Page 85 of Single-Minded
When I awake four hours later at five-thirty, I’m spooning Morley, and still wearing my jeans and T-shirt from last night. For once, Morley doesn’t seem to mind. My alarm has not yet gone off, and it isn’t until I hear the doorbell ring that I realize what woke me up.
Still a bit disoriented, I wander to the front door and open it.
“Hello, Cinderella,” says Carter with flourish, “It’s time to get ready for the ball.” He’s sporting a blue suit with a bright pink tie and classic Wayfarer sunglasses. Darcy stands next to him on the porch, with a garment bag flung over her shoulder and a bottle of dark rum under her arm. I motion them inside, and they sweep into the house and take over the kitchen as I trail behind.
“Get in the shower, you look like a hobo,” instructs Carter. “We’re leaving in an hour. Sam is meeting us there.”
“I’m making my famous mai tais,” says Darcy. “Carter and I will be having a little cocktail while you get ready. If you hurry, you can have one too.”
“Thanks.” I laugh, heading back toward the bathroom. I brush my teeth for a solid three minutes and then slip into the shower. The warm water feels good. I’m remarkably refreshed after my four-hour nap, and although I’m hesitant to see Daniel, I figure he’ll be very busy all night, and I can’t wait to see Boudreaux in all her glory. I’m really proud of my work there.
When I emerge from the shower, I wrap my wet hair in a towel, slip on a short cotton robe, and head to my closet for inspiration. Laid out on my bed is the slinky aqua dress I haven’t worn since my divorce party. The one that hugs every curve and makes my legs look a mile long.
“Carter, have you been going through my closet again?” I yell toward the kitchen. He and Darcy appear in the doorway of my bedroom, mischievous looks on their faces.
“Michael insisted,” says Carter. “He says if he croaks tonight that you wearing that dress is his dying wish.”
“He’s not dying,” I say.
“He is eventually,” says Carter solemnly. “We all are.” He keeps a straight face for all of ten seconds and then he and Darcy start cracking up.
“Fine,” I say, “I’ll wear the dress. Did Michael want to pick out my shoes too, or were you guys going to let me handle that?”
“It’s Michael’s other dying wish that you wear the strappy silver stilettos. But get a move on, we’re on a tight schedule.”
Darcy hands me a mai tai. “For courage,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting the glass. I head back into the bathroom, brush and dry my hair, and apply some makeup.
“Twenty minutes!” yells Carter from somewhere near the kitchen. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes.” Carter is the only person I know who is more obsessive about punctuality than I am.
I pull on a strapless bra, panties, and a silk slip before putting on the gorgeous aqua dress. I know why Michael picked it for me. It’s his favorite because he says I always look so confident when I wear it, like I could take on the world.
I accessorize with my favorite aquamarine drop earrings, a bejeweled silver cuff with stones the color of the ocean, and a delicate Tiffany starfish necklace on a barely-there silver chain. To finish, I select a teal-blue ombre clutch with a silver chain, and the strappy silver sandals Michael had suggested. Really, what’s the point of having a gay ex-husband if you can’t rely on him for fashion advice?
I slip on the stilettos, and put the essentials in my clutch—lip gloss, wallet, mini-toothbrush, phone, keys. My pedicure from last week still looks great, no need to touch it up.
Heading into the kitchen, where Darcy and Carter are hanging out, I’m five minutes ahead of schedule. Carter will be so pleased. Darcy’s changed into a stunning, off-the-shoulder white dress and tall salmon-colored wedges in a funky geometric pattern. She looks amazing, as always.
We toast to Michael’s health, and then head out the door to Carter’s big black Lincoln Navigator.
Traffic is light, and it only takes about ten minutes to get from my house to the marina. Carter, always the gentleman, drops Darcy and me off by the dock entrance so we won’t have to tromp through the marina parking lot in our high heels. We wait in the shade while Carter parks the car, and the three of us walk down the dock to Boudreaux together.
We arrive at six-thirty, although the party and first seating aren’t until seven-thirty. I need to make sure everything is in place, and Carter promised Daniel he’d arrive early for moral support.
“The magnolias are a great touch,” says Carter.
Tina, the headwaitress, is standing at the hostess stand when we arrive at the gangplank.
“This is Alex,” she says to Brenna, the hostess. “Please take her to her table.”
“Fancy,” says Carter. “You have your own table.” We cross the gangplank, and the view is stunning. The vintage linen and sea-colored tablecloths flutter gently in the breeze, the centerpieces are perfection, the ivory cane-backed chairs look elegantly formal and comfortable all at once.
“Oh, Alex, it’s gorgeous,” says Darcy.
“You’ve really outdone yourself,” says Carter. I smile, pleased as I can be. I love that moment when the vision in my head for a space or an event becomes a reality.
Brenna takes us along the wall with the framed black-and-white photographs, and across to the rear deck with the view of the bay. She leads us to the table where Daniel and I so often sat together, in the corner, near the railing.
