Chapter 14 #2
“Well,” I say carefully, “it’s nice to hear you two are collaborating to pull off the perfect wedding.” Mostly.
“Women supporting women,” Charlotte declares, raising her glowing cocktail. “That’s what tonight is all about!”
The crowd starts to quiet down as Buffy makes her way to the makeshift stage area, pink spotlights casting her in what can only be described as literary goddess lighting. The yacht rock music fades to a background whisper.
“Ladies!” Buffy calls out, and the room falls into an expectant hush usually reserved for wedding ceremonies and court proceedings—and apparently R-rated book readings. “Welcome to Storytime After Dark!”
The cheer that erupts could probably be heard all the way back at What Ales You.
“Now,” Buffy continues with a grin that lets us know she’s fully embracing her role as tonight’s literary ringmaster, “Camila Ryder has been kind enough to provide us with some very... educational reading material. Are we ready to expand our vocabularies and our imaginations?”
“We’re ready!” the crowd shouts back with the enthusiasm of women who’ve had just enough glowing cocktails to be dangerous.
Camila steps forward, book in hand, looking like she’s about to conduct the most entertaining circus of her life. “Chapter seven,” she purrs with wicked glee. “The Storm... We’re cutting right to the good part.”
But before she can launch into what I’m sure will be a mortifying literary experience, I spot Bea across the room nursing what appears to be her first and probably last glowing cocktail of the evening.
She’s positioned herself strategically near the self-help section, probably hoping the books on personal growth will provide some kind of spiritual protection from whatever’s about to happen.
Little does she know that nothing can shield any of us from Camila’s and Macy’s literary assault on innocent minds.
This is exactly the sort of frivolous nonsense that’s wasting everyone’s time and money—mostly my time and money, she thinks, eyeing the tiki torches with disapproval. Charlotte should be focused on her wedding, not attending literary orgies.
Literary orgies? That’s a new one, even for me, and I’ve read a lot of minds.
“Ladies!” Buffy calls out again, clearly trying to regain control of her literary circus. “Before we begin our reading, let’s all raise our glowing beverages in a toast to summer nights, good friends, our blushing bride Charlotta, and books that make us blush!”
It’s Charlotte, but I’m not about to correct my poor sister. She has enough on her plate already.
The crowd erupts in cheers and raised glasses, creating a light show that would make a nightclub jealous.
I can’t believe I’m actually having fun at a naughty book reading, of all things, I catch from someone in the crowd. My mother would disown me if she knew.
And yet, my mother is here. The irony.
My husband would die if he knew I was here, comes another thought. Good thing what happens at book club stays at book club. Or at least I hope it does.
She does realize this will be all over social media in the next few minutes.
I hope they don’t read the scene with the handcuffs, the thought floats from someone else. I’m not drunk enough for that level of secondhand embarrassment.
Handcuffs? What exactly did Camila select for tonight’s entertainment? And why do I get the feeling that the rating of this event just went from R to triple X?
“Now,” Camila continues, clearly relishing her role as tonight’s literary mastermind, “I should probably warn everyone that this particular scene involves a thunderstorm, a very wet shirt, and some creative use of nautical equipment.”
The collective intake of breath from the women assembled sounds like a tide rushing in.
I think I need another drink, someone thinks desperately.
This is better than cable television, comes from another corner of the room.
Charlotte, meanwhile, has positioned herself for optimal Insta Pictures documentation, her phone held high to capture both the reader’s and the audience’s reactions.
This is going to get so many views, she thinks with satisfaction. Authentic female friendship content always performs well. Hey? Maybe I should start a naughty book club of my own?
“Chapter seven,” Buffy begins in her best dramatic reading voice, “The Storm. Captain Blackwood’s shirt clung to his muscled chest like—”
“Oh geez,” I hear Mom mutter from somewhere behind me.
“—like wet silk as the rain lashed the deck of his ship—”
A nervous giggle ripples through the crowd.
“Isabella knew she should look away, but her eyes were drawn to the way the fabric revealed every contour of his—”
“I think I need to sit down,” someone whispers loudly.
This is simultaneously the best and worst idea anyone has ever had, Mom thinks with obvious delight.
I should have brought popcorn, Georgie says, rubbing her hands together with glee.
And as Buffy continues reading about Captain Blackwood’s anatomical advantages and Isabella’s growing appreciation for maritime adventure, I realize that tonight is going to be very educational indeed—both for the literary content and for people-watching, because nothing strips away social pretenses quite like awkward romance novels read aloud.
Now let’s see which one of these innocent book lovers has murder on her mind.