Chopping Spree

“Oh, sorry about that.” He paused and gave me the full benefit of his seductive brown eyes. He seemed to be struggling with words, thoughts, something. “Goldy, about that truck—”

“Did you talk to Colorado State Patrol?”

“Er, no, but I wondered if—”

Whatever he was wondering was cut short by the band striking up “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” Barry muttered something that sounded like “Holy Moly” as the lounge doors opened.

The Army of Gorgeous Women streamed in. Clad in bright-hued silk, satin, and taffeta, they hiked up their skirts and flew to the shrouded jewelry cases. Exclamations of Damn! and What’s going on? rose above the music. Barry grabbed the microphone.

“Ladies,” he announced, “and gentlemen,” he added, acknowledging the sprinkling of men, “before we start with our serious business tonight, please help yourselves to drinks and hors d’oeuvres! Then I will explain how our event is going to work!”

I made my way to the kitchen while Barry flattered the women and charmingly described how easily and effortlessly they could wear these hundred-thousand-dollar pieces they needed and owed to themselves, for mere pennies per month. Julian and Liz hauled loaded appetizer trays out to the guests. I snagged a platter of empanadas and sailed after them.

“… And for those of you who are still in need of a bargain for that next big party,” Barry was announcing fervently, “look for the perfect pair of shoes at Prince and Grogan’s Red Tag Sale! Tonight, you Elite Shoppers are entitled to an additional fifteen percent off….”

“Barry Dean is so charming,” Marla said as she sidled up next to me. She winked and dunked an empanada into guacamole. She was wearing a stunning royal blue dress with a matching cape. Without her usual array of glittering jewelry, she looked different. She’d informed me she wanted to come to the event as a clean canvas. “I’d love to listen to Barry Dean all the time. In my car, in the bathroom, in bed… while looking at his picture.”

“How was the spa?”

“Fabulous! Plus, I have so much to ask you, especially about—”

“Marla, I have to—”

“Calm down, I’m having a couple of empanadas.” She grabbed her cape and folded it over her arm, then nabbed two more empanadas, downing one and then the other, while four other women helped themselves to my tray.

“Tell me about the truck,” Marla whispered conspiratorially, once the women had moved on. With a paper napkin, she wiped creamy green stuff from her upper lip.

“You heard about that already?” I asked, stunned. Marla opened her eyes wide, a picture of offended innocence. Of course the Queen of Gossip knew about everything. why was I surprised? “Well,” I began, “somebody got into a truck, slammed down the accelerator, barely missed Barry the Charming, not to mention yours truly. Then whoever was driving crashed the truck into the berm. Trying to get out of the way, Julian, Barry, and I all got soaked with mud and grime. I lost a whole box of shrimp rolls, not to mention a big chunk of setup time.”

“How’d you ever get the food done, then?” she mumbled through another empanada.

“The excavator and his crew helped. They brought in almost every box. Actually, I guess he’s the construction manager for the mall addition. He said he felt responsible for one of his trucks almost killing us.”

“That’s not Victor Wilson, is it?”

I sighed. And here I thought Marla only knew folks with incomes of a million and up. “How can you possibly know…”

Marla looked sideways, taking in the fact that Julian and Liz were bringing out the first plates of truffles. “I don’t know him. I went out with his brothers. Don’t give me that look. Consecutively, not simultaneously. First was Bachman. Bachman’s a surgeon, a friend of The Jerk’s. Well, sort of a friend. John Richard couldn’t stand that Bachman gave better parties than he did, which is why I went out with him.” She frowned at the empanadas, as if unsure whether to have another one. “Victor’s other brother is an attorney, has a big place in Aspen, built for him by Victor, he said.”

“Nice. Now if you don’t mind—”

“Julian told me they found some cuff links inside the truck.” Marla finally decided to tuck into another empanada, her fifth. “Do you have any idea whose they were?”

“No. I don’t suppose you know whose they were.”

“Not yet. But I will. Here’s a juicy tidbit for you, though. Shane Stockham has just lost his lease at The Gadget Guy. He’s trying to placate dear wife Page, who told us at the spa that she heard this morning about his cash dam, which is the opposite of cash flow. Page wants a bauble from the diamond people, and Shane’s stretched thinner than gold plate. Brace yourself: You might see fireworks.”

I glanced at the Stockhams, whom I was doing lunch for later in the week. Had I received the final payment for their event? I couldn’t remember. As I watched, Shane reached for his wife’s shoulder. She moved out of his reach. I groaned. After I refilled the platter, I took up a plate of truffles and headed for some hungry-looking ladies who were drooling over the handsome twenty-something guys in the band. Barry, who’d just finished a glass of water (at least, I hoped it was water) stepped back up to the microphone.

“I truly can’t believe how gorgeous you all are! You look as if… well, as if you were going out for a fancy dinner with your husband’s new boss!” This was met with squeals of laughter. “But ladies…would you feel completely confident if you weren’t wearing some very special jewelry, the kind that indicated how important you really are? What if your husband’s new boss happens to be a twenty-eight-year-old woman who wears skimpy dresses from Escada and diamond necklaces from Tiffany’s?”

The women glanced uneasily at one another. Clearly, Barry’s attempt to make them feel insecure was hitting home.

“Wouldn’t you want to be certain you looked your best?” Barry crooned. “But you wouldn’t want to wear a piece that could bore you in a year, would you?” There was a ripple of edgy laughter. “That’s why we’re here! We’ll get you to elegant at a fraction of the cost… and next month you could start wearing something completely different!”

As he launched into an explanation of leasing, I glanced around and saw Julian chatting with Liz and, of all people, her son, Teddy. Dressed in faded jeans and a tattered red sweatshirt, Teddy looked as gangly and insecure as he had that morning. But I had thought Teddy wasn’t picking Liz up until later…. I certainly couldn’t afford for her to leave now.

Barry finished his speech to frenzied clapping, squeals of pleasure, and the band’s enthusiastic rendition of “Ruby, Ruby.” The empanada and truffle platters were again almost empty. On either side of the room, the jewelry salespeople whipped the damask cloths from the jewelry displays. And then something bizarre seemed to be happening. There was noise, scuffling, muffled epithets, and struggling.

People were fighting.

I turned in time to see two security guards grabbing Teddy Fury by his elbows. Then the meaty guards picked Teddy up under his arms and began dragging him from the lounge. Liz, up next to the guards’ impassive faces, was scolding them—to no avail.

Dumbfounded, I scanned the crowd for Julian. Oh, Lord. He’d abandoned his catering tasks and was standing at the corner of the stage, engaged in a heated, fist-shaking argument with Barry Dean. Barry, his arms crossed, was shaking his head.

“This isn’t happening,” I whispered in horror to no one in particular. One thing I knew from long food-service experience: If there’s a fight at a party, everyone will blame the caterer.

“Oooh, I just love being waited on,” cooed a woman at my elbow as she reached for an appetizer. I whirled.

It was Pam Disharoon. The blonde wore a skimpy hot pink dress that showed lots of cleavage and even more leg. “How do you like my outfit?” she demanded, wiggling her hips the same way I’d already seen her do with Barry.

I said, “Fabulous. Is it a nightgown or a dress?”