(14) Dinner For Eight, At Eight
When he finally plucked up the nerve to confront the morning, the day itself seeming to require more nerve than he could muster, he showered and shaved, and while the coffee was perking he checked his email. Vee had sent an invite: Dinner For Eight, At Eight. He was to please bring Lara. And yes, not only was she having a perfectly square table delivered for the evening, but her midlife crisis was being put on hold for the weekend.
He grabbed his coffee and walked out into the cloudy November chill. Not what he’d call a pleasant morning, but living here had helped him transcend those conventional distinctions. He stood at the water’s edge, shivering slightly. The panorama was textured monochrome grey. He returned inside, feeling as though he got the message. There was a phone message from Vee reiterating the email invite. That seemed, well, interesting. He wondered what to make of it. She sure sounded jived. She had talked a good line about loving the hostess trip, but he’d never quite believed it. She’d never come across as a Mrs. Dalloway, or a potential one.
According to Lara, who he phoned later to relay the information, it was an occasional passion of hers, maybe once every four months. Sometimes they’d have it catered. Lara suspected it was more for Dennis than anything, yet Dennis always acted the indulgent father figure at them, so she was never quite sure. Andrew broke the Imrat news as gently as he could. Lara asked if they should start worrying about their own fates, and then added that as her own number was up fairly soon, maybe they’d be doing her a favour. But you Andrew, you’re going to do so much good in the world, you should be protected. Andrew declared himself flattered but felt in the leagues they were swimming in protection was mere vanity.
Besides, Lara, your number is not up.
That’s what you’d like to think Andrew. Don’t be afraid.
I’m not afraid. I just don’t have the same hunch you do.
Okay, let’s agree to disagree shall we?
Sure.
But, not to put too fine a point on it, the news is disturbing to say the least. Are we sure he was targeted?
The police seem to think so. Apparently there was some altercation inside. His friends are sure it was the same people.
I want to know who these friends are.
Well I wouldn’t mind myself, but should we blow our cover to find out?
We’ve got a cover? Oh yes, the kindly white folks around the corner saving Asha.
Saving Asha’s ass? Sorry I couldn’t resist. I suppose we should tell her.
Rather you than me.
Really? I thought you were doing a grand mothering job. Besides she didn’t seem to care that much for him.
I hate to say it, but I think you might be right.
Did you find yourself getting attached or fond or whatever?
I was too caught up in the adventure of it all, the theatre of strategy and desire.
Hey, that’s good, don’t you think?
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