Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
MORE FORCE THAN NECESSARY
The front door closes behind Cameron, and I am left in the middle of the foyer, frozen in place. Every word I said, every thought I had, replays in my mind like a highlight reel.
“No, no, no,” I say, holding my head in my hands as the memory of me criticizing his flirting style, followed shortly after by telling him that I thought his voice was sexy, repeats on loop.
The only thing worse than the shockingly embarrassing things I said is the unthinkable thing that I almost did on the porch.
The thought makes me want to sink into the floor, but the mechanical whirr of a garage door opening somewhere in the distance gets me moving at top speed so that I don’t risk having to face Cameron, the homeowner, again.
At the other end of the foyer is an oversized abstract painting, hung between two arches.
I head to the left of the painting, like Cameron suggested, on a mission to find some food.
Hopefully, once I am properly fed and this caffeine kicks in, my sanity will return, so that I can get back on track and stay focused on my purpose here.
I take the corner at a near sprint and come within inches of a woman who is just inside, pouring herself a drink.
“Oh, sorry!” I say, doing a spin move to avoid mowing her down, and instead bump into the kitchen island.
I reach out to steady a stack of china that rattled and take in the elaborate charcuterie display that covers every square inch of the island.
My stomach growls audibly at the different cheeses, both soft and hard, and the cured meats swirled together to look like rosebuds.
Vegetables in every color of the rainbow and bread pre-torn for dipping are placed strategically around them.
Every square inch has something new: crackers, chocolate, bowls of olives, and nuts.
And the fruit. Every kind of berry imaginable, shiny and jewel-toned, is scattered throughout the display.
The best part of all, though, is that there is not a single citrus in sight.
I pop a few purple grapes the size of mini gumballs into my mouth and make room between platters to set down my coffee when the woman I completely forgot about clears her throat behind me. I whip around and cover my mouth to finish chewing as quickly as possible.
“You must be Drew,” she says, giving me a blatant once-over and wrinkling her nose as if she smells something bad. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you to get here.”
My smile falters, and I glance at the digital clock display above the double ovens. Arrival time was between two and three, and it’s only five after three now. “Sorry that you’ve been waiting for me. What’s your name?”
“I’m Judith. But my friends call me Judy,” she says, lifting her champagne glass to her lips.
Her gray hair is cut into a spiky pixie, and the soft lines on her face suggest that she is in her late fifties or early sixties, but it’s clear that she has some sort of expensive skincare routine because her skin is positively glowing.
The burgundy suit she wears is impeccably tailored to fit her tiny frame.
“Nice to meet you Jud—” I start, but stop short, unsure whether her introduction was an invitation to call her Judy, or a warning not to.
She doesn’t clarify either way, and instead makes a harumph sound, then takes another long sip from her champagne glass, draining it.
After a few awkward moments of silence, my stomach growls impatiently.
I give Judy/Judith a nod and turn back towards the food but remain open to a conversation if she decides to address me again.
I survey the selection and start with a dollop of whipped feta into the middle of my plate, then get to work surrounding it with a piece of every bread, cracker, vegetable, and fruit that will fit.
Once my plate is at capacity, I pull out a stool from the counter side of the island and take turns alternating between bites of food and sips of my coffee.
Each flavor is better than the last, and I close my eyes after each bite, both to savor the taste and to block out Judy/Judith, who hasn’t stopped glaring in my direction.
Eventually, she tires of giving me the stink eye and turns her attention to the cookies baking in the oven.
The smell seeps out of the doors each time she opens them, which I enjoy at first, but I start to become concerned when she increases the frequency of checking on the cookies from every couple of minutes to every thirty seconds.
“I think the oven doors are supposed to stay closed while you are baking,” I say, while using an herb-dotted chunk of focaccia to scrape my plate clean, and then scan the spread, making a plan for my second round.
She shoots me a look over her shoulder while peering into both open ovens. “Thanks for the tip, Drew. Did your maid teach you that?”
I choke a bit on my last bite. “No. I learned that from baking. I don’t have a maid.”
She turns to face me and rolls her eyes dramatically. “Sorry, your housekeeper? I didn’t mean to be offensive. I know your generation has a problem with a lot of the words we boomers use.”
“I don’t have a housekeeper, either.”
She raises a single thin eyebrow at my response. “So, no servants of any kind?”
I snort at her word choice, which is arguably worse than the first two. “No. I work at a bookstore and live in a crappy apartment.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, and lets out an exaggerated breath while clutching her chest. “When I saw the way you were dressed, I thought you were one of them. You know, since rich kids these days like to dress ratty while traveling to try and blend in. I thought I was the only working-class woman here.”
“Did someone here call you that?” I ask, incredulous at her use of air quotes around the words.
“Not exactly, but close enough.” She closes both double oven doors with a bit more force than necessary. “The point is, we need to stick together this weekend, Drew.”
I reel at the whiplash of her going from giving me the evil eye just minutes ago to now saying that we are on the same team.
“I got singled out and put on kitchen duty the second I walked in, even though my money cleared the bank just like the other women’s did. Whatever you do, don’t let Delaney—”
“Ah, there you are, Drew,” Delaney interrupts, floating into the kitchen. “Did you get enough to eat?”
“Umm . . .” I say as I stare longingly at the display.
“Don’t worry, the snacks aren’t going anywhere, and the winery will be serving food pairings at our tasting in an hour. Come with me so that you can meet the rest of the guests and get freshened up before it’s time to go.”
The idea of taking a shower to clear what’s left of the brain fog makes the choice an easy one, and I head towards the sink to drop off my plate.
Delaney stops me and points towards a near-invisible handle built into the cabinet next to it. “The dishwasher is just there.”
Judy/Judith catches my eye from behind Delaney and shakes her head back and forth furiously. I ignore her warning and place my plate into the dishwasher next to the others.
“I see that you’ve met Judy,” Delaney says with a tight smile as she turns around and catches the end of her silent warning to me.
“It’s Judith,” she says, putting a sharp emphasis on the th.
“Right, Judith,” Delaney repeats, then turns back to speak to me directly. “Come with me, Drew.”
I grab what remains of my coffee, not wanting to waste a single drop, and follow Delaney out of the kitchen.
“I guess I’ll just stay here then,” Judith calls out sourly after us.
Delaney takes a steadying breath before turning back. “Do you want to come with us, Judith?”
“Do I want to come with you to be part of the retreat that I paid for? Hmm. Let me think about that one for a second . . .”
Delaney pinches the bridge of her nose. “I am sorry, again, that I asked you to keep an eye on the cookies while I answered the door. Now, will you please come with us to the living room? I can set a timer to take the cookies out myself.”
My eyes widen as the truth of Delaney’s slight towards Judith comes to light.
“You two go ahead,” Judith says, looking distrustfully between the two of us. “I’ll come out when this batch is finished.”
“Thanks. We’ll be in the living room.”
Judith’s tone makes me uneasy, but Delaney is clearly relieved as she turns to lead me out of the kitchen.
I take one last look back at Judith, who shoots me a smile that can only be described as sinister.
I open my mouth to warn Delaney, but she is already a good distance ahead of me, having practically run out of the kitchen.
I take it as a sign that the other women are more pleasant than the one we just left and hurry to catch up.