Well Read, Then Dead(99)
“Wear them around the house for an hour every day for a week before the dance; otherwise you could wind up like Sassy in our freshman year of high school, walking home along the streets of Brooklyn in an elegant emerald green satin dress and Laurence D’Ambrio’s sweaty socks.”
Bridgy and I exchanged giggly looks at the memory. After the first few dances I was in such pain I kicked off my new spike heels and left them under my chair. Hours later I could barely get them on my feet, and when I finally did, I couldn’t stand, much less walk.
“You wore some man’s socks? Did you start a trend back in the day? Like the mismatched socks we wear?” Holly was in awe of my daring fashion statement.
“Laurence was a boy a grade ahead of us. He did offer his shoes, but they were so big, I kept tripping. The socks were a compromise.”
“And Sassy gave him a sweet ole smooch as thanks.” Bridgy was having too much fun telling the story.
Holly nearly choked on her float. “You kissed a boy for lending you his socks? The ones he wore all night? That’s beyond gross.”
It was a side splitter all the way around. When we finally stopped laughing and wiping our eyes, I felt better than I had in days.
Bridgy took Holly’s empty glass to the kitchen where she, hopefully with Ophie’s help, was finishing our closing ritual. I walked Holly to the door and locked it behind her. I’d just turned away when she banged on the glass, waving a piece of paper.
“This was on the ship’s bell. Has your name on it.”
I took the paper and stuffed it in my pocket so I could relock the door. Just as I flipped the lock, I heard a crash in the kitchen. Remembering Miguel, I ran in, but this time nothing was broken but a tray full of china. I raised my eyes to heaven in a silent prayer of thanks.
Ophie was of the opinion this little “oopsy” was a sign that it was high time we replenished our stock of dishes and cups. “Brighten the place. No more white. Mixed china, lots of color. That’s the ticket. Where is the restaurant supply house you use?”
“On the mainland.” I was too worn-out to even consider crossing the bridge this afternoon. Maybe another day.
Even if Ophie didn’t pick up that I was dead tired, Bridgy did. She came up with a brilliant suggestion guaranteed to give me a few hours of peace.
“Let’s lock up here, and Sassy, if you drop us at my car, you can hang in the turret while Ophie and I go beg for sample pieces at Royal Restaurant Supply. Who has a better sense of tableware design than my aunt Ophie, Queen of Eclectic Decor?”
Well, that was true. I’d been to Ophie’s house. She had a magical way of taking accessories that should never be in the same house, never mind in the same room, and placing them together with majestic flair. The result was always stunning.
While Ophie preened, Bridgy gave me a broad wink.
When we got out of the Heap-a-Jeep, Ophie was holding the shopping bags that she carted back and forth with her each day. I shoved my keys in my pocket and offered to take them up to the turret. I had no idea what Ophie carried around, but she claimed she was a better cook with her bits and pieces nearby. I slung my purse over my shoulder, gathered Ophie’s bags and rode the elevator to the top floor.
Standing in front of the apartment door I realized that my keys, which were usually in my hand, were buried. Purse? No. Pocket? There they were. When I pulled out the keys, they dragged along a folded piece of paper, which promptly fell on the floor. I opened the door, kicked the paper through the doorway and stepped inside. I hung my purse on the top hook of the umbrella stand and left Ophie’s baggage leaning beside it. Then I picked up the note while I still had the energy to bend.