Spoiled by Caitlin Macy

Author:Caitlin Macy [Macy, Caitlin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-58836-792-1
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Eden’s Gate

“THESE ARE THE specials for tonight,” sighs the waitress, and she props a chalkboard against a ladderback chair with a long-suffering air, as if Jessica and Josh have requested some onerous exertion on her part. Famished after the laughably long drive over from the B&B on Route Twenty-five, Josh notes the attitude, as well as the young woman’s ridiculously large breasts, dismisses the former as a local intolerance for outsiders—that is, for rich people—and tries to concentrate on the food. It’s the kind of place, so Jessica told him on the way over, where you get a choice of fries, rice pilaf, or a baked potato with your main; where the French onion soup will come in a “crock;” where the waitresses, in “colonial” gray shirtdresses and white pinafores, lifers all of them, will mother them and call them—both of them—“sweet-hat.” She offered up these proofs of authenticity in a tone of such triumph that Josh sensed that L.A.—and by extension himself—was being indicted. But now this martyr girl who can’t be any older than they has appeared (albeit wearing the costume), and the entrées have been tarted up with Thai dipping sauces and herb-infused oils and—here it comes—a reference to “how our chef prefers to do it.” So now it’s Jessica’s turn to take it personally. Hands clasped in her lap, she listens much too intently, the look on her face so ominously pleasant that Josh loses track of the choices as he tries to remember where, in his girlfriend’s elaborate hierarchy of grievances, slights from service people fit in: More egregious than men at dinner parties failing to draw her out about her career? Less, perhaps, than insufficient groveling from Sandy, her agent? He’d like to think that her irritation has something to do with what’s at stake tonight. Despite the many conditional advances and retreats from both sides, she can’t be completely sure (can she?) that he’s bought the ring. For the tenth time since they left the B&B, his right hand feels inside his blazer pocket and closes around the velvet box from Tiffany’s. He’d like to go on holding it, if it didn’t look weird.

“… seared sea scallops with a celery-root remoulade.” The young woman mispronounces the last syllable, giving it a long a, and Josh, embarrassed for her, gives her an encouraging smile, which he then has to hold, idiotically. When finally she comes to the end of her list, the girl does something unexpected: Instead of bustling off, she boldly meets his eye. It’s one of those direct looks that are so wildly presumptive Josh doesn’t have the presence of mind to repudiate it before she’s gone, walking across the room with a tarty, self-satisfied smugness.

“Oh, my God, I know her.”

“Yeah?” says Josh eagerly, leaping at this unexpected conversational salvation.

“Susan O’Hare—how crazy,” Jessica says, somewhat disingenuously, Josh thinks. After all it was she who chose the inn for tonight’s dinner—“the only gig in town, trust me,” she’d assured him, when he told

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