Part 31 (1/2)
”Mom or Dad probably had it in an open s.p.a.ce or something. Aunt Daisy might know. Let's get out of here before we get stuck in rush-hour traffic.”
I looked at my watch. It was almost four thirty.
”Too late. We're screwed,” I said.
And, as predicted, we sat in b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper traffic, not arriving at the Porgy House until ten minutes past five.
”You take the bathroom first!” she said.
”Thanks! Maybe he'll be late!” I said, rus.h.i.+ng up the stairs.
Patti and I made ourselves as presentable as we could in a short period of time and at six o'clock he wasn't there. Ten after six, no John. Six fifteen, no John.
”Should you call him?” Patti said. ”You know, maybe he's got a flat or something.”
”Nice girls don't call boys,” I said. ”You want a gla.s.s of wine?”
”You're not a nice girl. Call him.”
”If he's not here in ten minutes, I'll do it.”
I went down to the kitchen and poured two gla.s.ses of wine from the open bottle in the refrigerator. I tasted one and then poured them both down the drain. There was nothing quite like cheap wine that had been sitting in a refrigerator for a couple of days to make you want a Diet c.o.ke.
Finally, there was a knock at the door, which he opened himself and called out, ”Cate? Sorry I'm late!”
”I'm right here!”
He gave me a kiss and said, ”Wow, you smell good.”
The man was a veritable poet sometimes. Freaking Keats. But it should be noted that he smelled good enough to, well, you know what I mean. Pretty delicious is what, okay?
”Thanks! So, what happened? I was getting worried. You know, dead in a ditch?”
”Wild horses couldn't keep me away from you. Don't you know that by now? There was a terrible wreck on Folly Road and my cell is dead. How's Miss Daisy?”
”Doing great, thanks! She's probably coming home tomorrow.”
”Where's your sister?”
”Patti? John's here!”
”Coming!” she called back and I could hear her feet scurrying about overhead.
”Oh! Guess what? We went to the Charleston Museum today and saw the piano.”
”And?”
”You were right, of course. It is absolutely identical to mine.”
”Isn't that something?” John said.
”Yeah, it's another one of those crazy coincidences.”
”There are no coincidences, Cate. This is another confirmation that you are the one to write Dorothy Heyward's story. Plain and simple.”
”I'm buying a laptop tomorrow,” I said. ”It's time.”
”Hi!” Patti called out too loudly from the top of the steps. ”Are y'all coming up or am I coming down?”
”Let's get going,” I called up to her. ”For the first time in my whole life, I skipped lunch.”
”Starving?” John said.
”Like an animal,” I said.
”Yeah, you are,” he whispered, with a naughty expression.
”Hus.h.!.+” I mumbled.
Patti hurried downstairs, took one look at John, and I wouldn't say she gasped or went all gooey, but there was a marked change in her normal demeanor. Maybe giddy was the way to describe her.
”It's nice to meet you,” she said, in her usual way, but I knew better, because she was talking too loud.
He took her extended hand and put his other hand on top, holding on to it as though she was a rare and tender orchid he was protecting from a bruising tropical rain.
”So, you're Patti, Cate's beautiful sister I've heard so much about. You're much younger than I thought you'd be. You're a pastry chef, aren't you? How do you stay so . . . I mean, Cate said you were a knockout but she didn't prepare me for this! No, ma'am, she did not prepare me for this!”
Patti's eyes opened wide; she leaned her head to one side and said in a new voice, one just above a whisper, ”Please marry my sister. We'd love to have you in the family. I'm not kidding.”
Among the many qualities John Risley possessed, he was also able to lower the volume on my sister.
Ma.s.sive giggles overtook us and countless disingenuous admonishments flew around the room like a swarm of crazy bees.
My sister's such a great kidder, making jokes all the time! Who's joking? For G.o.d's sake, marry her! Do you think your sister would have me? Are you serious?
On and on they went until finally I said, ”All right, you two? We can plan the wedding over dinner, okay?”
”I'll make the cake. John, what kind of cake do you like?”
”I like every kind of cake,” he said. ”Whatever you make is delicious, I'm sure!”
”And you're so sweet to take us out to dinner. Can we make dinner for you tomorrow night?”
”I think that would be wonderful,” he said.
”Have you seen the things my sister can do with a chicken?”
”Well actually, only once but I can't wait for an encore,” he said.
”I'll make dessert. Do you like chocolate?”