With his eyes locked firmly on the floor, Tom Blomquist shook his head.
Our host’s dramatic entrance had shocked everyone in the room to silence. Everyone, that is, except Dolores, who seemed to be oblivious to the roiling tension that had arrived with her husband.
“Willis, darlin’, I am so very glad you’re done working for the day. I worry that you work much too hard. And don’t you look handsome in your tuxedo? I love a man who dresses for dinner.” Dolores stepped closer, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and walked to the bar, which was arranged on an ornately carved sideboard. “Would you care for a scotch or something lighter?”
Willis’s eyes roamed slowly across the faces of the other three guests. He nodded to himself, plainly satisfied that he’d caused just enough turmoil to put each of them firmly in their place. Then his eyes lit on me, and in a nanosecond his personality changed to that of a gracious host. “What’s this? Dolores, how is it that our newest guest is empty-handed? Jessica—or do you prefer J. B.?—would you join me in a scotch? It’s Macallan Eighteen. Some men fancy themselves connoisseurs, obsessively demanding Laphroaig or the Balvenie, but for my money you can’t beat Macallan Eighteen; or in a pinch, even Macallan Twelve will do. What do you say?”
“I do prefer being called Jessica. As to a drink . . .”
Before I could finish Dolores came back and handed a heavy crystal rocks glass to Willis. “Here you go. Just the way you like it. Three ice cubes and a double shot of Macallan.”
“That’s my doll,” Willis said as he took the glass in both hands. “And what is that in Jessica’s glass?”
Dolores handed me a glass similar to Willis’s but with a lot more ice swimming in a vaguely familiar amber-colored liquid.
“You didn’t.” I laughed.
“Oh yes, I did. Knowing you were coming, I made sure to add it to our order from Longstreet Liquors. You are holding a glass of Disaronno amaretto. Does it bring back memories?” Dolores asked. “The night Ellen Bradley’s boyfriend dumped her?”
“How could I forget? We sat in a circle on the floor of her dorm room while Ellen alternately fumed and cried. Every time she said his name we all would shout and chugalug amaretto.”
Dolores sighed. “I had a headache for days. And now for the life of me, I cannot remember him at all. What was his name?”
Her husband, obviously irritated by our moment of nostalgia, interrupted brusquely. “I can tell you for certain his name wasn’t Willis.”
He unquestionably preferred to be the center of attention. Dolores was immediately contrite. She murmured, “Sorry,” and tried to pat his cheek but Willis brushed her hand away.
“It looks like the party has started without me.” A deep baritone pulled everyone’s attention to the doorway. A rotund man, looking very patriotic in a navy blue pin-striped suit, white shirt, and bright red tie, grinned at us all.
“Norman. Late as usual. If our business relied on your being on time, we would have filed for bankruptcy years ago,” Willis sneered.
Norman twirled his old-fashioned handlebar mustache and said, “Every villain has his place in the unending drama of life.”
I couldn’t help laughing, but I was totally alone. Everyone else stayed stock-still, barely breathing until Willis guffawed and said, “Well, as long as you’re true to your role . . . Now, for Pete’s sake, man, what are you drinking?”
The tension in the room fizzled like the air in a balloon pierced by the pointy end of a tree branch. The guests began talking among themselves, although they kept their voices so low that I sensed some nervousness still existed. It appeared to be Willis’s forte to keep everyone on eggshells, wondering which Willis would be in their midst in the next five minutes, Mr. Genial or Mr. Churlish.
A small girl, pigtails flying, ran into the room. “Grampy! Grampy! Look what I found.” She ran directly to Willis, who crouched impossibly low and, with the first genuine smile I’d seen on his face, said, “First a kiss. Then show me your treasure.”
Leaning in obediently, the child planted a solid kiss on Willis’s cheek. Then she stepped back and held out her hand. “Look at the ears! It’s a bunny! Daddy said someone carved it out of wood a long time ago. But I only just found it. Did you know there was a drawer inside the big yellow toy box in the nursery? Did you? I didn’t until a few minutes ago. First I found the drawer, and inside I found the bunny.”
I heard someone mumble what sounded like “hopper,” and when I looked around Marjory Ribault was wringing her hands. Everyone else was fascinated by the change in Willis.
He rocked back on his haunches, and in a few seconds he was sitting on the floor, stretching his legs out until his black patent leather shoes hit the base of a settee. He patted the floor next to him. “Abby, come. Sit down while we figure out a name for this little guy.”
“Daddy said I mustn’t get my dress dirty before dinner.” Abby spread out the gauzy overlay of her pink dress. “See, I’m keeping it clean.”
Willis frowned. “Clancy? Where . . . Oh, there you are.”
Willis fixed an austere eye on the young man, whom I’d seen come into the room behind the little girl and immediately walk to the bar to fix himself what looked to me like a stiff drink.
Heading off a confrontation, Clancy smiled at his daughter. “Abby, honey, of course you can sit on the floor with Grampy. I just wanted to be sure he saw how pretty
