Chapter 18 #2
“No. We are not, you know…of the same… How do you say? Stock?”
“Stock’s a good word,” I say. I wash a bowl and set it to dry on the rack. “Did you see her before she died?”
Silence. I turn around. “Are you all right, Dolores?”
“Yes, yes.” She shakes her head. “It was very sad.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I didn’t see her, no. I didn’t see her often, only when she came here, but she stopped coming, and then she was dead.”
I nod. Then I hand her a tiny slice of salmon on a crostini with a dollop of crème fra?che and a pinch of dill.
She shakes her hands in front of it. “Oh, no!”
“Why not? You don’t like salmon?”
“I never eat the salmon. It’s too good.”
“But you must try it, you made it.”
“No.” She shakes her head. Then in a low voice she says, “Not allowed.”
I’m about to ask what is not allowed when Meredith bursts into the room, tittering on her high heels.
“How are we going in here?” she asks, slurring her words.
“We’re about to serve,” I say.
“Right! Well?” She claps twice. “Let’s go!”
I tilt my head at her. Some people are like that, I guess.
They go through life secure in the knowledge that everyone else is there to serve them.
And I have to say, that makes Meredith a hard person to like.
In fact, there was a moment earlier, when Dolores disappeared to let the guests in, where I briefly considered pushing my finger deep inside my throat and vomiting into the salsa, but I didn’t, for Dolores’s sake.
And anyway, revenge is like honey: it doesn’t matter how long you leave it, it never goes bad.
We bring out the food. Barb is here, as is Eileen, but I never met any of the others. They glance at me oddly, with up and down looks, like they already know all about me and they are gauging whether their impressions were right.
As Dolores and I put the food down on the dining table—this is self-serve buffet style, so we don’t have to serve anyone—Eileen comes up to me.
“How wonderful of you to do this, Jodie. It’s so generous of you to give your time like this.” Her smile is broad, almost too broad, and I wonder for a moment if she is afraid of me.
There’s a collective clearing of throats. “We give our time to charity all the time,” Meredith says, smiling broadly.
“All the time,” Barb adds.
“It’s nothing,” I say. “And I didn’t do it alone. Dolores was a great help.”
“Exactly,” Meredith says.
“Well, good for you!” Eileen beams. She hooks her arm into mine. “I didn’t say anything,” she whispers. “To anyone. I didn’t want Roy to get upset.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“And look at you, how pretty you are. Now. What will you have to drink?”
I don’t know if I was supposed to attend the lunch proper after I’d cooked for everyone, but nobody was going to contradict Eileen.
So I got my plate and paper napkin—I did curl my lip at the paper napkin, I have to confess—and joined the others.
Then I realized that the point of this fundraising charity event was for everyone present to write a check, stick it in a bowl, brush their hands together, and get drunk.
I didn’t have a checkbook with me, so I drank instead.
“Did Deborah ever attend these lunches?” I ask.
I know full well Deborah did, since I have her appointment book.
The harpies exchange a look. Here she goes again. “Deborah was a wonderful asset to our little get-togethers, yes,” a woman in pastel colors says. She gives me a small smile. “I’m Carol, by the way.”
I shake her hand. “I was thinking of having some work done,” I say.
They all frown. “Work?”
“Yes. I believe Deborah attended the Laurel-Westlake Institute of Plastic Surgery.” I’ve had plenty of champagne but no food, so it comes out like the laurstlake intistue of plastic surgy.
They frown. “Never heard of it,” Meredith says.
“Why would she get work done?” Barb says. “She was so beautiful.”
“You didn’t see her at the end,” Meredith says quietly.
“I only go to Dr. Mamoud,” Barb says. “Do you know Dr. Mamoud?”
“I do not,” I say.
“I go there,” Carol says. “He’s the best.” Then she narrows her eyes at me. “What do you want to get done?”
“I think my eyes are too close together,” I say.
They all frown at me. “I don’t think so,” Carol says.
“I don’t see it,” Barb says.
“Maybe a little, yes,” Meredith says.
I drum my fingers on the armrest. “So that’s odd. Because Deborah went there the day before she died.”
“Really?” Meredith says.
“Would you have work done if you knew you were going to kill yourself the following day?” I ask. “It seems like a waste, doesn’t it?”
A collective gasp.
“You don’t mean that, Jodie,” Eileen says gently, her hand on my forearm.
“Although having said that,” I continue, “why wouldn’t you indulge in a little eye lift, a smattering of Botox, make sure you look your best in your casket?”
Everyone nods thoughtfully.
“Oh, but wait!” I slap my forehead. “She shot herself in the face, remember?”
Silence.
“Did you spend much time with Deborah before she died?” I ask. “I mean, I know she was one of your best friends…”
“Of course we did,” Barb says. “We adored her. We saw her all the time.”
“Except for the last week,” Meredith says. “She was locking herself inside the house by then.”
“Locking herself inside?”
“She would not go out. Roy was incredibly worried about her.” She turns to Barb. “Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
“For a week?” I say. “Is that all?”
“What do you mean?” Eileen says.
“Well, if you’re going through a deep depression like she was, surely you’d be affected for longer than a week. What was she like before?”
Meredith shrugs. “Normal, I guess.”
“So why would you all say she was so depressed? That she’d changed so much? That’s what you kept saying at Roy’s birthday party.”
“Because Roy said that,” Carol says. They all nod in agreement. “He was telling us that she was depressed and unwell.”
I take a moment to absorb all this. “So…you never saw her depressed.”
They all shake their heads.
“It’s just what Roy told you.”
They nod.
“And it only lasted a few days before she killed herself.”
“That’s right. What is your point, Jodie?” Meredith asks.
I ignore her question. “Did you know Vee?” I ask.
Barb and Meredith exchange a look. “Veronica? Of course. She’s a dear friend.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“I saw Veronica the other day,” Barb says.
“You did?” Meredith says. “I haven’t seen her for weeks! How is dear Vee?”
“Very well. She looks happy. She’s with David now. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I’d heard.”
“He’s wonderful. They’re a great match. Still…such a shame she and Roy didn’t—” They turn to me, suddenly aware I’m still here.
“Anyway,” Barb says. “Yes, we know her. Why?”
“Does she live around here?”
“No. She’s in Sherman Oaks.”
“Why do you want to know about Vee?” Meredith says.
“Did you know her and Roy had an affair while he was married to Deborah?”
They frown at me.
“Surely not.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You’re making this up!”
“You don’t think there’s anything strange about all this? Deborah disappearing for a week, no sign of depression before that, and then, bang, she’s dead?”
Meredith clicks her tongue. “Again, Jodie, what is your point?”
“ Did you see…” I lean forward. “Her arms?”
Carol frowns. “Her arms?”
“Why are you asking about Deborah all the time?” Meredith says with a sigh. “What’s wrong with you?”
“She’s jealous,” one of the women drolls.
“Clearly,” another one says, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not that,” I say.
“So what is it, Jodie?” Eileen asks.
I look at their confused faces. “She was one of your best friends,” I say.
“She lived next door, then she stopped coming out for a week, and you’re not the least bit curious?
Then she shoots herself with a rifle the day after possibly getting plastic surgery and you’re not asking how long her arms are? ”