Her Man Friday by Elizabeth Bevarly Page A

acknowledgment. "Have you met Mr. Freiberger? He works for your brother."
    Then, not wanting to exclude Schuyler's mother—well, Lily often wanted to exclude Miranda Kimball from things, but it would be frightfully impolite to do so—she turned her body to include the other woman in the introduction, as well. "Mrs. Kimball," she added, "this is Leonard Freiberger, an employee of Kimball Technologies. Mr. Freiberger, Mrs. Miranda Kimball and Miss Jane Kimball."
    "Mrs. Kimball," Mr. Freiberger stated formally, dipping his head first toward Schuyler's mother in greeting. "How do you do?"
    Miranda lifted a hand to press her fingertips lightly against her temple, then sighed with a melodrama that put her daughter's affectations to shame. Her attire, too, rivaled Janey's in the Golden Age of Hollywood department—a flowing, silver lame caftan with matching turban, and enormous rings on each of her fingers. Norma Desmond had nothing on Miranda Kimball in the wardrobe department, Lily thought. And not in the insanity department, either.
    "I'm afraid I'm not well at all, Mr. Freiberger," Miranda said in a much-put-upon voice. "But thankfully, Montgomery has come to help me with my problems. He's been very helpful."
    Somehow, Lily refrained from expelling a rude snort of disbelief. She couldn't stop what she knew would come next, however, and steeled herself for Mr. Freiberger's inescapable query, followed by Miranda's insipid reply.
    "Montgomery?" he asked.
    Miranda nodded. "Montgomery Clift."
    To his credit, Mr. Freiberger only arched his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Montgomery Clift is a guest at Ashling? Forgive me, Mrs. Kimball, but I was under the impression that Montgomery Clift was, uh… somewhat incapacitated these days."
    "Oh, no, Mr. Freiberger," Miranda assured him. "He's not incapacitated. He's dead."
    After only a slight hesitation on his part, God bless the man, Mr. Freiberger replied, "And you don't consider death an incapacitation?"
    Miranda tittered prettily. "Oh, no, certainly not. In fact, there's nothing more liberating. Why, in death, one can travel anywhere."
    "And I believe," Lily interjected quickly, before Miranda could start off on the whole astral plane thing, "you've already made the acquaintance of Mr. Kimball's sister, Jane."
    Beside Miranda, Janey sighed with much impatience. "Yes, yes, we've already met," she agreed shortly, carelessly sweeping a gloved hand down the front of her pale yellow chiffon dress.
    Chiffon
gown
, Lily corrected herself automatically, not dress. Janey never wore dresses—only gowns. Gowns and gloves and big ol' hats that could put a person's eye out if they weren't careful, like the vast, botanically enhanced one she was wearing at the moment. Honestly, Lily thought, she might as well plant shrubbery in that thing.
    "He's one-forty-two," Janey continued with a quick gesture toward Mr. Freiberger, using the same tone of voice she might use if stating that he were currently covered with slugs. "I have nothing to say to him. Nothing at all."
    Then she spun around again and made her way to the bar on the other side of the room. With a watery smile, Miranda followed her daughter, which was just as well, Lily thought, because they both became much more tolerable after a cocktail or two. Well, after
Lily
had a cocktail or two—or ten—anyway.
    She couldn't quite mask her surprise—nor her interest—when she turned back to Mr. Freiberger. "Are you really one-forty-two?" she asked before she could stop herself. "That's extraordinary."
    He eyed her in confusion for a moment. But before she could elaborate, he suddenly nodded his understanding. "Oh, the IQ thing," he said modestly. "I thought she was talking about my weight. Which is actually one-ninety-eight. It's all solid rock, though," he hastened to add, his voice reflecting his concern that she might find the number excessive where poundage, other than of the mental variety, was concerned.
    Solid rock, Lily reiterated to