Part 10 (1/2)
”What's all this?”
”Our new software!” he crowed. ”Now that Zack got it to work, we're going to save all kinds of time and trouble. Look at this. It's a graph of revenues versus expenses for the last six months.”
I took the sheet he handed me and sat down. ”We lost that much in just six months?”
He wasn't listening. ”And this one charts the RSVPs for Lamott/Wheeler, with columns for gifts received, thank-you notes sent, the whole shebang. You check off which columns you want visible on the screen.”
”Hmm. His relatives back East still haven't answered. I need to give Joe a final head count soon.”
”... and this one is a pie chart of expenses allocated for Buckmeister/Frost. You can edit the captions for each wedge, see?”
”Are the flowers really running that high? Those amaryllis must be made of platinum.”
”Carnegie!” Eddie glowered at me and chomped his cigar so hard it nearly imploded.
”What?”
”Are you interested in this software or not? I've been busting my b.u.t.t at the computer all morning while you went around trying on clothes, and now all you can do is pick nits!”
”Of course I'm interested!” The only treatment for this kind of computer fever was to feign enthusiasm and pray for a quick recovery. ”This is just what we need to get a handle on the business. Why don't you e-mail me some of these, so I can see them on-screen? Save a little paper, anyway.... Hey, did Zack call?”
”Yeah, he's coming by tomorrow afternoon. He apologized all up and down about how he acted the other day, but I told him it was only natural seeing how a friend of his just got killed. He's a nice kid. Smart.”
”According to Paul, he's a genius with web-site design. I can't wait to see what he comes up with for Made in Heaven. Anything else going on?”
”Joe Solveto wants to talk to you, so I told him to come on over. And that Talbot fellow called, but he wouldn't say why. Too bad about his wife. I remember reading about it.”
”Yes. Yes, that really was too bad. I'd better make some calls before Joe gets here.”
I started with Roger Talbot.
”Carnegie, about this rehearsal dinner on Friday,” he said. His voice sounded ghastly.
”Roger, if you'd rather not be there-”
”I promised Paul I'd meet his parents. And I don't want people to think”-Mercedes' name hung in the silence between us-”... to think anything. But I just can't do it. I'm not sleeping, I can't seem to pull my thoughts together.”
”Don't worry about it, really,” I said, privately grateful that he wouldn't be at the Salish. He was hardly the ideal dinner guest at this point. ”You can spend some time with Chloe and Howard at the reception.”
”I knew you'd understand. You're the only one who knows what I'm going through. Thank you, Carnegie.”
First an unwilling confidante to Mercedes, and now a reluctant co-conspirator with Roger. This wasn't the role I signed up for. Mindful of Eddie's presence-he claimed he didn't eavesdrop but I knew he did, and he knew I knew-I made a brisk and businesslike farewell, and reached for my next phone message slip, from Pete the mechanic. But Eddie couldn't resist a comment.
”Talbot bailed out, huh?” Before I could come up with an explanation, he provided his own. ”Delayed reaction to his wife dying. It happens. Your mother went along fine for a couple of months, keeping up a good front, and then she kinda folded up for a while. Probably the same for Talbot.”
”I'm sure you're right, Eddie. Excuse me.” I punched in Pete's number. The news was not good.
”We're looking at twenty-five, twenty-seven hundred here, Carnegie!” Pete had to shout over the din of engines, tools, and the Christian radio channel that blared eternally in his tiny office next to the garage. ”Then there's that rear right fender. You want that in the estimate, too?”
”How did I know this would be three thousand?” I mused aloud. I might as well just sign over Elizabeth's check.
”Can't hear you!” he said.
”Never mind. Estimate the whole thing, including the fender, and fax it over, OK?”
”Okeydoke!”
Then I got on e-mail and reviewed Eddie's new hobby of chart creation for fun and profit. He was right, the new software would save us some time, and provide a nice professional format for keeping our clients updated on budgets, vendors, and guests. In my previous life-doing public relations work for a bank-I'd been project manager for some fairly major publications and events, but none of them held a candle to the logistical complexities of a large formal wedding like Bonnie's or Elizabeth's. For instance, very few executives throw hissy fits about who they're seated next to at the annual stockholders meeting.
A jaunty rap on the outer office door announced Joe Solveto. He let himself in, along with a gust of salt.w.a.ter air and the cries of gulls.
”Victory is mine, boys and girls! I hold in my hand the final menu for Lamott/Wheeler, and it is a triumph of the culinary arts.”
”If you do say so yourself?” I smiled. ”Good to see you, Joe.”
Joe was always good to see. For one thing, he was a beautiful man, from his cunningly mussed sandy hair, down past his diligently sculpted dancer's physique, to his impeccably polished, hand-crafted Italian shoes. Joe and his partner, Alan, made a lovely couple. They also made a lot of money. Alan was a media buyer for the biggest ad agency in town, and Joe had built up Seattle's premiere catering firm. I loved it when my clients could afford Solveto's; he was a prince to work with, and they always adored his food. I accepted the menu he offered with my mouth already watering.
”Let's see... spinach salad with feta and golden raisins, the haricots verts you told me about, Penn Cove mussels... ooh, crab cakes with dried cherries and cilantro, topped with chile aioli? That sounds scrumptious.”
”It is scrumptious.” He folded himself elegantly into a visitor chair. ”As is the peppercorned New York strip on foccacia with arugula and Parmesan. Oh, and I've had an epiphany for the Buckmeister/Frost entree, the vegetarian one.”
”Tell, tell.”
”Two epiphanies, actually. Number one is a torta di ver-dura, and-”
”What the h.e.l.l is that?” Eddie wasn't quite as fond of Joe as I was. Back in his day, on the high seas, men didn't admit to h.o.m.os.e.xuality unless they were very good swimmers. But Joe answered him with perfect courtesy. He had told me once in private that he found Eddie's attempt to embrace diversity quite touching.
”Torta di verdura is a 'cake of greens,' in this case brioche stuffed with spinach and citrus-scented ricotta.”
”Oh,” said Eddie, embracing away. ”Well, that sounds pretty good. What's number two?”
”Baby arugula salad with figs. And polenta rosemary breadsticks to go with. The torta has dairy, the salad's completely vegan.”
Eddie nodded grudging approval and went back to his reports.
”Joe, you've done it again,” I told him. ”I wish you were doing the rehearsal dinner, too.”
”Oh, the Salish will do you proud,” he said. ”Even if the food was bad, the location is divine. And actually, the food is quite good.”
The Salish Lodge overlooked Snoqualmie Falls, a Northwest beauty spot that's higher than Niagara, though not as broad. I'd reserved a private room for the dinner, with a fireplace and terrace, and French doors we could open to join the after-dinner dancing in the foyer.
”That's high praise, coming from you,” I said. ”I'll be sure to bring my appet.i.te.”
Joe c.o.c.ked his head. ”You're attending?”
”I'm an attendant.” I told him about the bridesmaid bribe.