“Solomon, meet my haid of monor, Jackal. I mean, maid of honor, Jackie.”
Jackie bounded out of her chair and threw her arms around Steve, running her hands across his back.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
“You think I'm wearing a wire?” Steve said, bewildered.
“Your fin. Where's the damn fin?”
Victoria was laughing so hard she snorted, which caused Jackie to melt into a paroxysm of giggles. The only one not laughing was Steve.
“When did you two start drinking?” He counted the toothpicks, circumstantial evidence of their guzzling. “I can't believe this.”
“Uh-oh,” Victoria said. “We violated one of Solomon's Laws.” She mimicked his voice. “Never imbibe until sundown.” Then, hoisting the martini glass: “But just like Katrina said, it's gotta be dark somewhere in the world.”
“I didn't expect this from you,” he said.
“If the law doesn't work, jerk off the law.”
“Where's Bigby?” Steve asked, unamused.
“Trying to fit into his underpants,” Jackie said, convulsing in laughter, breasts heaving. She grabbed a baguette from the bread basket, waved it at Steve. “Hey, white shark, how's your package? Are you as big as Bigby?”
“Aw, Jesus,” Steve said.
The waiter showed up with a tray of martinis. “Would you like to catch up with the ladies, sir?” he inquired.
“I'd like to horsewhip the ladies.”
“Me first,” Jackie said.
“Take away the drinks. Bring a pitcher of ice water and a pot of coffee,” Steve ordered.
Victoria pouted. “Why so uptight, Solomon?”
“This is important to me, okay?”
“Don't worry, Stevie.” Victoria patted his hand. “I can carry this off. And if not, there's nobody I'd rather do jail time with than you.”
Twenty-four
HOW GREEN IS MY DAIQUIRI?
Steve spotted Bruce Bigby headed across the dining room.
Suntanned and smiling, Bigby made his rounds, smacking pals on the back, braying “Evening, Commodore” to an older gent, strutting toward their table in a black cashmere blazer, the breast pocket emblazoned with the yacht club seal. He grinned hellos to Jackie and Steve, then turned to Victoria. “Heavens, what's that you're wearing?”
“Do you like it?” she asked, extending her bare arms, swiveling to show off her mesh singlet and nearly naked back. She'd had a glass of ice water and three cups of black coffee, and best Steve could tell, was as sober as a judge. Actually, more sober than most judges he knew.
“It's very… very shiny,” Bruce stumbled. His tie was black silk with little gold anchors. “Aren't you cold?”
“Not a bit, hon.”
“No ‘hons' and no ‘sweeties' tonight. We might slip up later.”
“I'm glad to see someone's taking this seriously,” Steve said. “Thanks, Bruce. For doing this, for everything.”
“Hey, no problema, amigo. You're teaching Victoria some lawyer tricks. I'm happy to help out.”
Just then, Dr. Doris Kranchick arrived and introductions were made. Steve watched as Victoria went into full charm-school mode. Oh, how she admired someone who devoted herself to science, and had the doctor seen that recent article in the Journal of Applied Psychology on acquired savant syndrome? And what about behavioral therapy versus drug therapy?
Steve lost track when they began discussing cerebral refreshment and triggering stem cells to produce even more neurons. Just when the conversation grew impossibly dense, Victoria smoothly turned to lacrosse, starting with the Iroquois warriors who played the game with human skulls. Steve realized then that Victoria had prepared for the evening the way she prepared for court. Research, planning, outlines. She probably had alphabetized index cards in her purse: “Lacrosse, History of Sport. Native Americans.”
When Victoria paused, Bruce unexpectedly grabbed the baton and ran the next lap. He invited Kranchick to visit his farm, then cursed the “damned evil weevil” that attacked his avocado trees. Jackie jumped aboard with an offer to list the doctor's home for sale at a reduced commission if she'd be interested in a fabulous new bayfront condo in Hallandale.
The waiter came by with a tray filled with five slushy drinks. “I took the liberty of ordering for everyone,” Bruce announced. “We're starting with frozen avocado daiquiris. Then avocado vichyssoise, smooth as liquid silk.”
Steve thought he'd rather drink phlegm.
“Then a tofu salad with herbs and avocados,” Bigby continued, “vegetarian chili tamales with a tomatillo- avocado salsa, and sweet avocado mousse for dessert.”
“Utterly delightful,” Kranchick cooed.
Steve knew Victoria wouldn't be able to eat a thing without breaking out in a rash.
They chatted a while, Victoria making Kranchick the center of attention. Somewhere between the second and third tray of green drinks, Kranchick said: “Ms. Lord, it's absolutely wonderful to meet you. You're nothing like I expected.”
Steve wondered if he'd just been dissed, but Victoria smiled and replied, “Thank you.”
“And your engagement ring,” Kranchick gushed. “Simply spectacular.”
“Nothing says love like a big fat diamond,” Steve chipped in.
“Mr. Solomon, you grow on people, don't you?”
“Like a fungus,” he said.
“Which reminds me of citrus canker,” Bigby piped up. “Helluva problem.”
“I don't mean to pry, Mr. Bigby,” Kranchick said, “but are you and Ms. Tuttle an item?”
Bruce wrapped an arm around Jackie, and she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “We're not as far along as Steve and Victoria, but who knows what the future will bring?”
“Que sera, sera,” the doctor sang.
With Bruce and Jackie cuddling, Steve felt he had no choice. He had to keep up appearances, didn't he? He slipped an arm around Victoria, but somehow, his hand ended up sliding under the fabric of her mesh top. Her skin was warm and smooth. He waited a moment to see if she would move away or dig a high heel into his ankle. When she didn't, he slowly began stroking her back.
She turned her head to him. A placid, controlled expression that betrayed nothing. Steve wished he knew what she was feeling. Desire? Regret? Anger? He sometimes thought he could read the look in a woman's eyes, but can any man?
“Tell me all about your wedding plans, Mr. Solomon,” Kranchick said. “Where's the ceremony going to be?”
“Ah, Temple Beth-”
“Church of the Little Flower,” Victoria interrupted.
“How lovely! I know it's a little soon to ask, but are you planning to have children?”
“Four,” Victoria said, just as Steve said, “Two.”
“Three,” they corrected, in unison.
“Four?” Bigby asked, looking at Victoria, eyebrows arched.
“And if you don't mind my asking,” Kranchick said, “are you planning on any religious training?”
