“You’re acting vague.”
“I think he ought to tell you himself. He will have to because unless he plans on eating and dashing off, he’s gonna start acting weird at dinner tonight. You think I’m being evasive, just wait.”
Rosemary had a thousand questions, but Pen was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second and excused herself when she received an urgent text she said was from a client.
Rosemary felt sad that Pen was running off so quickly, but didn’t have time to process. As soon as Pen left, she got a text from Ash.
Sweetheart. I am so sorry but is there any way we could reschedule the dinner? I’m a big dummy and I forgot to look at my calendar… and I have a thing tonight. It’s kind of set in stone once a month. I am so sorry.
She already knew the answer to that from her parents. A big fat no. She texted him back.
Uh, no, they won’t like that one bit. Dinner is planned. The table has been set since this morning. Once you finagle a dinner with Daddy Warbucks, you best show up.
His reply came a few seconds later:
Okay, I might be able to eat, but I’ll have to skip out before dessert. I hope that won’t be seen as rude.
She replied: I’ll ask them to bump everything up an hour if that will help.
That should do it. You’re a doll and I know I’m a giant child for doing this to you. Sure you still want to marry me?
She smiled and typed:
You’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.
* * *
Rosemary had followed Pen’s advice: low-heeled boots, knee-length wool skirt, and navy-blue sweater with a white lace high-collared blouse. She wore her hair down and smoothed it with her straightening iron, just to give a visual of rigidity and joyless self-control. She hated wearing her hair straight. She looked like one of those intense, uptight girls she’d met at her Ivy League school up north. The choice was either to appear as the sweet, obedient daughter or to be her normal self. Her normal self was like trying to catch flies with vinegar. Though she thoroughly enjoyed carrying around Ash’s marks on her body throughout her daily life, she was less than comfortable letting her daddy see the things this interloper had done to her. Her shoulders and her breasts were looking more like a spotted wildcat’s than a panther’s.
When she arrived at the DuChamp mansion, she was surprised to see how elaborate a dinner had been planned. The Limoges plates were out, in all their fine gilt-edged glory. The cut crystal water goblets, the good wine glasses, and every piece of silver, from shrimp forks to dessert spoons. Well, shit. This was going to be a long night.
* * *
Ash
At dinner, Ash made several mistakes. Instead of waiting for Lionel to taste the soup, Ash dove right into his bowl of lobster bisque and had it gone before Lionel even picked up his spoon. Rosemary smiled at him indulgently. Betsy smiled at Ash with an edge of condescension. Lionel simply gave him the hairy eyeball.
Ash had no idea what was going on. He was just trying to bolt down his dinner. And it all smelled like this was a fuckin’ good dinner at that. Perhaps when they got married, he should offer their cook a job at the Boudreaux house, he thought. That would certainly put a hornet in old Lionel’s trousers, wouldn’t it?
The current situation, however, was more discomfiting to Ash. These DuChamp people liked to luxuriate at the table, enjoy five or six courses, tell stories, listen to old Lionel pontificate about politics, religion, or the state of the universe.
This was not a good night for Ash to be leisurely. He knew he was supposed to be here to get to know the family. He knew all of that. But this was just a bad night for it.
Ask any emergency room staff, 911 dispatchers, or cops, and they will tell all kinds of full-moon stories. There was a very good reason for those stories. Tonight was a full moon, and Ash was about to make an impression on the DuChamp family that would land him squarely in the crazy and rude category.
It was already eight p.m., and the main course had not even been served yet. Ash’s palms were starting to sweat, his hair follicles over his entire body starting to tingle. He was getting abnormally hungry, and not just hungry for fancy rich people food. His legs were getting restless and telling him it was time to run. There was a rumble in his throat and all he wanted to do was tear off his clothes, go outside, and howl at the moon.
This was not good.
To be honest, he was less worried about Lionel and Betsy as he was worried that now was not the ideal time to tell Rosemary the truth.
After the soup course, Lionel was forcing the staff to hold off on bringing the roast lamb because he was asking Ash deep-dive questions about his upbringing.
“Tell me, young man. What kind of car does your daddy drive these days? He still running around in that bright yellow Suburban with the tacky chicken on the top? That was a nightmare, wasn’t it?” He bellowed laughter as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
Ash’s annoyance at him wasn’t helping hold back the beast.
“We still have that old Sub, believe it or not, in the garage right next to Daddy’s classic Corvettes. He keeps it as a reminder to all us kids about his humble beginnings as an unknown chicken slinger. He still takes it out to parties and special events, upon request. It’s pretty popular.”
Lionel chuckled. “Ain’t that charming. Does it still play that god-awful jingle as it goes down the street?”
Ash saw Betsy shooting a warning glance over at Rosemary, but it was too late.
