My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [80]
Obviously Melissa and I aren’t going to cover how to throw a dinner party that doesn’t descend into an episode of Jerry Springer or, in Fletch’s case, ER, but I’m interested to see her social graces in action. I guarantee Melissa’s never once given anyone the impression she was only a breath away from giving them a solid punch in the neck, no matter how annoyed she felt inside.
“The hotel’s awesome! Big thumbs-up if you ever want to recommend it to out-of-towners. And I can confirm the business with the bathtub, too. My room has everything anyone could ever possibly need, except an iron. Instead, they have a twenty-four-hour valet and pressing service. But I’m not paying thirty bucks to iron a pair of shorts that cost twenty, so I’m going to be wrinkled while I’m in New York.”
She stirs her iced tea and assures me, “No one will notice. By the way, how was your evening out?”
“So much fun!” I tell her. “You were right; Buddakan was a blast.” Last night, Stacey and I staked out a community table in the front bar of this funky Asian fusion place in Chelsea. I can barely talk today because I’m so hoarse from all the shouting and laughter. “Good call on where to sit, too. Our friends drifted in and out, but at one point, we were a group of, like, ten chick lit authors. We had this total Algonquin Round Table moment, except we spent most of our time mocking the Real Housewives of Orange County.”
“Talk about your Vicious Circle.” She grins.
Okay, hold the goddamned phone—I just unintentionally referenced something both historical and somewhat literary, which means . . .
My Jenaissance is working!
Today’s pretty much been the best day ever. After Melissa and I finished lunch, we headed over to the Met, where at no point did I squeal about seeing the very steps where Blair Waldorf held court every day at lunch.160
What took me by pleasant surprise was that Melissa was fun. Before today, it never occurred to me that impeccable social graces and joie de vivre weren’t mutually exclusive. I knew I’d enjoy her company, but didn’t expect to laugh so much while I was in it. She’s like some kind of F. Scott Fitzgerald heroine who’d behave perfectly at the society ball, but wouldn’t be above spiking the punch bowl if the mood suited her.
After our museum excursion, I had to go back downtown to support Stacey at her cocktail contest. The three finalists were having a mix-off and the winner would leave five thousand dollars richer.
Stacey totally left five thousand dollars richer.
And I will never mock her recipe-writing prowess again.
After we got done with contest stuff, we went back to my room before heading out to the sponsors’ dinner. Having been inspired by Melissa’s fine manners, I ordered us a cheese plate and offered Stacey a beverage.
I leaned into the fridge under the private bar and began to pull out bottles for her approval. “Okay, looks like we’ve got tons of sodas, including Orangina. Um . . . there’s also water and white wine and a whole bunch of little airplane boozes and, oh! There’s this!” I held out a large plastic Voss water bottle, halfway filled with a creamy taupe liquid.
“That’s not water,” Stacey observed.
“Okay, you know how sometimes hotels leave that menu that you hang on the door if you want something? Well, I ordered breakfast last night and under the hot beverages section, you could pick all kinds of stuff—coffee, black tea, herbal tea, et cetera. I picked the giant latte. Then after that section, there was a part where you could select what you wanted with your beverage, you know, like honey or lemon or two percent milk. There was an option for half-and-half, so I asked for some, thinking I’d add it to my latte to lighten it. I mean, coffee can’t be too creamy or sweet for me.”
“Basically, you want it to taste like melted coffee ice cream.”
“Exactly! So breakfast came this morning and I immediately poured my latte, only when it came out, it was super thick, and I’m