for one, would not want to be staring into his face, now purple with rage. But Graham did not seem the least bit perturbed.
“Try and stop me,” he said airily.
“Believe me, I will. No matter what it takes.”
“Lots of luck. But I doubt anything will stop Emily from marrying me,” Graham said, buffing his new cuff links on the arm of his blazer. “She’s in love, don’t you know? Oh, and by the way, once we tie the knot, Kyle, you won’t ever get your hands on her money again. So you’d better kiss your Town & Country lifestyle good-bye.
“And you, Ms. Frostbite,” he said, nodding to Ms. Nesbitt, “you’d better start checking the want ads. I have a feeling Emily won’t be needing your services anymore.”
“That’s what you think, you gold-digging bastard,” Nesbitt hissed. The woman was thisclose to garroting him with her support hose.
But all further threats and counterthreats were stifled as Emily came out of the bathroom.
“Is everybody ready?” she asked.
For dinner? Not so much.
For thermonuclear war? You betcha.
How awkward was dinner? Let’s just say it made Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf look like an episode of The Waltons . The tension was so thick you could cut it with a steak knife, an implement I was once again denied due to my second-class citizenship.
But for a change I wasn’t thinking about food. (Not much, anyway. My scalloped potatoes were to die for.)
I had to tell Emily the truth about Graham and Cookie. But how? I couldn’t very well say, Please pass the salt, and by the way, your cheating bum of a fiancé already has another tootsie waiting in the wings . Somehow I’d have to think of a way to get her alone.
When dinner finally staggered to a close, Emily insisted we see the headlining act in the ship’s Grand Showroom, a magician called The Great Branzini.
“I just love magicians,” she exclaimed. “And this Branzini fellow is supposed to be the toast of Las Vegas.”
As much as I wanted to take a break from my dysfunctional dinner companions, I agreed to go, hoping I’d be able to wrench Emily away from Graham and tell her the truth about her intended. Who, incidentally, looked none too happy at the prospect of my company. The last thing Graham wanted was me hanging around. I knew too much. Way too much. And thanks to my eavesdropping, I was an earwitness to what some folks might consider a proposal of marriage.
Minutes later we were all trooping over to our seats in the Grand Showroom.
Kyle sat at the far end of our group, as far as possible from Graham; Maggie sat next to him, followed by Nesbitt, and then the lovebirds.
“You go first,” Robbie said, waving me ahead when the two of us were left standing in the aisle. Either he was being gallant or he, too, was unwilling to sit next to his aunt’s betrothed.
I plopped down in the hot seat next to Graham, Robbie on my other side. Graham barely acknowledged my existence, too busy whispering sweet nothings to Emily. The rest of us sat in stony silence as we waited for the curtain to go up.
I tried making conversation with Robbie, but he answered in monosyllabic grunts. Throughout dinner, he’d been distracted, looking at his aunt with worry in his eyes. And frankly, I couldn’t blame him. There was trouble in Pritchard City, no doubt about it.
Having given up on Robbie, my mind wandered to my nightly pit stop at the buffet. I was debating between chocolate chip cookies and brownies—brownies had a slight edge—when suddenly I heard a woman shrieking:
“You miserable sonofabitch!”
I turned to see Cookie storming down the aisle in one of her spangly show gowns.
She screeched to a halt at our row.
“I just heard the news,” she spat at Graham. “You’re marrying her? ”
She eyed Emily in disbelief.
“Yes, Cookie,” Graham replied, cool as a cucumber. If the opposite of nonplussed was plussed, he was plussed to the max. “Emily and I have decided to tie the knot.”
“But you
“Try and stop me,” he said airily.
“Believe me, I will. No matter what it takes.”
“Lots of luck. But I doubt anything will stop Emily from marrying me,” Graham said, buffing his new cuff links on the arm of his blazer. “She’s in love, don’t you know? Oh, and by the way, once we tie the knot, Kyle, you won’t ever get your hands on her money again. So you’d better kiss your Town & Country lifestyle good-bye.
“And you, Ms. Frostbite,” he said, nodding to Ms. Nesbitt, “you’d better start checking the want ads. I have a feeling Emily won’t be needing your services anymore.”
“That’s what you think, you gold-digging bastard,” Nesbitt hissed. The woman was thisclose to garroting him with her support hose.
But all further threats and counterthreats were stifled as Emily came out of the bathroom.
“Is everybody ready?” she asked.
For dinner? Not so much.
For thermonuclear war? You betcha.
How awkward was dinner? Let’s just say it made Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf look like an episode of The Waltons . The tension was so thick you could cut it with a steak knife, an implement I was once again denied due to my second-class citizenship.
But for a change I wasn’t thinking about food. (Not much, anyway. My scalloped potatoes were to die for.)
I had to tell Emily the truth about Graham and Cookie. But how? I couldn’t very well say, Please pass the salt, and by the way, your cheating bum of a fiancé already has another tootsie waiting in the wings . Somehow I’d have to think of a way to get her alone.
When dinner finally staggered to a close, Emily insisted we see the headlining act in the ship’s Grand Showroom, a magician called The Great Branzini.
“I just love magicians,” she exclaimed. “And this Branzini fellow is supposed to be the toast of Las Vegas.”
As much as I wanted to take a break from my dysfunctional dinner companions, I agreed to go, hoping I’d be able to wrench Emily away from Graham and tell her the truth about her intended. Who, incidentally, looked none too happy at the prospect of my company. The last thing Graham wanted was me hanging around. I knew too much. Way too much. And thanks to my eavesdropping, I was an earwitness to what some folks might consider a proposal of marriage.
Minutes later we were all trooping over to our seats in the Grand Showroom.
Kyle sat at the far end of our group, as far as possible from Graham; Maggie sat next to him, followed by Nesbitt, and then the lovebirds.
“You go first,” Robbie said, waving me ahead when the two of us were left standing in the aisle. Either he was being gallant or he, too, was unwilling to sit next to his aunt’s betrothed.
I plopped down in the hot seat next to Graham, Robbie on my other side. Graham barely acknowledged my existence, too busy whispering sweet nothings to Emily. The rest of us sat in stony silence as we waited for the curtain to go up.
I tried making conversation with Robbie, but he answered in monosyllabic grunts. Throughout dinner, he’d been distracted, looking at his aunt with worry in his eyes. And frankly, I couldn’t blame him. There was trouble in Pritchard City, no doubt about it.
Having given up on Robbie, my mind wandered to my nightly pit stop at the buffet. I was debating between chocolate chip cookies and brownies—brownies had a slight edge—when suddenly I heard a woman shrieking:
“You miserable sonofabitch!”
I turned to see Cookie storming down the aisle in one of her spangly show gowns.
She screeched to a halt at our row.
“I just heard the news,” she spat at Graham. “You’re marrying her? ”
She eyed Emily in disbelief.
“Yes, Cookie,” Graham replied, cool as a cucumber. If the opposite of nonplussed was plussed, he was plussed to the max. “Emily and I have decided to tie the knot.”
“But you
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