I know, it’s not in keeping with my, well, status, but I find being amongst the people, the working people, is very healthy for me. It’s why a good game of Yahtzee or cards with dear Miller the other week at the hotel was so fulfilling. You share a pitcher of, well, something, you play a few hands, you have a simply decadent afternoon collecting money from one another and watching the world go by. What could be better than that?
What could be better than that is the return of the book club. My heart is warm!
“Did we decide on a book?” I asked Cassie when I arrived to set up.
“Madam, I have no idea. I just supply the beverages!”
“And food!” I had to remind her. We weren’t just about drinking, after all. No, after that immaculate spread she laid out for Mick’s gala on the yacht, I have come to expect more of our hostess – and I’ve told her so. Amp up her game and I can make this twice a week, if she’s willing to put in the time.
So far, it seemed she was!
Today’s Menu:
- Prosciutto and Pear Crostini … toasted bread slices topped with creamy ricotta, thinly sliced prosciutto, and ripe pear.
- Mini Grilled Cheese Sandwiches … gooey melted cheese between buttery slices of bread, cut into bite-sized portions.
- Spinach Artichoke Rolls … flaky pastry rolls filled with a creamy spinach and artichoke mixture.
- Caprese Skewers … gotta be something healthy! Cherry tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil leaves drizzled with balsamic glaze.
She’d presented some cocktail options as well but, you know, we’re simple girls at the end of the day, and we needed to stay sober long enough to get to the tree-lighting this evening. Wine will do just fine.
I know what people think, that I’ve lost my mind, that to troll about in a place like the Riverside, a bar for cops and firefighters and … uggh, reporters … well, that is beneath the likes of a McMurtry in this town.
Well, I say no! If my dear daughter has taught me anything it’s that we should see nothing as being beneath us, which is why I stooped to invite the lowest of the low, the least among us, the person I most loathe in this town to join us on this day: the realtor.
Shirley Scott knew everyone. Not only that, but she knew everyone – knew their business, knew their background, knew their financial status, for it was she who provided the entry point into our little hamlet. From what I hear, it only takes a glass or two of wine before she starts spilling her soul.
I know she sold Carson that house on the river, and I know there was a bidding war start to finish. I’ve been hearing some things … and I want to hear from her.
**
“Ladies … ladies …”
I could not seem to get their attention. Captivated by pear and proscietto, I found myself waving my hands erratically just to prompt silence.
“Now, I know we weren’t prepared enough to get you all the book on time – and, please be advised, we will supply them going foward – I thought it was very important for us to meet, mingle, and mix a bit as we head into the holiday season. And, after all, who has time to read at this time of year, am I right?”
The 12 of them raised their glasses in unison. Shirley Scott was off to the right, nodding and smiling. She probably never thought she’d ever be in this position, in front of me and Middle Valley’s most well-heeled neighbors.
She must be wondering why.
Gunnar Olafsson