Part 3 (1/2)
Brooke smiled but didn't speak. A glob of sweat ran down the side of her face and dropped near his well-shod feet.
Not at all bothered, the concierge set down the cards he was carrying, retrieved two fresh towels from a cupboard and bottled waters from the small refrigerator. ”We keep towels and water stocked twenty-four-seven. If there's anything else you'd like to see in here, please let me know.”
”Thank you.” Brooke swiped at her face and hung the towel around her shoulders.
”Yes, thanks.” Samantha twisted the cap off her water and took a long drink. ”What have you got there?” Samantha nodded to the cream-colored cards in Edward Parker's hand.
”It's an invitation to a screening,” he replied. ”Email blasts seem terribly . . . impersonal, so I'm posting invitations in all the common areas and putting them in resident mailboxes.”
”Oh?” Samantha asked as Brooke Mackenzie continued to pedal beside her.
”We're going to be watching the first two seasons of Downton Abbey as a buildup to the start of season three in January.”
”Ah,” Samantha said. She'd overheard people talking about the British television series but had never seen it. ”Isn't that set in an English castle or something?”
”Yes. Highclere Castle in the countryside west of London serves as the fictional Downton Abbey.” He gave them one of his dazzling smiles. ”I thought it would be fun to have a weekly get-together for anyone interested. We're going to watch the very first episode on the big screen in the clubroom this Sunday evening at eight.
”Interesting.” Samantha definitely didn't see herself heading to the clubroom every Sunday night to watch a stuffy British drama with strangers, but there was no need to come out and say so.
”Have you seen it, Mrs. Mackenzie?” the concierge asked, drawing the other woman into the conversation.
”I've seen a few episodes,” she said, and Samantha could tell she was trying her hardest not to huff or puff. Not sweating was no longer an option. ”But not in order.” She fell silent for a moment. ”It was beautifully done, though.”
He considered them both. ”I'd like to create more of a sense of community in the building. The series is a huge hit all over the U.S. and the rest of the world, really, which would make us very . . . current.” His voice turned conspiratorial. ”And, frankly, I'm up for a bit of home.”
He set an invitation on the small shelf of each of their elliptical control panels. ”I hope you'll come give it a go if you're around this Sunday evening.” He turned and pinned an invitation up on the fitness room bulletin board. ”There'll be popcorn and wine to start. And maybe some English-themed nibbles and drinks.”
Samantha smiled noncommittally. She was glad to see Parker taking the initiative and relieved that Brooke Mackenzie seemed at least a little less ready to throw herself under a bus. It was amazing what a good-looking man with a devastatingly sincere smile and a gorgeous accent could accomplish.
”Thanks,” Brooke said, actually raising her chin and meeting the concierge's eyes. ”It sounds like . . . fun.” The word came out sounding odd, as if it were unfamiliar on her lips. ”I'll have to see what the girls have scheduled.”
”Wonderful,” the concierge said with a final smile. ”I'll cross my fingers and hope to see both of you on Sunday.”
Samantha and Brooke watched him go without comment. With a final huff the younger woman stopped pedaling and levered herself off the machine. Brooke's skin s.h.i.+mmered with perspiration, her red hair hung limp around her freckled face, but there was a look in her eyes that Samantha recognized as satisfaction. ”Can I get you another water or anything?”
”No, thanks. I'm good,” Samantha replied.
Brooke wiped down the elliptical, then took a long drink of water. ”Well, I appreciate you getting me started.”
”No problem,” Samantha replied. ”I was glad to help.”
The redhead looked at her for a few moments, then nodded. Finally she turned and walked toward the door.
”I hope your day gets better,” Samantha called after her.
”Thanks,” the younger woman said, reaching for the doork.n.o.b. ”I only fudged a little bit and the machine says I burned three hundred calories, so things are already looking up.” She smiled a lopsided smile. ”But then I guess they couldn't have gotten much worse.”
CHAPTER SIX.
BOOK CLUB IN THE NORTHERN ATLANTA subdivision of River Run began that Thursday night as it always did-with shrieks and hugs of greeting, the pouring of wine, and a growing roar of conversation. The book, E. L. James's Shades of Grey, would get its fifteen to twenty minutes of discussion later-possibly more given the t.i.tillation factor-but only once their husbands, ex-husbands, mothers, absent neighbors, and their children had been thoroughly dissected.
Attendance varied between ten and fifteen depending on schedules and the chosen book. Most of the members would readily admit that as much as they liked to read they were mostly here for the company. For many it was the only activity in a given month that belonged solely to them. For Claire, who had moved into the neighborhood newly divorced and with a two-year-old, a job, and already aging parents, the River Run Book Club-and the women in it-had been a lifeline. The meeting had always been a two a to three-minute walk, depending on who was hosting. Tonight, one week after her move into Midtown, it had taken her over an hour in traffic to get there.
Dropping her purse in a corner, Claire hugged her way to Amanda White's kitchen, where opened wine bottles and snacks covered the granite-topped island and conversation flowed almost as quickly as the alcohol was poured. This was the first meeting after the summer hiatus and there was a lot of catching up to do.
”I wish you all could have seen Sh.e.l.ley Gordon's face when she told me that Bradley didn't get into the University of Georgia.” Lisa Breckenridge snorted as she reached for a winegla.s.s. ”After four years of hearing how many Advanced Placement cla.s.ses he took, how high his test scores were, and how many schools were begging him to apply, it's kind of hard to fathom.”
”I know!” Marilyn Bender stepped up to give Claire a hug, then reached for a bowl of mixed nuts. ”I ran into her at Kendra's lacrosse game and she was going on about how happy he was at Georgia Southern after all and that he might not even want to transfer to Georgia later.” She rolled her eyes.
There were t.i.tters of amus.e.m.e.nt as Claire joined a group ogling the sponge and marzipan cake that had been shaped into a four-poster bed with a bare-chested, pant unzipped version of billionaire Christian Grey leaning against it. Black lace panties and a short brown whip hung from the dining room chandelier. Invitations had been short suggestive emails and the signature drink was the Greyhound-a combination of vodka and grapefruit juice. Whether it was chick lit or S and M the River Run Book Club dearly loved a book that lent itself to a theme.
”I know you didn't get that cake at Kroger!” Marilyn said.
”You're right about that,” Amanda crowed. ”I ordered it online and it arrived in a plain brown wrapper.”
”Welcome back to the hinterlands!” Woman after woman hugged Claire and proclaimed how wonderful it was of her to come all this way-as if she'd moved thousands of miles from them instead of in town.
”It's exactly twenty-three-point-four miles,” Claire said the fourth time someone commended her on her fort.i.tude. ”If it's not rush hour, it's only thirty-five to forty minutes.”
”But it's always rush hour nowadays,” Amanda said. ”I swear you have to be crazy to get on a highway anywhere in the metropolitan area between seven a.m. and seven p.m.”
”Isn't it weird to go from a three-bedroom Colonial to a studio apartment?” someone asked.
”Do you really walk to the grocery store?” Lisa asked as if she'd claimed she'd walked on the moon.
”I have. But driving is allowed,” Claire teased. ”The Publix near me has a parking lot and everything.”
”But what do you do if it rains?”
”I'm guessing she gets wet or opens up her umbrella,” Amanda deadpanned. ”Kind of like we do out here in the 'hood.”
There was laughter, but Claire knew that in a place as dependent on the automobile as the Atlanta suburbs completing tasks on foot really was an alien concept. As they plied her with questions they looked at her warily as if the desire to throw off a life and start a new one might be contagious.
”How's Hailey liking it up in Chicago?” Diana Grayson asked.
Claire launched into a story Hailey had told her about getting lost on the El and the group laughed, though she could tell from their expressions that they didn't understand why her daughter had chosen to go to college in the Midwest any more than they understood why Claire had shed life as they knew it for a tiny condo in the middle of the city.
The laughter and conversation flowed around her but didn't quite touch her. She wasn't sure how she could possibly feel so far removed from the life she'd lived for so long so quickly, but the long-awaited neighborhood clubhouse remodel, an email war about the landscaping for the front of the neighborhood, even home values already felt like ancient history. Another gla.s.s of wine or a Greyhound might have helped, but she was afraid of drinking too much, because when she left she wouldn't be cutting through the Graysons' yard and down two houses, she'd be driving two interstates to get back to the Alexander.
”Your eyes are completely glazed over,” Kerry Morgan said with a laugh. ”It's too tacky of us to bore you with the same old neighborhood s.h.i.+t, when you've already shaken the red clay of River Run off those adorable new ballet flats you've got on. Let's go grab those empty seats over there and you can tell us all about your new place.” Kerry picked up one of the opened bottles and led Claire and Hannah Simpson to an overstuffed sofa. ”I think Hailey told Savannah that your building isn't far from the Fox Theatre?”
”It's about six blocks north,” Claire replied. ”I walked down there just the other day and had a coffee at the Georgian Terrace.” She named a landmark hotel across from the theater.