The Savage Girl - Alex Shakar [21]
A stocky man in a black satin shirt and black jeans strides over to bellow hello to Bettina and Tammy and stick a hand in Javier’s direction.
“Ed Cabaj,” he announces.
“Javier Delreal. And this is—”
“Ursula,” Ursula cuts in.
Cabaj appraises her, his bushy eyebrows furrowing toward the center of his broad, red, balding head. “You look familiar,” he says. “Have we met before?”
“We probably met at some other party,” she says, looking off through the terrace window. “Octoberfest? Mardi Gras? Day of the Dead?”
“They’re friends of John . . .” Bettina pauses. “What did you say his name was?”
“Hammond,” Javier says, at the same time Tammy says “Hayden.” “Hammond,” he corrects her.
“And he invited you here?” Cabaj says.
Javier looks back at him innocently, opening his hands. “Well, he lives here, doesn’t he?”
“No,” Cabaj says. “I live here.”
“You’re kidding!”
Ursula begins scanning for exits. Javier turns to her and says, “You know what, Ursula? I think we’ve come to the wrong party! Isn’t this Four eighty-four West McCone?”
“No. It’s Four eighty-four West Wisner,” Cabaj says.
“Aha! This is fantastic! They’ll crack up at John’s place when I tell them about this. I’ll tell them all what a great party you’re throwing over here. Tell me, Ed, what is it you do?”
After a bit of formalized modesty, Cabaj reveals that he’s the head of marketing for General Foods’ New Beverage division. As it turns out, this is a very challenging job. It is a very exciting time for new beverages. You have to be very creative nowadays in marketing. Javier keeps feeding him questions, he and Ursula going into Very Interested mode, eyes widened 14 percent, nodding every 3.7 seconds. Cabaj hammers the ball back into Javier’s court.
“So now tell me what you do.”
Javier gives the one-word answer, which of course doesn’t satisfy. Sensing no end to the conversation in sight, Ursula excuses herself to get a drink. She finds the wet bar in the kitchen and makes herself a vodka tonic in a tall glass, happy at long last to finally have a minute alone—ridiculously happy, downright giddy, in fact. She can’t believe Javier scammed their way in here like that, can’t believe he got away with it. The drink, she sees, looks just as it should—the tall glass, the rough-cut ice cubes, the slight rainbow brightening the faint tonic fizz. She moves over to the garnish bowls and finds Bettina and Tammy behind her. She holds up her drink for their inspection.
“Have you ever seen a vodka tonic that looked so much like a vodka tonic?” she asks.
Bettina and Tammy exchange an ambiguous look. Ursula goes on.
“It could be in an ad for vodka, or for tonic, or for glassware, or for investment services. This vodka tonic has star potential.” She addresses the drink: “Stick with me, kid. We’ll go places!”
They smile. And cut her, turning to talk to a man who’s just walked up, an effete-looking guy with octagonal-lensed glasses and a trimmed hedge of curly hair. Mission accomplished. She returns her attention to her preferred companion, the drink. Lemon wedge or lemon peel? The wedge would taste better, but the peel would look better. The choice might have seemed obvious to her before, but no longer. Appearances mean something, after all. They offer a pleasure all their own.