Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [15]
“Do you and Gabe ever talk about it?”
“Some. He’s mostly concerned that I’m happy, and right now I am happier than I’ve ever been, so I’m just going to deal with what’s on my plate right this moment and leave the rest to God.”
“Wish I could be that wise,” he said, crumpling his own napkin and tossing it into our empty dessert bowl. “I just want to grab Elvia by the hair and haul her down to the justice of the peace.”
The image made me laugh out loud. “You’d better hope these tables aren’t bugged, ’cause if my feminist friend ever heard you say that, you’d be seeing her taillights fifty miles down the highway before you could blink those gorgeous green Southern eyes of yours.”
THAT EVENING I performed a scenario familiar to every woman on earth—standing in front of the closet an hour before the big event, moaning I had nothing to wear.
“You should go shopping more,” Gabe said practically, tying a patterned silk tie in front of our long mirror. He always had the appropriate clothes for everything. Tonight it was gray wool slacks, a blue-gray tweedy jacket, and a dark gray shirt.
“I hate to shop,” I said, but knowing he was right.
With Elvia’s voice in my head giving me directions, I finally decided on a pair of black wool Anne Klein pants she’d made me buy, a lapis-colored silk shirt, my good Lucchese boots, and a pair of silver, turquoise, and lapis earrings by Ray Tracey, a Navajo jeweller from New Mexico whose clean lines and unusual combinations of stones appealed to me. They were a gift from Emory, who’d once interviewed the artist for an article he did for Southwest Indian Arts and Crafts magazine.
On the drive to Amelia Valley, Gabe casually mentioned that he had talked to Lydia earlier that afternoon.
“Oh?” I murmured.
“She’s upset about Sam, of course, but I calmed her down. She doesn’t know Bliss, thought she was some young girl trying to trap him. I set her straight.” He glanced over at me.
“Oh,” I repeated noncommittally. There was no way I was being pulled into commenting on anything to do with his ex-wife.
“She’s coming up this weekend. She’s staying at the San Celina Inn.”
“An article in the Tribune said they’ve just redecorated. I’m sure she’ll like it.”
He gave a low laugh and said, “If she doesn’t, they’ll hear about it.”
At least I had a few more days before I met this assertive and gorgeous woman. I’m not a particularly jealous person, but I had to admit it would have made me a lot happier if she didn’t look quite so much like a Vogue model or wasn’t so incredibly successful, not to mention having a child in common with my husband. I picked at a piece of white lint on my knee. In some ways I envied Sam and Bliss. It was so much easier when you’re young and have minimal history to cloud a relationship.
“So,” I said, changing the subject, “tell me everything you know about wine so I don’t appear unsophisticated around these people.” I had a problem. Not only did I not particularly like wine, I didn’t like grapes—grape anything—the fruit itself, grape juice, grape jelly, not even that horrible grape soda pop Gabe and Sam loved so much. “There’s red and white, that much I know. Now, quick, tell me the rest so I can fake it.”
Gabe laughed and maneuvered his sky blue ’68 Corvette down the interstate off ramp and headed down a long, twisting country highway. “That’s one of the things I love about you, querida. Your complete confidence in your ability to pull one over on people even though your confidence is significantly greater than your ability.”
I whacked his biceps with the back of my hand. “Do what the lady says or you’ll be sleeping in the doghouse with Scout.”
“He sleeps in the kitchen,” Gabe said amicably. “At least I won’t have far to go to the coffeepot in the morning.”
“Wine, Friday. Tell me about wine. I don’t want to insult Sam’s in-laws-to-be. Tell me what I should do.”
“Be yourself, sweetheart, with a few alterations. Drink what they put in front of you and say it’s marvelous. Smile a lot. Try not to make your cauliflower face when you drink it.”