Edward’s missing?”
“No. From each other.”
Babe toyed with her hair. “What if he doesn’t come back? What will we tell everyone?”
“Babe has a point,” Amanda conceded. “The only thing worse than the gossip that would start if we cancel the party is if we act like it’s a big deal that he’s not here. Someone is bound to call the police. Someone will be convinced he is dead.”
Dead. There was that word again.
Ellie shifted uncomfortably on the Hepplewhite. “Edward is fine, he has to be. I suggest we have the party and see what happens. In the meantime, let’s talk about something else.”
Amanda stood up again and traced her steps back to the wine. “So now we can’t talk about Edward and we can’t talk about Carleen. Have you compiled a list of acceptable topics?”
Ellie looked at her sweet sister, Babe. She smiled. “Yes. Why don’t we talk about Babe. We haven’t seen her in a while, remember?”
“It’s no fun to talk about someone when they’re in the room,” Amanda retorted. It might have been funny if it weren’t the truth. “Oh, all right,” Amanda continued, “do tell us, Babe. What have you been doing for the past twenty years?”
“Actually, it’s only been nineteen,” Babe said. “And I’m sure you’ve read or heard most of it. Three husbands, no kids, two Emmys, no Oscars.”
“Four nominations,” Ellie interrupted.
“Two gone to Meryl Streep, one to Nicole Kidman, and the latest to that newcomer, Kate Winslet.”
“She’s hardly a newcomer.”
“Time flies.”
“So what’s the real dirt?” Amanda asked. “What’s life really like in Hollywood?”
Ellie could tell Amanda was being sarcastic, because she knew Amanda had no patience with the disingenuous film world. It was the one trait she’d inherited from Uncle Edward.
“You could have visited anytime,” Babe replied.
“Ouch,” Amanda said and poured herself more wine. “Well, sorry. I’ve been busy tending to my charities and raising my three children.”
If the remark was meant to be cutting, Amanda succeeded.
“Amanda,” Ellie said, “sometimes you are a pompous ass.”
Babe laughed and stood up. “Well, this has been lovely, but while my husband is off on a search party and Amanda is getting drunk before dinner, I think I’ll go upstairs and rest. I’m sure you understand. It’s been a long day.”
Ellie stood up, kissed her sister’s cheek. “I’ll call for you in time for dinner.”
“I’ll be in my old room. The one in the back.”
Ellie felt a sting but reserved comment.
“Pleasant dreams,” Amanda called after Babe. “Oh, by the way, I hope you’ve brought something more appropriate to wear. You’re in New York now, you know. Civilization.”
“Yes,” Babe replied. “As I recall, it’s where the world revolves around you. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” She swept from the room in a graceful departure befitting a dramatic actress of an earlier time, Bette Davis, perhaps, or Elizabeth Taylor.
Ellie had to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“Well, apparently she’s still a princess,” Amanda said.
“Funny,” Ellie said, “that’s not quite how I saw it.” Still, she was considering asking Amanda to pour wine for her, too, when the doorbell rang again. Instead of asking for wine, Ellie held her breath.
“I guess we’re going to have to get used to this for the next couple of days,” Amanda commented, and Ellie agreed.
Chapter Nine
O nce again, it wasn’t Carleen. And it wasn’t Edward.
This time it was Heather, Amanda’s daughter, the eldest of her brood, her contribution to Wellesley. The last time Ellie had seen the girl had been at Christmas, at which time her thick coppery-red hair had not been twisted into a loose topknot. She had not worn black eyeliner as she did now, or eye shadow of what appeared to be glitter. Ellie also did not recall that the girl had a large tattoo of a monarch butterfly on her upper left arm, or
“No. From each other.”
Babe toyed with her hair. “What if he doesn’t come back? What will we tell everyone?”
“Babe has a point,” Amanda conceded. “The only thing worse than the gossip that would start if we cancel the party is if we act like it’s a big deal that he’s not here. Someone is bound to call the police. Someone will be convinced he is dead.”
Dead. There was that word again.
Ellie shifted uncomfortably on the Hepplewhite. “Edward is fine, he has to be. I suggest we have the party and see what happens. In the meantime, let’s talk about something else.”
Amanda stood up again and traced her steps back to the wine. “So now we can’t talk about Edward and we can’t talk about Carleen. Have you compiled a list of acceptable topics?”
Ellie looked at her sweet sister, Babe. She smiled. “Yes. Why don’t we talk about Babe. We haven’t seen her in a while, remember?”
“It’s no fun to talk about someone when they’re in the room,” Amanda retorted. It might have been funny if it weren’t the truth. “Oh, all right,” Amanda continued, “do tell us, Babe. What have you been doing for the past twenty years?”
“Actually, it’s only been nineteen,” Babe said. “And I’m sure you’ve read or heard most of it. Three husbands, no kids, two Emmys, no Oscars.”
“Four nominations,” Ellie interrupted.
“Two gone to Meryl Streep, one to Nicole Kidman, and the latest to that newcomer, Kate Winslet.”
“She’s hardly a newcomer.”
“Time flies.”
“So what’s the real dirt?” Amanda asked. “What’s life really like in Hollywood?”
Ellie could tell Amanda was being sarcastic, because she knew Amanda had no patience with the disingenuous film world. It was the one trait she’d inherited from Uncle Edward.
“You could have visited anytime,” Babe replied.
“Ouch,” Amanda said and poured herself more wine. “Well, sorry. I’ve been busy tending to my charities and raising my three children.”
If the remark was meant to be cutting, Amanda succeeded.
“Amanda,” Ellie said, “sometimes you are a pompous ass.”
Babe laughed and stood up. “Well, this has been lovely, but while my husband is off on a search party and Amanda is getting drunk before dinner, I think I’ll go upstairs and rest. I’m sure you understand. It’s been a long day.”
Ellie stood up, kissed her sister’s cheek. “I’ll call for you in time for dinner.”
“I’ll be in my old room. The one in the back.”
Ellie felt a sting but reserved comment.
“Pleasant dreams,” Amanda called after Babe. “Oh, by the way, I hope you’ve brought something more appropriate to wear. You’re in New York now, you know. Civilization.”
“Yes,” Babe replied. “As I recall, it’s where the world revolves around you. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” She swept from the room in a graceful departure befitting a dramatic actress of an earlier time, Bette Davis, perhaps, or Elizabeth Taylor.
Ellie had to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“Well, apparently she’s still a princess,” Amanda said.
“Funny,” Ellie said, “that’s not quite how I saw it.” Still, she was considering asking Amanda to pour wine for her, too, when the doorbell rang again. Instead of asking for wine, Ellie held her breath.
“I guess we’re going to have to get used to this for the next couple of days,” Amanda commented, and Ellie agreed.
Chapter Nine
O nce again, it wasn’t Carleen. And it wasn’t Edward.
This time it was Heather, Amanda’s daughter, the eldest of her brood, her contribution to Wellesley. The last time Ellie had seen the girl had been at Christmas, at which time her thick coppery-red hair had not been twisted into a loose topknot. She had not worn black eyeliner as she did now, or eye shadow of what appeared to be glitter. Ellie also did not recall that the girl had a large tattoo of a monarch butterfly on her upper left arm, or
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