Dumping Billy by Olivia Goldsmith Page A

risotto with truffles, and she knew what truffles cost. They all took a bite of the steaming rice. As the awkward silence stretched out, Kate turned to Brice in an attempt at light conversation. “Brice, this risotto is really delicious.”
    “Very good,” Michael agreed.
    Brice beamed at the compliments. He was proud of his cooking, his design sense, and his extensive collection of pristine Beanie Babies arranged meticulously on a series of long floating shelves over the credenza. Kate had watched Michael notice them and avert his eyes. He was not, she had to admit, very playful in his attitude to decor or dining chitchat.
    “So, what happened at the salon this afternoon?” Elliot inquired of Kate.
    She smiled. She knew him so well: He was taking pity on her and trying to make the dinner less painful. And he also figured she’d spill her guts more readily just to keep the conversation going. Nice try, she thought, but it wouldn’t work.
    “Oh, I just had my nails painted,” she said. She showed ten gleaming fingertips and still managed to hold the fork. “Do you think Dr. McKay will feel they’re subversive?” The previous semester, the principal had declared toe rings subversive, and all the kids had to remove their socks and shoes to have contraband foot jewelry confiscated.
    “That and cock rings,” Elliot said.
    “Elliot, please!” Brice reprimanded. “Not in front of the Havilland.” He flashed a smile at Kate and Michael.
    Their conversation continued in fits and starts, but Kate knew Michael was not a hit. Of course, Elliot had really liked Steven and that hadn’t worked out, so . . . perhaps Elliot’s first impression was not as important as she had thought it was.
    “Salad or cheese and fruit before dessert?” Brice asked. “I have lovely Bosc pears.”
    “No thanks, Brice,” said Kate.
    “None for me,” Michael agreed. Across the table, Elliot stood up and began to clear away the dishes. “It was very good,” Michael added.
    Even to Kate it seemed a bland thank-you. “Wasn’t the terrine terrific?” she prompted. She looked at Michael, who in turn looked at the empty serving plates with an expression of confusion.
    “Which was the terrine?” he asked.
    Kate’s face flushed pink. She knew how much effort Brice had put into the dish. “The vegetable pâté,” she explained to Michael.
    Elliot, still picking up plates, circled around behind Michael. “With your head so clear you probably just call that ‘thick dip,’ huh,” he said.
    Kate winced. From behind Michael’s back, Elliot held his nose and gave Kate a thumbs-down sign, almost dumping the plates he had gathered.
    “Watch out for the Havilland!” Brice warned again.
    “Elliot, you don’t have to do that,” Kate said, referring both to his comments and the clearing.
    “Oh, but I do, I do,” Elliot replied, grinning.
    She gave him a look. Clearly they needed some private time in the kitchen. “I’ll help you clear,” she offered, noticing Michael didn’t even attempt to help.
    Brice began to protest and rise as well, but Elliot shook his head and looked pointedly at Michael. Brice gave him a pleading look, but Elliot leaned close and whispered, “Somebody has to talk to him.”
    Brice gave Michael a weak smile. “So, what’s new in anthropology?” he asked Michael in a bright voice. “Is the Sugerman grant a sure thing?”
    “Sagerman,” Michael corrected. “From the Sagerman Foundation for the Studies of Primitive Peoples.”
    Kate sighed, picked up some glasses, and followed Elliot into the kitchen. It was small but efficient, with black-and-white floor tiles, red walls and cabinets, and the latest stainless-steel appliances. Kate tried to prepare herself. Elliot was silent as he put the dishes in the sink. Then, as she knew he would, he turned to face Kate, his hands on his hips like an accusatory nun. “Where did you dig him up?” he demanded. “This guy’s the worst of the lot.”
    “Oh,