Punchline by Jacqueline Diamond Page B

their calls.
    Belle’s neighbor, Moira, had encountered car trouble and was stuck at a friend’s house twenty miles away, where she had no choice but to stay for dinner.
    Anita Rios had contracted food poisoning from a new dish she’d whipped up that morning. She would be spending the day in bed.
    Elva was “on a roll” in her studio and couldn’t tear herself away from creating the world’s next masterpiece.
    Janie had decided it was courting disaster to attend the same meal as Greg, and bowed out. Greg had decided the same thing.
    Unfortunately, Darryl and Belle didn’t discover that neither of the pair was coming until they were both off the phone. Darryl didn’t have Greg’s home number with him, and at Janie’s house a machine answered.
    “Who does that leave?” Belle asked as they stood alone in the living room. “Anybody?”
    “Just Mindy,” Darryl said.
    Belle couldn’t place the name. “Who’s Mindy?”
    “Miss March,” he said, folding away his flip phone.
    “You invited your girlfriend?” she asked. “I can’t believe it.”
    His jaw tightened. “She’s not my girlfriend. She keeps hanging around the office and she mentioned she didn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving.”
    Only a man would take such a hint at face value. “She was wangling for an invitation all right, but not to my house! She wanted to spend the holiday with you.”
    He started to laugh. “I guess you’re right. Gee, this should be some party.”
    “I don’t believe it.” Belle sank onto the couch. “Just the three of us for Thanksgiving dinner. You, me and a skinny model who’s got the hots for you. What fun!’’
    The doorbell rang.
    “The turkey should be nearly done.” Darryl fled toward the kitchen. “I’ll check.”
    “Coward!” she yelled.
    The woman who stood on the tiny porch sported a mass of dark hair and a formfitting pink pantsuit. “Hi!” she said, handing over the biggest potted chrysanthemum Belle had ever seen. “You must be Darryl’s sister.”
    “He doesn’t have a sister.” She knew she shouldn’t yield to temptation, but she couldn’t help adding, “I’m just the mother of his child.”
    Mindy’s eyes grew to the size of compact discs and her bright pink lips began to tremble. Then she smiled. “Oh! What a joker! You’re Belle Martens, aren’t you? You edit that wonderful magazine! But…is this your condo?”
    The awe in her voice softened Belle’s resentment. It wasn’t Mindy’s fault that Darryl had invited her. “Yes. We’re having dinner for our friends. Smoking the peace pipe, so to speak.”
    The model made no motion to enter. “I don’t smoke.”
    “Neither do we, not literally,” Belle said.
    “Who else is coming?” The woman regarded her dubiously. It struck Belle that Mindy, like everyone else, must know about the night she and Darryl might or might not have spent together. The last thing an ambitious model wanted was to risk antagonizing either of them.
    She felt a wave of sympathy. “Actually, nobody. It’s been a comedy of errors. But—”
    “I only dropped by to say I couldn’t come, either.” Mindy began edging away. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Your flowers!” Belle held them out.
    “Please accept them as a thank-you gift. For inviting me!” The model scuttled backward in a series of nervous hops.
    “We’ve got plenty of food,” Belle said. “Really.”
    “My family came to town unexpectedly. But thank you both so much!” Mindy pivoted on her high heels and fled down the walkway.
    Belle wished the woman weren’t in such a hurry. They really did have a lot of food. And she hoped Mindy really did have another invitation so she wouldn’t go hungry on Thanksgiving, until she remembered that models never ate, anyway.
    “Was that her?” Darryl appeared from the kitchen, holding a meat thermometer.
    “She couldn’t stay,” Belle said. “Actually, when she saw me, she ran out of here like the hounds of hell were after