheered. “Great,” Gigi said, grinning. “And thank you, sound wizard. I have no idea what was wrong and I have no idea how you fixed it, but you are the hero of the evening.” She clapped in the direction of the soundboard, and others followed suit until the girl was blushing.
Gigi looked great. Her brown hair was put up in some kind of fancy knot that was presumably Themmie’s work, and she wore a pin-striped gray pantsuit with sparkles on the stripes, as well as Astaroth-mandated pink Converse. She looked professional with a fun, approachable edge.
“Isn’t this space amazing?” Gigi gestured around the room. “I’m so proud of my brother, Ben Rosewood, for not only killing it in his plant nursery business but expanding it to give people room to eat, drink, mingle, and watch live theatre. It’s too easy to end up glued to our phones or laptops, working too hard and interacting with our loved ones from a distance.” The room was silent, the audience hanging on every word. “Glimmer Falls is a rich, diverse community,” Gigi continued, “and spaces like Ben’s Plant Emporium remind us of that. None of us are alone, and there are places where we are always welcome. So let’s give it up for Ben!”
The guests applauded, turning appreciative smiles his way. Ben bowed his head, feeling like his chest might burst from pride, assuming his flaming cheeks didn’t kill him first. Gigi had tried to convince him to make a speech, but he’d refused, instead letting Rani give a brief welcome earlier when he’d cut the ribbon between the Emporium and the Annex.
The curtain behind Gigi shifted, drawing Ben’s eye. The backstage space was laughably small—maybe two feet deep and spanning the width of the stage, with an access point through a former janitor’s closet—so that must be Eleonore, preparing for her show.
The attention thankfully moved away from Ben as Gigi launched into a rousing speech about community, so he focused on the black velvet curtain. There was a slight gap on the right—left? He always forgot how stage directions worked—and he smiled when he saw a slice of pale face appear and vanish just as quickly.
Was Eleonore nervous the way he’d been nervous about the Annex opening? He suspected the answer was yes, given how jumpy and brooding she’d acted all day, but he hadn’t been about to ask or suggest such a thing. Funny, how quickly he’d come to understand her pride and some of her quirks, but becoming inadvertent roommates had provided them with a rapid education. Besides, Eleonore was not a particularly subtle person.
“And that’s why I’m running for mayor!”
Ben snapped back to attention when the room burst into a cacophony of cheers and applause. Gigi was beaming under the spotlight. It was a very hastily assembled spotlight, manned by another high schooler from the Thespian Club, but the teen managed it with very few wobbles. Ben decided on the spot to offer the stage free to the high school as a place for students to gain experience and get comfortable with an audience.
The stage might not have become a staple of the Emporium and the Annex so quickly if it weren’t for Eleonore and Gigi, but even with the added stress it had caused, Ben didn’t mind. In fact, he was glad. He might never set foot on the boards, but he respected people who did, and he vowed that Ben’s Plant Emporium would always be a place for fledgling creators—whether elementary school artists, high school theatre students, or aspiring comedians—to spread their wings safely.
As Gigi detailed her goals for public office and the future of Glimmer Falls, Ben watched the crowd, assessing their reactions. It was clear the room was in her thrall.
Ben had to admit it was impressive. He was used to thinking of Gigi as his wild, social butterfly younger sister, but she presented herself and her campaign with a mix of wit and earnestness that would have had him sold even if he wasn’t related to her. He would never in a million years be able to talk in front of people like that.
It wasn’t that Ben hadn’t known Gigi was smart, funny, insightful, and on a mission to better their community, or that he in any way believed her incapable of changing the world. He loved her unconditionally, and no matter how much he razzed her (and she razzed him back, far more viciously and articulately), he had faith she would do whatever she set her mind to and the world would be better for it.
But this was still his little sister commanding the room. The girl who had insisted on wearing her favorite sequined shirt to elementary school for an entire month, claiming she was a world-famous pop star. The girl who, as a teenager, had driven her car into a fire hydrant because she’d been texting. The one who had needed to be picked up from a rave in college by their parents .
Watching Gigi speak with articulate, inspiring passion, Ben felt a lump in his throat.
His little sister had grown up. And yes, he’d already known that, but still. This was something special.
When she finished her speech with “Let’s get out the vote!” Ben hollered and clapped louder than anyone. And cried, too, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“If you aren’t registered to vote yet, go see the volunteers in the back,” Gigi said. “They’ll be happy to help out. And if you feel like volunteering your time or skills for the campaign, Rani at the front desk has all the info.” She grinned and swept out a hand. “Now, we have a very exciting performance to christen the stage of Ben’s Plant Emporium. Please welcome the world debut of actress Eleonore Bettencourt-Devereux!”
Cheers broke out, then faded with the lights as people hurried to claim available seats. The twinkle lights still shone on the outer windows, but the stage was a murky gray expanse. The curtain moved, and a female silhouette took center stage.
Ben clenched his fists, instinctively flexing his toes inside his dress shoes. This was the performance that would set the tone for the rest of the Emporium’s performances. It would also give credence to Gigi’s campaign.
And yet the question currently top of his mind was…
Was Eleonore scared?
She had never performed before, though she’d told him she liked the idea. She also wasn’t used to this time and place, and it didn’t take a therapist to figure out she was dealing with PTSD on top of that. Though Eleonore should probably see a therapist. Ben should, too. It had been a few years—he’d once gone regularly, hoping to corral his buzzing thoughts, but the business had become too demanding.
“You’ve got this,” he said under his breath, gaze pinned on the shadowy figure onstage.
The stage lights came up.
Eleonore stood at the microphone with a bucket by her side. She wore a voluminous cloak, and the effect was eerie. Black cloak, porcelain-pale skin, flaming red hair that had been combed in some sort of way to make it look tangled.
“In the beginning,” Eleonore said, raising a fist, “we were dust. Stardust, fallen to earth to mix with the baser elements and create life.” She tipped her hand over and opened it, letting a fine spray of sand form a small pyramid on the stage. “When we die, we become dust, too.”
Ben nodded. He’d heard that metaphor before, but it was a good poetic image and a fine start. Optimistic about the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Thematically appropriate for electing a new mayor.
Eleonore flung the rest of the sand away violently, and an audience member in the first row flailed at their face and started coughing. “Before we become dust, though,” Eleonore announced, “our corpses bloat and rot. We do not dissolve peacefully. Just as we crawled out of a primordial soup once, when our lives are ended, we ooze .”
Ben nearly choked on his tongue. What in the name of—
He looked around, terrified people were about to start fleeing for the exits.
Though a few audience members shifted and muttered to one another, they remained in their seats. For now, at least.
“When I was thirty years of age many centuries ago,” Eleonore said quietly into the microphone, “a witch found me and chained my life to a crystal. My hands became hers. My words became hers. My free will became hers.”
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, Ben told himself. There was something compelling about her intense, serious expression, something that demanded he lean forward and give her his full attention. The intro had been weird, but maybe that had been a fluke and this would be the bulk of the piece: a monologue about what Eleonore had endured. It would make him sad and upset about her past and guilty about his ownership of the crystal, but he could handle it, and maybe other people would be moved by her story, too.
“She used my hands for killing her enemies, of course,” Eleonore said. “Have you ever watched the light leave a person’s eyes?” She produced a musical triangle from a pocket in the cloak and struck it. Bing . “If you had, you would know it isn’t a light at all. It’s something that can only be defined by its absence.”
Bing.
Bing.
Bing.
Ben scratched his neck and shifted from foot to foot. His pulse was speeding in a familiar and unpleasant way, and sweat beaded at his hairline. This hadn’t gone completely off the rails yet, but it was getting close.
Eleonore’s face was solemn as she bent to stick her hand in the bucket. It came up coated in red liquid, which she dragged over her face, leaving finger streaks like something from a haunted house.
“Oh, no,” Ben whispered.
“The true virtue of a killer,” Eleonore said into the microphone, eyes gone wide, “is in what they’re willing to watch. Our mortal shells are mere sacks of meat, ripe for the slaughter, and there is nothing beautiful in death. During my years of servitude my hands were not my own, but my eyes were, and I can tell you now…” She paused dramatically before a vicious whisper left her red lips. “I watched.”
Ben’s stomach dropped—or rather, continued the trajectory it had begun when she’d first thrown sand in some poor customer’s face. He could sense Gigi’s eyes burning into him from where she stood at the back of the crowd. When his sister started heading his way, he knew he was in deep trouble.
Eleonore suddenly beamed. “And now,” she said, throwing off the cloak to reveal a rainbow-sequined jumpsuit, “an interpretive dance!”
Music piped in from the speakers, loud and sudden enough to make him jump. Was that…“Barbie Girl” by Aqua?
Yes. Yes, it was, and Eleonore was now capering around the stage, smearing bloody handprints over her jumpsuit. She’d produced a knife from somewhere and was holding it clenched between her teeth as she flailed and spun. The audience stared silently, faces frozen in a range of expressions, shock and horror chief among them, though an ancient woman in the front row was beaming and bopping her head in time with the beat.
“Hey, Ben,” Gigi said way too casually when she reached his side. “Quick question: What the fuck is this?”
Onstage, Eleonore began acting out the dramatic stabbing of invisible enemies, periodically pausing to strike the triangle and make odd, warbling vocalizations. Ben felt faint. “I…have no idea.”
It’s experimental, visceral, and dynamic , Eleonore had told him when he’d asked about her planned show. Think Joan Jonas meets Ana Mendieta with shades of Isadora Duncan and Kesha. Not knowing who those people were, he’d nodded and told her that sounded good. She’d clearly done the research, after all.
He really should have looked up those names.
“This is…” Gigi flinched as Eleonore howled and poured the remaining liquid in the bucket over her head. “Jesus fuck.”
That about summed it up. At least Ben’s sensitive werewolf nose could tell the liquid wasn’t real blood. He hoped it cleaned up easily.
The music abruptly stopped, and Eleonore froze in position, staring at the audience. “If you were the one wielding the knife,” she whispered, “would you watch?”
She moved so quickly his eyes couldn’t track it, striking a new dramatic pose at each corner of the stage. And then, making Ben’s heart lurch into his throat, she moved in a blur up the wall and appeared on the ceiling , clinging to it upside down like Spider-Man in a way he hadn’t even known vampires were capable of. Her fake-blood-soaked hair dangled in clumped strands as she bared her teeth, hissed, and then let out a primal scream.
“Oh, God,” Ben said, jerking backward and nearly knocking over a table.
The lights went out.
When they came back up, Eleonore was standing back on the stage, grinning. She swept a bow. “Thank you for watching!” she said. “And don’t forget to vote for Gigi Rosewood in November.”
Ben…clapped.
Other people were clapping, too, which was a good sign. Maybe. They were also talking in hushed voices, though, and no one looked particularly happy except the grandmother—now spattered with fake blood—and the two high school theatre kids, who were hooting and high-fiving.
Eleonore took another bow, dripping more fake blood onto the floor. She looked like Carrie at the prom, except with more sequins.
When she disappeared behind the curtain and the rest of the café lights came up, Ben sank into the nearest chair, hands pressed to his mouth as he tried not to hyperventilate.
He’d fucked up. Lycaon, how he’d fucked up. Gigi had asked him to put together a performance that would get people excited about the arts and voting, and he hadn’t asked a single question when Eleonore had assured him she had come up with something “in the finest tradition of experimental theatre.” He’d been too busy obsessing about the million other things he barely had a handle on.
Gigi sat next to Ben. She stared blankly at the stage, which one of the Thespians was now mopping. It was almost enough for Ben to forgive the kids for helping Eleonore pull off that horrifying display in the first place.
“That was…” Gigi said, trailing off.
“Yeah,” Ben replied.
“A lot.”
“Yup.”
A string quartet he’d hired to wrap up the event launched into a lively ditty. A few customers had already left, but as the sound of violins wound around the tables, the atmosphere relaxed.
He hoped. It was hard to tell when his pulse was pounding in his temples and he felt like beating his head against the nearest wall. He swallowed the urge to vomit.
Ben’s parents chose that moment to appear in front of him. They looked…well, about how he imagined he looked. “Wow, that was sure something!” his mother enthused, pasting on a wide smile. “Such an original choice. Very daring.”
“She’s very pretty when she’s not dripping with blood and shrieking,” his father offered.
Ben groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I…don’t know how to process this yet. That wasn’t what I expected.”
That earned him two more hugs and a peck on the cheek from his mother, and then his parents were thankfully out the door. His mother had always seemed nearly psychic about what her children needed, and in this case Ben needed space to have a meltdown.
“Ben Rosewood, right?”
Ben flinched, dreading whatever was about to follow that inquiry. Melting down would have to wait. “That’s me,” he said, standing and turning to face his judgment.
A short, rotund man with pointed ears, horns, and backward-jointed knees stood before him. A faun, hiding his furry haunches beneath a purple velvet suit.
The man held out a hand. “I’m Cornelius Crabapple, arts and entertainment journalist at the Glimmer Falls Gazette . A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Ben gave a tentative handshake. Inside he was screaming, though. Of all the people who could have witnessed Eleonore’s performance, this had to be one of the worst. Just imagining the headline in the Glimmer Falls Gazette made him sick: “Vampire Succubus Unleashes Shrieking Reign of Terror on Horrified Patrons of Ben’s Plant Emporium and It’s All Ben’s Fault.” “Sorry,” he said. “That show was…”
“Brilliant!” Cornelius exclaimed, clapping his hands.
Ben blinked, taken aback. “It…was?”
Cornelius nodded happily, making his silky ears bob. “Glimmer Falls used to welcome more edgy shows in the seventies, but for decades now we’ve been subjected to the same wholesome community theatre shows year after year.” The faun winced. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been forced to endure Hello, Dolly! at the theatre guild. This is a daring departure and, dare I say, bold enough to put Glimmer Falls on the national experimental theatre map.”
Next to him, Gigi looked as baffled as Ben felt. When he didn’t reply, though, unable to summon words, she quickly took over. Her expression smoothed into a smile, and she shook Cornelius’s hand. “We’re so glad you feel that way,” she said warmly. “I believe strongly that there’s a place for all art in Glimmer Falls, from family-friendly musicals to daring, experimental pieces that push the limits of what audiences are comfortable with.”
Ben suppressed the urge to snort at that line of bullshit. She was definitely developing into a politician.
“Exactly,” Cornelius said, snapping his fingers. “The feelings elicited in the viewer are as much a part of the art as what happens onstage. I know I’ll be thinking about this show for a long time.” He looked around the room. “Is the actress available? I’d love to get a few quotes from her for my review.”
Ben was about to say, No, Eleonore’s long gone, please don’t allow her to make this any weirder , but she took that moment to pop out from the old janitor’s closet, face freshly scrubbed and fake-blood-soaked hair clipped up. She’d changed into normal clothing, and Ben wondered at the state of the sequined jumpsuit. Could it be dry-cleaned?
“Ms. Bettencourt-Devereux,” Cornelius called out, waving frantically as he hurried toward Eleonore. “A moment of your time!”
As he engaged Eleonore in conversation, Ben looked at Gigi again. They stared at each other blankly for a long moment, then simultaneously burst into laughter.
“Oh my God,” Gigi wheezed, bending over at the waist. “Did that just happen?”
“Do you mean,” Ben replied between great, shoulder-shaking laughs, “d-did the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen just im-impress a theatre critic so much he says—he says—oh God—it’s going to put us on the national experimental theatre map?”
He was losing it. Going through so many emotions in the course of an hour couldn’t be healthy.
“Heavens,” Gigi said, fanning her red-tinged cheeks. “I knew theatre people were odd, but wow .”
Other people were clustering around Eleonore, peppering her with questions. When Ben looked around, he realized not that many customers had left after all. The majority were chatting or drinking or perusing the plants, and the bright sound of laughter rang over the gathering.
Hope swelled behind the last few wheezy chuckles. Maybe he hadn’t messed up as badly as he’d thought. “Am I forgiven?” he asked Gigi.
“That was the fucking weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” his sister said. “But you know what? I’m not mad at it.” She grinned, then punched his shoulder. “You at least keep things interesting.”