Page 10 of Escape Girl
Foolishly, my stomach dropped. But Bobby didn’t move an inch. “We’ll catch up over dessert, Sel.” He glanced at me and gave her a meaningful eyebrow raise. “I’m grateful to have Emily’s time tonight. I need to get her opinion on a time-sensitive legal situation.”
Selma sat back down with a thump and sent a withering stare to the innocent catering staff. “What have you done?” I said under my breath to Bobby, who simply blinked his heavy lids. “Don’t give me the Bambi eyes. I was in the room an hour ago, and the table was arranged differently.”
He held up his hands. “Fine. I moved them. I’ll still do my part. I just couldn’t sit next to her during dinner tonight.”
His part? What did that mean? And, “Why not?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Two reasons. I know this is cruel, but I’ve sat next to Selma at five dinner parties this year, including one last week. She talkssoslowly. It wears me out. I know that’s an awful thing to say.”
Maybe, but I appreciated his honesty. “You know, she’s able to speak as quickly as she wants. Watch her speak to the caterers.” At that moment, the catering manager was bent over Selma to discuss the presentation of the first course, and we watched the normal, almost frantic, pace of their interchange. When the catering manager stood, she swiped a hand across her face.
“I did know. Most people don’t realize that though.” Bobby leaned closer, curiosity brightening his face. “What’s your guess on why she talks so slowly most of the time then?”
“I have two guesses,” I admitted. “One nice and one mean.”
“Tell me both,” he demanded.
“The nice one—she’s lonely when other people aren’t around.” I frowned sympathetically. “So when she has anaudience, it’s a technique to make people pay extra attention. Like how some people purposely talk softly so others lean in to hear.”
Bobby’s eyes crinkled. “I already know you hate this word, but that’s very sweet. Now tell me the mean one.”
“It’s a bit more mundane, I’m afraid.” I took the last swig of my champagne. “But the slow talking is actually Selma being considerate.”
Bobby looked fascinated as he took a roll from the breadbasket. “What do you mean?”
I grimaced and lowered my voice even more. “Selma’s clearly had quite a bit of work done on the bottom half of her face: lifts and fillers and collagen.” Overkill, in my opinion, but if that’s what made Selma feel beautiful, more power to her. Except: “Because of all that work, she can’t exactly control the shape or movement of her lips.” I wrinkled my nose. “If she talks too fast, she spits like a camel.”
Bobby burst into wild laughter, and every woman at the table looked over. I wanted to hide. Bobby didn’t seem to notice the curious gazes. He just kept beaming at me.
Time for a topic change. “What was the second reason that you couldn’t sit next to her?”
Bobby shifted in his seat and looked at his plate. “Because I had to sit next to you.”
Warmth flooded over me. I never had any idea what to wear to dinner parties, so I usually just opted for one of my work suits with a prettier top under the jacket and more jewelry. Sitting next to Bobby made me too warm for the jacket, so I started to shrug it off.
Wait.He hadn’t meant that comment in the way my body was taking it. Maybe the suit jacket should stay on for the legal consult. I cleared my throat. “Right. What was the legal situation you wanted to discuss?”
He shook his head at me in mock disappointment. “I made that up. I don’t need legal advice. I just…had to sit next to you.”
“Oh.” How in the world did one respond to that?
Luckily, the first course was served then. Crisp endive salads with apple slices, blue cheese crumbles, and a zingy vinaigrette. As the table dug in, I began to realize what Bobby meant when he’d said “I’ll still do my part.”
He was both the spark and the glue of the room.
If conversation lulled for more than a few seconds, Bobby would say something like: “I saw an article in theChroniclelast week about the quality of pinot noir that’s being grown this year. Nora, Yohan, you both have interest in pinot vineyards. What was your take on that?”
Or: “Dimitri, when we last spoke, you were obsessed with that cigar bar in the Mission. Has it held up?”
Or: “Margot, what’s the must-see show on Broadway this year? This group needs your expertise!”
It was incredible to watch. The conversation was lively, varied, and interesting. He included everyone. He even got my father telling a story I’d never heard before, about a trip to Monterey when he was a boy.
But the best part by far was that every time conversation took off among the table, he turned back to me. Our personal conversation wasn’t terribly deep; there were too many people right there. We talked about where he lived in the city (North Beach), what we’d done earlier in the day (job interview for me, errands for him) and favorite foods (everything for both of us). His condo was currently under renovation, and he made me triple-snort-laugh as he discussed the many snafus that occurred while being a guest at his buddies’ homes.
Despite the innocuous conversation topics, there was a particular quality of the way we stared at one another. Some sortof current running between us that we both felt. Something that saidlater.
When the staff began to remove dinner plates, I didn’t know whether to feel excited or disappointed. Selma was describing the elaborate dessert buffet the caterers had set up in the living room, so I knew I’d lose him when we stood up. But his body language! By this point, he was half turned away from the rest of the table, focusing only on me. It didn’t seem like dinner was going to be the end.
