Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [48]
Inside, the aunts huddled and whispered like magpies. Should they go to the jardin or should they stay inside and pretend they didn’t know their beloved sister was crying her heart out? They decided to wait and watch because it was all they could do.
Josie’s heart thudded and thumped as she listened to Paul Brouillette’s message. The nerve! The unmitigated gall!
“That must have been some message,” Kitty said. “You look like a scalded cat. In case you’re interested, your hair is standing on end. Did someone cancel, or is it a monster party we can’t handle? By the way, the new girl is working out great. Are you going to tell me who it was?”
“It was . . .” Josie sputtered. “It was him!”
Kitty clucked her tongue. “Him? That could be anyone, Josie. Do you mean Jack Emery, the diplomat, that screwball who was a race car driver or the him?”
“That’s the one! Him!” Josie fiddled with the fringe on the place mats, her eyes wild. “He called, offered no explanations. Said he hoped Zip was okay and he would like to take me to dinner tomorrow night. It was a flat-out message.”
Tongue in cheek, Kitty said, “Well that certainly explains why you look like such a wild woman. Guess you aren’t going, huh?”
“Are you out of your mind? Of course I’m not going. Who does he think he is?”
Kitty giggled. “Homme d’a f faires and homme de consequence.”
Josie continued to pick at the fringe on the place mat. Her foot tapped the tile floor impatiently. “So he’s a businessman and a man of supposed importance. So what!”
“You know you’re going, so stop fussing. Let him wine and dine you and then tell him off. Tell him to take his dog with him. I’m tired of cleaning up his big poops. What are you going to wear?”
“Since I’m not going, I don’t have to worry about that. Aren’t you supposed to be loading the van or something?” Josie asked with an edge to her voice.
Kitty reached for the place mat and smoothed it out on the table. “I did. We have help now, you know. We’re ready to go. I came in to get you since it’s your turn to serve tonight.”
“What did you make?”
“Snails and mugbugs.”
“That’s nice. Okay, I’m ready. I locked the dogs upstairs in the spare room.”
“Is Jack Emery coming by later?”
“No, Jack Emery is not coming by later,” Josie snapped. “What did you make again?”
“Fried quail eggs with pecan relish, crawfish stuffed pork chops with crawfish Bordelaise sauce, caramelized sweet potatoes and spinach coulis, banana cream pie and chocolate truffles.”
“Interesting. I hope the bill is high.”
“Sky-high. You were supposed to write it up, Josie. Did you do it?”
“If I was supposed to do it, then I did it. Stop being so grouchy, Kitty.”
“I used to do crap like that when I was falling in love with Harry. I did all kinds of dumb things like forgetting to write up the bills, forgetting to do this or that, leaving out a key ingredient, etc., etc. So have you decided what you’re going to wear?” Kitty giggled.
“The lemon yellow linen dress with my straw hat. The one with the rainbow-colored belt that matches my sandals.”
“Good choice, Josie. Real good. Which perfume?”
“The sinful, decadent one.”
“Way to go, girl! Make him lust after you. We have a whole batch of fresh mangos at home!”
“Save me two, okay?”
“You got it.”
Jack Emery tossed his briefcase and jacket on the sofa. He headed straight for the kitchen, where he popped open a bottle of Corona beer. The phone rang just as he took his first swig.
“Jesus, don’t tell me it’s Paul Brouillette in the flesh. Where in hell have you been, you