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“Or weakens you.” I shrug. “Depends on the ‘what’ factor, really.”
She stares at me wide eyed, the simple little thing. “You do have a point there.”
“Do you think you have what it takes to succeed in New York?” I ask.
“Would I be there otherwise?” And there’s that smile again. The one crammed with all the hope and goodness in the world.
“People come to New York for many reasons. Most of them aren’t kosher. How’d you meet Paul?”
With each question, it feels like I’m undressing her. Publicly. Deliberately. And like all naked people in public settings, she is starting to squirm, shifting in her chair now.
“Well.” She clears her throat. “I—”
“Waited on his table at Delmonico’s?” I take a wild guess. Could be Le Bernardin too. She is a solid eight. Maybe even a nine, in the right dress.
“Actually, I was a fairy at his niece’s fourth birthday party.” She purses her lips into a thin line, frowning.
“A what?” I would splutter my wine if she was worth it. “My apologies, I didn’t catch that.”
I did, but this is too good not to be repeated. Timeless American entertainment. The textbook version of Poor Girl Meets Moron Rich Guy.
Paul is deep in conversation with Pablo and Grace, oblivious to the fact I’m grilling his wife like she’s a prime steak.
Winnifred straightens her spine and looks me in the eye in an attempt to show she isn’t scared of me. “I was a fairy character at his niece’s birthday party. I glitter-painted his face. He couldn’t stop laughing, and was totally on board, even when I drew Tinkerbell on his cheek. I realized he’d make good father material. So I gave him my number.”
I bet the fact he probably showed up to that party in a vintage car that’s worth more than her family’s home didn’t hurt his chances either.
“No one else stood a chance after that.” Paul, withdrawing himself from Pablo and Grace’s conversation, nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck, giving it an open-mouthed kiss. “She’s mine for life now, aren’t you, baby doll?”
I bet he thinks this sounded romantic and not like a commercial for a mail-order bride.
“Do I detect a twang, Winnifred?” I ask innocently.
Grace shoots me a stop-it-this-minute look. I’ve always had the habit of playing with my food; only now, the person I’m chewing is her boss’s brain-dead wife.
“I’m from Tennessee.” Winnie swallows visibly again. “Just outside Nashville. A town called Mulberry Creek.”
“Home of the best apple pie in all fifty states?” I smirk into my wineglass.
“Actually, we’re more known for our biscuits. Oh! And inbred tendencies, of course.” She gives me a saccharine smile.
So she does fight back. Didn’t see this one coming.
“C’mon, baby doll. No need to be sarcastic.” Paul flicks her chin.
If he calls her baby doll one more time, I am going to break my wineglass and stab his neck with a shard.
“What made you move to New York?” Don’t ask me why I keep picking on this woman, because I have no fucking clue. Boredom? Sociopathic tendencies? Your guess is as good as mine.
She looks me dead in the eye and says, “Why, all the big, blinding lights, of course. Sex and the City too. I thought, gee-oh-my, living there must be just like in them glitzy films. Oh, and don’t forget that Alicia Keys song. Huge factor. Huge.”
Grace stomps on my foot under the table, hard enough to break a bone. Her knee smashes against the surface, making utensils dance in place. Paul jumps back a little, surprised. Too late. I’m too far gone to care. Winnifred Ashcroft is the only thing remotely entertaining about this event, and feasting on her self-esteem is tastier than eating any other dish served here tonight.
“Winnie’s a bit sensitive about being an out-of-towner.” Paul pats his wife’s head like she’s an adorable Chihuahua.
“It is like Sex and the City, though, isn’t it?” I ask her pleasantly, as Grace’s heel digs deeper into my loafer in warning, smashing my toes to dust. “You found your Mr. Big.”
“Paul’s more of a Mr. Medium, if the glimpse in the urinal was any indication,” Chip jokes. Everyone laughs. Everyone but Winnie, who stares at me, wondering what she did to deserve this.
You asked me to care. Back on the balcony. Now you’ll see just how careless I am with people’s feelings.
“Okay, Arsène, time to change the topic.” Grace smiles apologetically, yanking at my sleeve. “People are here to have fun, not get interrogated.”
I know Grace is not doing this out of the goodness of her heart. She is a savvy woman who wants to get ahead. Right now I’m pissing off her boss and his baby doll.
“Actually, I believe it’s my turn to ask the questions.” Winnie tips her chin up.
I sit back, watching her with open pleasure. She’s like that little ladybug spinning on its axis. Adorably desperate. Too bad I’m dead set on Grace, or I’d sample her for a few months. Paul wouldn’t even be an obstacle in my way. These type of women go for the highest bidder, and I have the deeper pocket.
