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1
CELIA
“Cecedear, how is that turkey coming on?Pleasedon’t forget to baste it—nobodylikes a dry turkey!Anddon’t forget to glaze the ham.”
CeliaAlvarezcounted silently to ten and fixed a smile on her face before turning to look at herMother-in-Law-to-be.
“Theturkey is doing just fine,MotherFrances,” she said brightly. “Butyou can check it yourself if you’d like to be sure.Oryou could peel the potatoes whileIcheck it instead.Ormake the cranberry sauce.Orstart on the piecrust or the green bean casserole.Or—”
“Oh, no-no—I’msure you’ve got everything in hand,Cece.Iwouldn’t want to interrupt your flow,” herMother-in-Law-to-be said, waving a hand to dismissCelia’sindirect plea for help.
Celiagritted her teeth.Itwas herMother-in-Law-to-be—“MotherFrances” as she had askedCeliacall her—that had insisted on this enormousThanksgivingspread in the first place.Shewanted to have the entire family over to talk about the wedding, which was happening in just over a month onChristmasEve.Butthough there were no less than twenty-five people talking and laughing and mingling in the large mansion onBayshoreBoulevard—which was her fiancé,Peter’scurrent main residence—not a single one of them had offered to help in any way.
Itwas probably because they’d all been raised rich,Celiaspeculated to herself as she began on the gourmet cranberry relish thatMotherFrancesinsisted on since canned cranberry sauce wasn’t good enough.Petercame from the upper crust—high society and generational wealth that had been passed down since the days of theRobberBarons.Hisgreat-great-grandfather had owned a bunch of railroads or something like that, though now his family was more into aeronautics and shipping.
Suchpeople usually had a private chef and a hoard of servants to take care of them, butPeterhad just bought the mansion onBayshorea few months before and hadn’t gotten around to hiring staff for it yet.Soit was up toCeliato prepare this enormous meal all by herself.
Peoplewandered in from time to time to help themselves to more wine and cheese from the charcuterie board thatCeliahad set up on the kitchen island, but none of them said, “Hey, you look busy—is there anythingIcan do to help?”Mostlythey just ignored her—except forMotherFrances, of course—who came in periodically to order her around—or “supervise” as she called it—and tellCeliawhat she was doing wrong.
“Haveyou started the dough for the yeast rolls yet?” her futureMother-in-Lawasked, raising one critical and perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow.Shewas wearing an immaculate white silk lounging suit which made her look both elegant and unapproachable. “Ithas to rise at leasttwiceto be any good.That’swhat my chef,Armand, told me anyway, whenIgot the recipe from him.”
Dios!Celiawished thatArmandwas there now instead of back atMotherFrances’spenthouse inNewYork.Maybehe would actually be some help instead of just standing there criticizing without lifting a finger!
“It’son its second rise right now,” she told her futureMother-in-Law. “I’llwork with it some more whenIget a chance.Butright nowI’vereally got my hands full!”
“Oh—of course you do!Andwe all can’twaitto see what you produce!I’msure it will be sointeresting,”MotherFrancesexclaimed—which was her version of a compliment. “Bythe way dear—Igot you a job,” she added, smiling atCelia.
“Youdid?”Celiaswallowed her resentment and looked up hopefully.
“Yes!Mydear friendPenelopePenobscotof theBostonPenobscots—she just bought a second condo inPalmBeachand she needs someone to decorate for her.Soof courseIthought of you right away!”
Celia’sheart jumped in her chest.Thiskind of client was what her littleInteriorDesignfirm,ElegantInteriors, needed to really start taking off!
“Wellthank you,MotherFrances,” she said, giving her futureMother-in-Lawa genuine smile. “Ifyou’ll give me her email address,I’llsend her a contract and a list of prices.”
“Oh, no-no-no!”MotherFrancesput a fluttering hand to the pearls at her throat, as thoughCeliahad suggested some kind of sacrilege. “No,Penelopeis adearfriend—you can’tchargeher anything!”
“But…I’mrunning a business,”Celiaprotested. “Ican’t afford to just give away my work for free!”
“Givewhat away for free?”Peter, her fiancé asked, coming into the vast kitchen.Hewas wearing a casual outfit—anEgyptianlinen shirt with the cuffs rolled up, a pair of hand-tailored slacks, andItaliandriving loafers that cost more than the carCeliawas currently driving.
Hewas only about an inch taller than her but the loafers had built up heels that turned his 5’8 to 5’9 and 1/2 at least.Heplucked a grape from the fruit saladCeliahad begun assembling and popped it into his mouth before coming up to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Yourmother was kind enough to find me a client—”Celiabegan.
“Yes,PenelopePenobscot—you remember her, darling—don’t you?”MotherFrancescut in. “OftheBostonPenobscots?ButCecehere wants tochargeher to decorate her condo!”
Peterfrowned and raked a hand through his thinning blond hair.
“Cecedarling,really?Youshould know you can’t charge a friend—especially one ofMummy’sdearfriends.Whyalways this obsession with money?”
Dios!BecauseIdon’t have any!Celiawanted to shout.BecauseIdidn’t grow up obscenely wealthy like you and your snobby family!
Butshe held her tongue, as she always did.Shedidn’t want to drive a wedge betweenPeterand his mother—she’d already heard them fighting over the fact that he was “MarryingtheHelp” on at least one occasion.NowthatMotherFranceswasfinallybeginning to accept herandthe fact that she andPeterwere actually getting married,Celiadidn’t want to ruin it.
“Iknow you grew up in a, er,disadvantagedsituation,”Peterwent on, not waiting forCeliato answer. “Butyou won’t ever have to worry about money again once we get married.Canyou believe the wedding is just over a month from now?AnelegantChristmasEvewedding—it’s going to be justperfect!”
“I’mexcited about the wedding too,”Celiabegan. “Butthe point is—”
