Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

“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?”

Pam pouted. “Both.” She grabbed the last empanada and scampered away.

I put down the tray and moved quickly behind the jewelry salespeople to get to the stage. Up there, Liz had joined the Barry-Julian squabble. The guards reached the doors, wrenched them open, and hauled Teddy out. The band kicked up the music a few notches, but the noise of Barry, Liz, and Julian arguing was still clear.

I hopped onto the stage and approached the three of them, looking as stern as possible. They formed a tight clutch of hostility.

“He’s a child—” Liz exclaimed, her voice just below a shout. Her silver hair shone in the spotlights.

“He’s a thief !” Barry retorted, his face flushed, his chin pointing defiantly at Liz.

“You just cannot do that to a kid,” Julian cried angrily. “You’re going to ruin his—”

“Excuse me,” I said with as much authority as I could muster. “This argument needs to be put on hold, and I mean, right now. Liz and Julian, go back to work right away. Barry,” I said sternly, “you hired me. There are two hundred potential clients out there who will remember this party for this altercation, unless you stop this minute. We can talk later. Understand?”

All three mumbled OK, yes, sorry. Julian and Liz hastened down the steps at the side of the stage. Barry opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t get the words out before another volcano of yelling erupted.

By one of the two cash registers—set up to handle the leasing arrangements—a man and woman were arguing. They were young, they were attractive… they were Page Stockham and… Shane Stockham.

“A thousand dollars a month!” Page shrieked. With her blond hair done up in a fancy French twist, and her slender body sheathed in white silk, she looked like a latter-day Audrey Hepburn. But her demeanor was the opposite of the gracious, softspoken Hepburn’s. She screeched at her husband: “You cheap bastard!”