Cathy stirred the soup and brought it up, still boiling in the grasp of the spoon. As she tasted it, a single pea plunged and rolled perfectly down the center of her breasts. Better me than the soup, she thought. Tonight they were expecting friends, guests for dinner.
They were a nice couple, but they were always fifteen minutes earlier than you'd wanted them to be. Fifteen minutes you don't get to have the maid give one last pass with the cloth on the silver or to repress the linen napkins. She'd barely had time for one last swipe of lipstick before the bell was rung and she could hear the door opening and their voices came barreling up the stairs to greet her, to thank her for their gracious invitation.
Usually she minded when she saw their names in her agenda. It wasn't the constancy of issuing invitations to them that she minded, it was the necessity. Three, four times a year to reaffirm our place in society. It wasn't friendship, it was maintenance.
But tonight she didn't mind. Tonight she was glad to know she wouldn't be sitting across from Richard alone, her mind full of questions as one plate was exchanged for another, her mouth stained with wine, and just wondering and wondering.
She was all smiles for Dr. Harrison and his wife Millie. They sat on the sofa and caught up between mouthfuls of canapes and sips of champagne. By the time Richard arrived at home she had had no less than four glasses, she who normally didn't touch a drop except wine with dinner.
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