“Happy birthday, Art,” she said, smelling his spicy perfume as he bent down to kiss her.
“What is that scent? It’s delicious,” said Candace. “Though kind of overpowering!”
“State secret,” he replied. “I don’t want you all smelling like me.”
“You don’t look anything like fifty,” said Angelica.
“Don’t mention the five, please, it hurts. You’re as old as you feel.”
“Or as old as the woman you feel,” said Angelica with a giggle. “That’s what my father always says.”
“Not in my case. Tod is nearer the six, but don’t tell him I said so.”
“Kate has really pushed the boat out on this one,” said Candace, gazing around the room.
“She loves me,” he said casually.
“Don’t we all?” It was impossible not to think the world of Art.
“You two are enough to turn a gay man straight. I’d better circulate, or I’ll get into trouble. There’s no such thing as a free dinner.”
“Isn’t he adorable?” Candace asked as he made his way through the throng.
“Adorable!”
“You don’t think . . . ?” She scrunched up her face as if trying to conjure an impossible mental picture.
“What?”
“That he’s the mystery man?”
“You mean, Art and Kate?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not. He’s devoted to Tod, and he’s gay. Anyway, she’s convinced herself that Pete’s the father.”
“Well, she might be right. But we’ll know when he’s born and doesn’t look anything like Pete!”
“I wager he looks nothing like Art.”
“Come on, let’s take a look around. He’s sure to be in here somewhere.”
They worked their way through the room. Candace sized up every man with eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. Angelica watched the clock. Minutes passed slowly, and sometimes, when she looked, they seemed not to pass at all. She felt dizzy with nerves, unable to concentrate on what anyone said. She forgot people’s names and blundered into more than the odd faux pas. Raising her glass cheerfully, she blamed the champagne. Due to her somewhat daffy charm, she got away with it.
Dinner was buffet style, and Angelica helped herself to a small portion of salad, which she picked at on the sofa with Candace and Letizia, too anxious to eat. Kate flitted about in a short cashmere dress that barely covered her bottom. Her belly was still as flat as a biscuit, which prompted the girls to question whether she really was pregnant.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s making up the whole thing,” said Candace. “Then we’ll all be swept into the drama of the miscarriage.”
“She’s just skinny. I showed even before I was pregnant,” said Angelica.
“She should be showing by now, especially as it’s her third child. But that stomach is as tight as a trampoline.” Candace watched her take Art’s cigarette and sneak a quick drag. “Would she be smoking if she was pregnant?”
“I don’t think she’s making it up. She was in a real state, remember? And we all saw the lines go blue on the tests,” said Letizia.
“True, you can’t manufacture that,” Angelica agreed.
“She’s not holding back on the alcohol, either. Actually, I’d go further and say I think she’s tipsy.”
“If the child is like his mother, he’ll have the constitution of an Irish navvy.” Angelica laughed.
“She’s a mystery. Where’s Pete, by the way?”
“Probably with Olivier—they both hate this sort of party.”
“He’s in Russia,” Letizia interjected. “But you’re right: he hates karaoke, and he’s not fond of Art, though I can’t think why. Everyone loves Art.”
“Look, Art’s a ladies’ man,” said Candace. “Heterosexual men don’t get him. He makes them feel nervous because he’s such a beautiful creature. It’s a crying shame for women that the best-looking men are gay.” Not all, Angelica thought, and glanced at her watch.
It wasn’t long before the karaoke started. William left with a few other husbands who found the sound of tuneless shrieking too much to bear. Kate kicked off with “It’s a Heartache,” followed by Scarlet and Tod singing a harmonious rendition of “I Got You Babe.” Nothing could persuade Angelica to take to the floor, even fortified with champagne and the anticipation of disappearing into the night to meet Jack. She sat back on the sofa and laughed at the sight of her friends blithely making fools of themselves.