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He laughs. “By the way, we need a safe word.”
“WHAT?” I splutter—suddenly thinking of all the things we could do that might require one. “I mean… Huh? Why?”
But Charlie just looks casual. “To avoid any more Aunt Myra situations. If I need rescuing—or you, too—we just say the code word, and get the hell out.”
“Oh.” I recover. Just about. “What do you want it to be?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. ‘Help’ might be a little too obvious.”
“Just a little,” I grin. “OK, how about… Papaya?” I ask, saying the first thing that comes into my head.
“Papaya?” he repeats.
“It’s not exactly a word we’ll use by accident in everyday conversation.”
He chuckles. “OK then, papaya it is.” Before I can say anything else, an older couple approaches. They’re gorgeous, with gray coifs and matching black formalwear.
Showtime. I’ve been able to think through my small talk strategy, and at least I feel more solid than I did in Central Park.Okay, Grace.
After introductions, Mr. Conrad Whitlock leans in to talk shop with Charlie. That leaves me with Mrs. Gloria Whitlock.
“I always love an evening at the Met,” she says politely. Her necklace has a jewel in the center—an emerald the size of a nickel. I try not to stare. “Don’t you?”
“It’s my first time,” I admit, feeling a bit embarrassed. But I certainly didn’t like when Charlie tried to make me sound like someone I’m not—why would I do the same? “Do you have any favorites in the collection?”
Instead of looking down at me for being uncultured, Gloria Whitlock is overjoyed to talk about some of her favorite pieces. Her travels have taken her all over, seeing the world one painting at a time. By the time Conrad sweeps her off to the next round of mingling, I’m sorry to see her go.
“Ask Charlie for my number next time you’re abroad,” she calls. “I’ll send you my must-sees. In any country!”
I can feel Charlie glancing down at me. “So, that went well.”
It continues to go well. My wealth of city knowledge from my assistant work helps. Send cashmere to Cline Cleaners on Fifth, I tell one guy, then direct his wife to a florist contact who has early-season ranunculus. But most of the time, I just ask questions. It’s my sure-fire way to deal with awkward social situations, and I’m a curious person, so it’s no stretch for my effort.
“Papaya,” Charlie whispers in my ear, urgent. I press my hand over my mouth, trying to trap the emerging giggle. The word sounds as ridiculous as I hoped. “Green dress. Code Papaya.”
She’s gorgeous, of course. Taller than me, stately, with swept-back hair. And headed this way, her eyes fixed on Charlie. I pull my shoulders back.
“On it,” I tell him, heels click-clacking as I move for the interception.
I stop short as if I’ve just noticed her. My strategy is the same it’s been all night: Just be honest. “Excuse me. May I ask where you found those gorgeous earrings?”
She pauses, touching the small gold knots. “Oh, um. My grandmother, actually. They were hers.”
“Understated but beautiful,” I say, giving her an earnest smile. “I love heirloom pieces! They’re so much more interesting than chasing trends.”
At this point, I’ve given Charlie enough time to hurry off to another location.
“Thanks…” She hesitates, as if there might be a catch.
“Of course. Have a good night.” I’m ready to be on my way, but she touches my arm.
“Wait. I saw you standing with Charlie Fox.” She leans toward me with a severe look on her pretty face. “And just girl-to-girl? He’s not the type of guy who settles down. Like, at all.”
“I’ve heard that,” I say, sympathetically. “I’m not making plans, though. He’s like summer weddings, right? Fun and hot, but you’re over it by fall.”
“Ha.” She blinks her perfectly lined eyes. “Well, good. It’s time he had a taste of his own medicine.”
I smile, waggling my fingers in a wave. “Have a good night!”
