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could swear that she heard the gears in her brain cranking
away.  Well, I ll tell you what, dear. I ll tell you what we ll do.
Take the dress it looks perfect on you and it would pain me
to sell it to anyone else after seeing it on you. You give me fifty
dollars for it now and then promise me you have to promise
that you ll come help me sort through boxes of donations
sometime in order to work off the rest. The gears ground to a
halt and a new, bigger smile crawled across her barely wrinkled
lips, content with having solved the problem.  So that s that!
she cried, pushing Casey back into the dressing room before
she even had a chance to think about the offer, much less
muster any sort of reply.  We ll wrap that beauty up and you ll
be on your way.
Although there was no mirror in the dressing room, Casey
imagined that if she could see herself or if anyone were watch-
ing her, it would seem that, by slipping off the dress, she was
becoming someone entirely different a freckled, frizzed-out
tourist from Nowhere, Illinois a person that she wasn t sure
she wanted to leave behind entirely.
It s just a dress, she reminded herself. And an awesome one at
that. She stepped into her plain-old outfit, threw the dress over
one shoulder, and walked out toward the register, certain that
she Casey Anne McCloy was going to look fantabulous at
Drew s party.
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meet
the
parents
Drew leaned his elbows on the butcher-block top of the
island that dominated the Van Allen kitchen, watching as his
dad s hands moved deftly around a ten-inch Wüsthof chef s
knife, reducing a pile of raw carrots to expertly cut cubes.
Drew smiled, taking a sip of his Kir Royale as he watched his
dad work, his hands a blur. It was so totally predictable. Even
though his dad s new Cajun-fusion restaurant was doing most
of the catering, Drew knew that his father would never be one
of those guys who left the kitchen drudgery to someone else.
He was always sneaking in to rearrange piles of green, leafy
salads, cutting perfectly executed garnishes with a paring knife,
and helping the catering team dice huge bundles of root veg-
etables.
THE ELI TE
 So, are you excited about tonight? His dad arranged a
platter of baby lamb chops around a puddle of fragrant sauce
on a bed of baby lentils, so that the entire plate resembled a
bunch of flowers in bloom or a gunshot wound, depending
on how you looked at it.
 Uh, yeah. Drew rolled his eyes, taking another gulp of
his Kir as the champagne bubbles tickled his nose, making him
sneeze. He d gotten hooked on the combination of cham-
pagne and black-currant liquor during a champagne-and-
chocolate-croissant-soaked week in Paris this past summer.  I
can barely contain myself.
His dad pushed the finished platter to the side and looked
Drew in the eye, his gaze deadly serious.
 Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Master Van Allen?
 Very perceptive, Drew answered, leaning over and top-
ping off his glass with the cool, open bottle of Dom on the
countertop.
 I m sorry. Drew s dad cupped his ear with one hand and
tilted his head, gesturing to the men working behind him who
were stirring bubbling pots, and dicing onions.  Did you guys
hear something? His dad waved the chef s knife around in
Drew s general direction, slicing the air and grinning mania-
cally. The caterers shook their heads, trying not to laugh.
 That s hilarious, Dad, Drew deadpanned, crossing his
arms over his chest.  I m shaking with laughter.
 Seriously, Drew. His dad poured himself a glass of
champagne, draining it in one gulp and wiping his salt- and-
pepper beard with the back of his hand.  Isn t there anything
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JENNI FER BANASH
about tonight that you re even remotely excited about? His
dad motioned to the platters of hors d oeuvres covering every
available surface in the kitchen.  Or has all of this hard work
been for nothing? You do realize that I m wasting my golden
years slaving away in the kitchen for your benefit, don t you?
Drew shrugged his shoulders and finished his champagne.
 Nice try, Dad you re barely in your forties. Since when does
that constitute your golden years?
 I could go at any time! his dad yelled out gleefully, twirling
his chef s knife in one hand, and attacking a bunch of spinach.
 Aren t the Macallisters coming tonight?
 Don t remind me, Drew mumbled, popping a piece of
prosciutto-wrapped melon into his mouth and chewing loudly.
 What? Are you and Madison on the outs again? You just
got back in town!
 I know, Drew said morosely, swallowing the hunk of
melon, which stuck like a lump in his chest.  That s what makes
it so tragic.
Drew s dad smiled, the spinach reduced to neat, finely
shredded piles.  You know, Drew, you come from a very artis-
tic family.
 No, really, Dad? Drew widened his eyes in feigned
astonishment.  You can t be serious.
 As a heart attack. His dad brought the cutting board over
to the sink and swept it clean with a damp rag.  Madison is
gorgeous, he mused turning on the garbage disposal, which
promptly ate the collection of vegetable scraps like a hungry
mechanical monster.
206
THE ELI TE
 Don t remind me, Drew answered while rolling up the
sleeves of his white Gucci dress shirt.
 But she s a little . . . boring, his dad said thoughtfully.
 Then it s a good thing you don t have to date her, Drew
snapped.
 Maybe you need someone a little more . . . challenging.
 Trust me, Dad Madison s plenty challenging.
His dad turned around, wiping his hands on the clean
chef s towel he always kept draped over his left shoulder.
Except tonight it looked completely ridiculous, considering
that he was wearing gray Paul Smith dress pants in a slightly
textured wool, and a black dress shirt he d had custom-made
on their family trip to London last spring.
 I meant mentally, Drew. His dad threw the towel back
over his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest.  Maybe
she s just not creative enough for you.
Drew walked over to the fridge and got out another bottle
of Dom, staring at the condensation on the green bottle as if
the tiny droplets of water could somehow tell him what to do
next. Maybe his dad was right as much as he was attracted to
Madison, maybe the only thing they really had in common at
the end of the day was the fact that they were the couple that
was most likely to couple. It wasn t like they routinely sat
around sharing their deepest feelings with one another, or en-
gaging in heated debates about the upcoming presidential
race. When he first moved uptown, the only thing that had
made him feel like he even remotely fit in anywhere anymore
was his relationship with Madison. Before that, every spare
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JENNI FER BANASH [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]