Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

“What are you two doing here?” I demanded.

Startled, Chardé dropped her lemon-colored Chanel purse, which matched a lemon-colored wool pantsuit and lemon beret set at a jaunty slant on her dark hair. When life hands you a lemon… you get Chardé. Buddy, ever the casual type, had his hands thrust into wool khaki pants beneath a black turtleneck shirt, an outfit meant to make him look attractive and powerful, and which succeeded in neither. “How did you get in?” I snapped.

“Eliot?” Chardé called sweetly, ignoring me.

Buddy, meanwhile, glanced nervously around the chapel, obviously ill at ease. I knew he and Chardé had donated five thou to the labyrinth, but that he only came to church at Christmas. He was breathing deeply, and his face was pinched with the guilty expression of a holiday-only churchman. If he hyperventilated, I wondered, would I feel compelled to ca11 911?

“Chardé, darling!” crowed Eliot, striding forward. “Come to check that we’re using your beautiful cushions on our chairs? Of course we are!”

They smooched like old pals and began to murmur. With an air of concentration, Buddy made a shuffling circuit of the chapel. If I stay near the edge, I’m not really here. Meanwhile, I arranged the cups and helped Julian bring the first stack of wooden chairs out of the storage room. We were about to go back for more when the door to the chapel opened again. In walked John Richard Korman, with Viv Martini in tow.

What was this - Open House? I cursed myself for being so surprised by the Lauderdales that I’d neglected to check the chapel doors.

John Richard and Viv, dressed head to toe in black, looked like a couple of undertakers. Then again, maybe they were aiming for that chic eighties rock-star look. Eliot, who was still engaged in intimate conversation with Chardé, glanced up abruptly. His face registered shock, then a deep blush. Now that’s a new look for the king, I mused, intrigued.

“Well, Eliot,” said Viv in a mock-accusing tone. “Imagine seeing you here. And with a cute decorator, no less.”

“It is, uh, my family’s chapel,” Eliot began, but Viv only tilted up her pointed little chin and blew him a kiss. His face went from a patchy scarlet to an even crimson. I actually felt sorry for him.

“And Buddy,” Viv went on, still the charmer. “Hey, Viv,” Buddy replied, his voice low and sexy.

Had Viv slept with every rich older guy in the county? Would John Richard mind being classified as a rich older guy? Ha.

Before I could ask my ex-husband if he remembered the restraining order, he strode across the space between us and wagged a finger in my face.

“I don’t want to hear any crap from you, understand? Arch said you were going to be against it, so I’m warning you now.” His blue eyes blazed in his handsome face. “Viv and I are coming to the fencing banquet. Whether you like it or not. Got it? So don’t give me any of this restraining-order crap. It’s for Arch, and you should recognize he wants me there.”

“Cocky when the cops aren’t around, eh?” I shot back. “Hey, Viv! You don’t know what you’re in for!”

Viv shook her pale hair, which stuck out at every possible angle. “I love what I’m in for!” she proclaimed, as she sashayed closer to the Jerk. Standing behind him, she opened her black leather jacket - Is size carrying, I wondered? How do you slide a gun into pants that tight? She cocked one elbow and used the other hand to pat John Richard’s behind. Her clear voice crooned, “We’re not going to cause any trouble, are we, honey? If my guy here gets out of line, I’ll use force.”

When John Richard blushed, I burst out laughing. “Promise?” I asked.

“Promise,” she replied in a deep, throaty voice that sent shivers down my spine. Well, she was John Richard’s choice. Or vice versa, if she was just using him as a rich-old-fart conquest. Wouldn’t I love to see that? Maybe not, if this blond bombshell ended up taking money designated for Arch. Viv snaked an arm around John Richard’s waist and tilted her head to murmur in his ear. Ever done it in a chapel? Or something like that, because John Richard let out a surprised grunt. I longed to ask my ex-husband if Viv was the type of gal recommended in your average male-menopause support group, but for once I kept mum. I had work to do.

“If there’s nothing further - ” I began.

“So do we understand each other?” the Jerk said to me. I think he wanted to shake his finger in my face again, but Viv had him entwined. Instead, I walked quietly toward him and pointed a finger less than an inch from his aristocratic nose.

“Split. Now. You understand? I heard you. Remember General Farquhar, who could kill people without making any noise? I make a ton of noise. Now, buzz off before the nice neighbors have to hear it.”

“Now, now, Goldy,” Viv said, her voice conciliatory. “Let’s not make threats we can’t back up.” She gave me a knowing look. “I make a ton of noise, too, don’t I, baby? Let’s go.”

John Richard pressed his lips together and swallowed. Come to think of it, he did look kind of tired, especially in his noir outfit. Buddy and Eliot stood aghast: Were we actually hooked up with this woman? How’d we survive? Chardé seized the opportunity of this dramatic tableau to stride toward me: Lemon in Motion.

“We’re coming to the fencing banquet, too,” she declared, her pert nose in the air. I prayed that the yellow beret would plop to the floor, but it didn’t slip. “We eat no undercooked meat, no raw eggs, and no sugar in any form. And by the way, our son Howie is lactose-intolerant. You probably don’t remember any of this from when you catered for us. You were too busy being nosy, isn’t that right?”

“I - “

“Howie likes lime sorbet. No dairy. Got it?” Chardé said.

“Okay!” Julian bellowed, extending his arms. “That’s it! Everybody out! Out! You, you, you, and you!” he snarled, pointing to the Jerk, Viv, Buddy, and Chardé. “We cannot work for our clients with you here. Leave.”

“We are your clients,” chimed in Buddy Lauderdale, with that nasal arrogance I knew only too well.

“Then please come back at lunchtime,” Julian said firmly. No question, the kid had it all ver yours truly in the assertiveness department.

Eliot made soft cooing noises that were meant to reassure his good chums, the Lauderdales. The Jerk and Viv banged out through the chapel door. When Eliot and the Lauderdales also departed, I slumped down in one of the wooden chairs. Julian made sure the doors were firmly shut and locked. He called to us that there was also an inside bolt, and he was throwing it until lunchtime.

“I’m not sure I can make it through this day,” I moaned when he returned.

“Sure you can. There’ll be new deep-pocket folks here who’ll love your food. They will line up to book you for their next catered event.”

He made me laugh. I was about to tell him how proud I was of him when thunderous pounding interrupted us yet again. This time, I unbolted the door and opened it myself. It was the baker’s assistant, come to set up the labyrinth cake. It looked scrumptious, a huge fudge-frosted round cake with white-iced loops reflecting the intricate pattern on the chapel floor.

“Ibrought you something,” Julian said, when I had firmly locked up behind the baker’s assistant. He was holding an upscale shopping bag. “Chocolate Emergency cookies, remember? I figure we’re in one now.” He drew out a wrapped packet and a small hot-drink container. “I even brought you an espresso.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Julian.” I bit into the cookie. Dark fudgy flavor exploded in my mouth and a burst of chocolate euphoria sparked up my spine. The cookies were chewy without being too sweet, with the smooth, buttery vanilla icing a perfect complement to the rich chocolate. A heartswig of the espresso sent all worries about the Lauderdales, the Jerk, and Viv down Cottonwood Creek.