* ritzy (adj.): luxurious or fashionable; being in a position of prominence or control; impressively or ostentatiously fancy or stylish
Yes, that!
Bless me, dear reader, for it has been six months since my last public appearance, since the fire that did nothing short of tear apart my soul, since life as I knew it took a dark and tragic turn … before the world lost young firefighter William McNamara on the grounds of my own No. 45 on the banks of our beloved Chickotee. (RIP. May he rest!)
When considering how I might orchestrate my return to society, I, of course, have relied heavily on my Mercury to shine a light on just where my tiny toes should go. She would tell you I begged her to come home from Lichtenstein in light of the turmoil and upheaval. That was the word she used with Miller when she invited him to the salon for some cards and cocktails recently, but I take exception with that characterization. I’d rather say I used the powers of motherly persuasion.
There’s no question I needed the support. I was, after all, at the goal line of life, just outside those final doors, on the edge of present and not. I remember blacking out as the fire personnel and trucks came up the drive, then waking in a hospital bed, the faces of my son, Max, and Bernie above me, speaking in hushed tones. (I’m not sure what kind of scoop Bernie thought he’d get by being at my side. He’s never gotten anything out of me over the years, much as he’s tried, but I digress.)
I must have had Mercury on my mind while I was under sedation because much later Max said I had some choice words – ones a lady doesn’t normally utter when she is of sound mind – for my dear daughter, wondering where she was and what her priorities were. Max had been on the golf course all day wooing investors to his latest invention – self-cooling pillows. (A very busy genius, my son! A go-getter! Just his mother.)
(It’s here that I must get something off my chest, dear ones: I’m not a fan of this Lindy. Mercury was always such a studious sort, loved the sciences, dated every nerd in her class. I’m as yet unsure as to what she sees in him and what possessed her to marry the man – eloped, you know, without the rest of us, breaking her father’s heart. There must be something I don’t see.)
In any event, back to me.
As I began to regain my footing, I took up the topic of my “re-emergence” into the world with Mercury. She, of course, put on her nerd hat and suggested we host a benefit for the young Mr. McNamara’s family at the hotel, since he lost his life fighting our fire.
A worthwhile notion, yes, but I questioned her: Who in the world would come to that? What would the guest list look like? We don’t move in the same worlds so I wouldn’t know the first person to invite!
No, a quiet check to the family, I told her, for the trouble would suffice. I need to make a statement, move people, regain my position!
And then Mayor Charlotte Granger called. The door-to-door fundraising for Mick Righteous’ memorial was not going well. Knowing my love for Middle Valley, she said, she thought I may have an idea or two.
I most certainly did, and I gave her my son-in-law’s email address. The rest is what brings us to the Riverside today – Cassie to my left, Charlotte to my right, and my drink right where I needed it: In my hand.
“We need luxury, sophistication, panache!” I turned to Charlotte. “No beverage for you? Maybe just a glass of wine?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’d love to but I’m on the clock.”
Now, I don’t know Charlotte well at all. I’ve never been good at friendships with younger women as accomplished and educated as she is, but that’s another story. I do like the way she thinks, though. Even Judge Paul found her to be a very sharp individual, and I believe everything he says.
“We won’t tell, will we Cassie?”
“No, ma’am, we won’t.”
“A toast, then! Cassie, get this hardworking woman a vodka tonic, would you? Put it on my tab.”
Charlotte held her hands up defensively. “Just a wine. I’ll just … wine is fine.”
I leaned in and gave her a wink while Cassie walked behind the bar to pour. “Atta girl. No harm. Now, I just wanted to thank you for calling and including me in this incredible effort to remember such a fabulous musician and artist. I … well, I’ll keep my voice down, but … you know that Cassie and Mick … well …”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, yes, I know … in fact, it surprised me you wanted to bring her in to cater.”
“Well, for all my faults – and, you know, there may be one or two …” I laughed the most self-depricating laugh I could muster and brushed her arm. “I do like to support the little guy … or, in this case, gal!”
Cassie returned with the wine and handed it to Charlotte.
“Now then,” I said. “A toast – to three independent business-minded women coming together for a tremendous cause!”
Cassie sipped her wine silently while Charlotte, I couldn’t help but notice, took a very generous gulp.
“So … I don’t know about each of you ladies, but I have been to my share of yacht parties in my day – some fabulous, some not so fabulous – and, in my opinion, the food is EVERYTHING! I mean, a boat is a boat is a boat is a boat. It’s the sensory experience that make guests feel warm and welcomed and appreciated. THAT’S what we should be going for here!”
Cassie offered a weary nod to my proclamation while Charlotte took another hearty sip of her wine.
“Okay … well, then, continuing on … I’ve devised a possible menu with the help of my concierge, Miller, who has worked for me at the hotel for three decades. I’d trust him with my favorite cat, I tell you! In terms of layout, he recommends several stations of food with wide seating areas, no formal dining arrangements … just mingle, mingle, mingle … you know, with utensils and plates throughout …”
Somehow I was not capturing their imaginations. Charlotte nodded absentmindledly, head down, looking at her phone, while Cassie seemed genuinely distracted every time she heard a sound from the kitchen.
What was wrong with these women? Didn’t they realize the publicity this would bring to Middle Valley? We’ll be on the map after this – and not just for murders and body parts!
I stood up, leaning forward with my arms on the table. Suddenly I felt defiant. No one ignores Bitsy McMurtry!
“Look, my sources tell me we have local, national AND international interest in covering this – I mean, my son-in-law is a prince, after all – so let’s get serious. The media leaches will be there, for better or worse, and the better you feed those vultures, the better the write-up. Cassie, how are your seafood connections? I’m thinking lobster and truffle macaroni and cheese, Peruvian seabass and pan-seared scallops as main course options alongside a nice sirloin steak for less creative people. Top-shelf liquor, of course. Can’t have our donors drinking swill now, can we?”
Charlotte drained her glass and moved it to the middle of the table. “Well, if that’s the case … if all that media is going to have interest, perhaps we should bring Wanda into this discussion. Just for another set of hands?”
Wanda.
Oh God, the utterance of that woman’s name … I could feel the heat rise up into my face.
Wanda.
Rage surged through me. I counted to 10, as my therapist taught me to do when the past seemed entirely too much to bear.
Cassie stood up next to me. “Mrs. McMurtry?”
I drained my glass and handed it to her. “Another.”
Gunnar Olafsson