Page 5 of The Alibi Club

Huh. Not as bad as she thought.

Rip squinted at their mother and said, “The same Barry Bonavico accused of insider trading in New Jersey?”

Elaine threw her head back and with a haughty dose of indignation said, “Good God, that was years ago.”

“Pretty sure I read something about it last week on—”

Elaine interjected, “Ripley, please hold your tongue. He is rehabilitated. Just like Michael Milken. One decade he’s incarcerated for securities fraud, this decade he’s a major philanthropist and beloved professor at USC.”

“Who says crime doesn’t pay?” Rip muttered under his breath.

Jamie was concerned, but not because she was getting married. “Seems fast.”

“Marriage suits me, Jamie. Not that you have any idea.”

Burn.

“Which brings me to why I’m here.” Elaine took a sip of champagne and stood ramrod straight. “I want you both at the wedding.”

“We’ve been at the last two, what makes you think we’d miss this one?” Rip delivered this line without a hint of sarcasm. Jamie marveled at him.

“We’re getting married at the Montage Hotel in Kapalua Bay in two months.” One of Elaine’s eyebrows rose with an air of importance, a nostril flared. She dropped the hotel’s name as if her children should both understand its preeminence. No doubt if Jamie googled Montage Hotel, she’d find it a seven-star resort with unmatched oceanfront views, multiple swimming pools overlooking a virgin beach, and a James Beard Award–winning chef serving up delights like sea urchin pasta and beluga caviar tacos.

“Congrats?” Rip offered uncertainly.

Eyes narrowing, Elaine Cromwell Frisco set down her flute and in a flat, deadly serious tone said, “I am demanding that you bring significant others to my wedding. By significant, I mean it must be a proper relationship or on the way to becoming one. I will not tolerate some henna-tattooed interloper or some floozie from whatever dive bar you frequented that week, Rip. The days of your twenties are long gone, especially if I’m judging by your hair.” She pointed at Jamie’s gray streaks.

Jamie instinctively touched her bun, and retorted, “Why do we need dates?”

Her mother squinted at Jamie. “I’m assuming you’re bringing that running shoe magnate you’re dating. Chad, is it?”

Jamie did not correct the running shoe magnate job title to what it really was, a retail clerk at Skechers in Manhattan Beach, nothing more than a casual affair, but her mother didn’t know that.

“It’s Chaz, actually.”

“Can’t we just call him Chad during the wedding?” her mother stiffly pleaded.

“No, we can’t.”

“It’s a small favor. I don’t know why you’re so stubborn—”

“Mom,” Jamie interrupted, “we can’t call him Chad at the wedding because Chaz and I broke up.” This truth came out hard and fast, like a bluster; to draw it out only left room for her mother to attack midsentence. She quickly motioned for Rip to pour her some more champagne. Truth was never a good tactic with her mother. It made her unpredictable.

Her mother sat there, stunned for a moment, as if she’d been slapped in the face. “What happened?” She said the words slowly, so slowly they almost sounded like a gun being loaded. A quizzical look remained on her face. “At my birthday brunch, you and Chad were canoodling and that was only last month.”

Jamie cleared her throat and willed herself to avoid rolling her eyes. “It’s Chaz,” she repeated, “Chaz, Mother, and yes, he was doing me a favor. We’ve been broken up for a while. I didn’t tell you because I know how you get.”

Mouth agape, Elaine asked, “You were fake canoodling?”

Jamie blushed but nodded. She’d didn’t ask much of Chaz, like proper dinner dates or weekends away, for fear that his skittishness toward monogamy would make him run like a spooked horse toward an open gate, but he had done this one solid favor for her because he, too, had met Elaine Cromwell Frisco. He had shown up and canoodled out of pity. And fear.

“I see.” She ran her tongue along her teeth and straightened up again. “Well, I thought I would only have to worry about Rip. But it seems you’re both in the same boat now that Chad is no longer around.”

Rip cocked his head and said, “What boat is that?”

Elaine Cromwell Frisco’s shrewd eyes darted back and forth between her offspring. Eyes absorbing her mother’s expression, Jamie was briefly reminded of a documentary she once watched where she learned a species of green tree frog in the Amazon actually eat their young. She shivered.

“I have concluded that the only way you two will get married is if I force it. I know that your father and I did not have the healthiest relationship when you were growing up, and I fear that it might have set in some sort of romantic rot that Barry might sniff out. He’s thinking of running for office, and we can’t afford any scandal let alone the press questioning why my dysfunctional middle-aged children aren’t married.”