Two hours later, Andrew and Elizabeth pulled into the parking lot of the latest fabulous restaurant to open in Cannondale. It was called From Farm to Table and boasted an all-organic, locally grown menu, which included the chef, who was raised in neighboring Weston. It was relatively small and designed in a rustic, chic way. Elizabeth carried a Scully & Scully box containing a Limoges porcelain figurine for Leigh. She hoped Leigh didn’t have one already given that she did have pricey jewel-like Limoges boxes scattered all over her home.
“Elizabeth and Andrew,” greeted Richie when they walked in the door. “It’s so good of you to come. Please let the doorman take your coats. What can I order for you to drink?”
“Pinot Grigio for Elizabeth and an Arnold Palmer for me,” said Andrew.
“Nothing stronger for you, Andrew?” said Richie. “I need someone to celebrate my wife getting older with me. Sagging skin and graying hair. We have so much to look forward to.”
“I’ll get a drink on the next round,” said Andrew. “Where’s that aging beauty of yours anyway?”
“She is on her way,” said Richie. “Wardrobe malfunction. She’s waiting on Saks to deliver a new dress. The store sent the wrong one this afternoon.”
“Oh, she must be upset,” Elizabeth said, amused, imagining the scene that must have unfolded in Leigh’s home when the wrong dress arrived. “I pity the delivery person. He’s probably looking for new work.”
“Yes, and probably in a different country,” said Richie. “Once Leigh opened the box, she threw a fit. When she got her Saks personal shopper on the phone, she threatened to call immigration because the delivery person could barely speak English and obviously couldn’t read. He’d mixed up two deliveries. Leigh got the box with a size sixteen blue ‘muumuu,’ as she called it, not the size six petite Hugo Boss fitted dress. She was screaming ‘I’m not that fat yet’ at the deliveryman. Evidently, it was intended for someone else in town today. To spare the kids the full scene, I grabbed them and we went to the country club.”
“Well, I hope she doesn’t allow a dress to make her very late for her own party,” said Andrew.
“She better not be too late,” said Richie. “She demanded I throw her a big party with everyone we know in town. Since she’s always going out, I suggested a trip or quiet family dinner, but Leigh wouldn’t have it. ‘I can always celebrate with you and the kids,’ she said. ‘It’s not special enough for turning thirty-five.’ You would think she’s turning seventy-five. What’s wrong with women anyway, Andrew?”
Fortunately, before the Kellys had to hear more, their drinks arrived along with two more guests. They politely excused themselves from Richie and went to mingle.
The party was larger than Elizabeth imagined it could be for the space, and she was happily surprised by the range of guests. That said, the invitees clearly demonstrated Leigh’s cunning ways. She’d used her birthday to network to the hilt.
Among those in the room were: Candace Murphy, the owner of the trendiest dress shop in town, Svelte, along with her partner, Hayley Wellgood; Olivia Blackwell and her husband, Mitchell; Cannondale Country Day School’s headmaster Ron McCabe and his wife, Barbara; the Protestant minster Betty Jefferson and her husband, Robert; the mayor, Richard Ferguson and his wife Ramona; the most obnoxious realtor in town, Skippy Travis, and his long suffering wife, Alyssa; the owner of the local Porsche dealership, Joseph Albano, with a date Elizabeth didn’t recognize; Brianna and Edward Worth; Anastasia Barlow and Dalisay Ward—their husbands were out of town; one of the town’s few excellent developers, Bo Uznaka, and his wife Bozena; Sharon Lity, the town’s best dermatologist and go-to doctor for Botox, fillers, and other anti-aging procedures; and Yogi Jack, who brought Michael Kat, the hedge fund manager who provided the funding for Jack’s yoga studio.
Michael was a recently divorced man-about-town type. Elizabeth saw Abby and Michael chatting. They might make a good match. Elizabeth thought. Not wanting to interrupt them, Elizabeth decided to wait before going over to Abby.
About forty-five minutes into cocktails, Leigh arrived. As if her tardiness were part of the planning, Richie told the crowd to yell surprise when she walked in. Leigh smiled politely to the cheering crowd, but it was obvious she wasn’t really amused. She was still mad about the dress mishap.
“Saks delivered the wrong dress to me today,” she loudly announced once everyone stopped clapping. “You should have seen the first dress that arrived. It looked like something a gospel singer would wear: bright blue with no waistline. Absolutely humongous. Who wears those kinds of dresses?”
As Leigh continued to talk, thinking she was amusing, all eyes fell on Skippy Travis’s wife, Alyssa. A plus-size woman, she wore the exact dress Leigh described.
Fortunately, Leigh took note of the darting eyes and glanced at Alyssa. “Well, it was a bit stressful to have it happen on this day of all days,” she said in closing. “I’d love a glass of champagne. Richie, it’s my birthday. Where are you with my champagne?”
Cocktails lasted for another hour because of her late arrival. There were no name cards on the tables or at a central table so Elizabeth assumed there would be no seating arrangements. She greeted Abby. “Having fun?” she asked.
“Yes, so far,” Abby responded. “Michael Kat is funny, and I got to meet Livy, Leigh’s decorator. She seems cool.”
Just then, From Farm to Table’s maître d’ made an announcement: “As per Leigh’s request, tonight your seating will be determined by the luck of the draw,” he said. “As you walk toward the tables, please pick a card from one of the hurricane lamps. Then look for that same number on one of the seats.”
“I hate these dinner party seating games,” Elizabeth whispered to Abby. “The older we get, the more common they are. It’s a middle-age attempt to inject fun and spontaneity into gatherings.”
“Why wouldn’t Leigh want to sit next to her husband tonight?” Abby responded. “More importantly, who am I going to be sandwiched between?”
“No trading!” Leigh chirped as she went over and drew the first card. Andrew, Abby, and Elizabeth got in line. Andrew picked a fourteen, Abby a seven, and Elizabeth a three.
“See you after dessert,” Andrew said to Elizabeth and Abby with a smirk. “Enjoy your dinner companions.”
Elizabeth walked to her table and surveyed it. Skippy Travis and Candace Murphy were already seated. She moved to the opposite side of the round table and sat down. Joseph Albano sat on one side of her. He’ll try to sell me a car about thirty minutes in, Elizabeth thought.
As Elizabeth started to note who had already sat at the other tables in the room, Barbara McCabe sat on the other side of her. She’s nice, and a dinner conversation with her would be pleasant enough, she thought. At this party, her job is to not offend.
At table seven, Yogi Jack pulled out a chair next to Abby. Michael was already sitting on the other side of her. I bet Jack and Michael didn’t pick numbers, Elizabeth thought. They just want to sit next to Abby. She’s the prettiest single woman here.
Elizabeth looked over at Andrew. He could get through any dinner arrangement, but Elizabeth was amused to see him slotted between Betty and Robert Jefferson. Having avoided church since Alice’s baptism, they would surely attempt to make him feel very guilty for not being an active part of Betty’s congregation.
* * *
After a delicious dinner of squab, beluga lentils, hedgehog mushrooms, and braised leeks along with a petite salad of greens, candied pecans, and goat cheese, Richie was officially drunk. He was increasingly loud and rude to the wait staff, too. It was awkward. Elizabeth was relieved when she saw dessert trays set on stands appear next to the tables.
Dessert was a chocolate soufflé with a vanilla bean gelato served with champagne. It was prime time for a toast, but Richie seemed to be completely oblivious. From a neighboring table, Brianna’s husband Edward started tapping his glass with a spoon. Everyone looked toward Richie, who was in conversation with Bo Uznaka. Bo took note and nudged him while gesticulating raising a glass.
At that point, a few of the husbands ribbed Richie for his cluelessness. At first he looked embarrassed, but then his expression turned to anger when his eyes fell on his wife, who was glaring at him. Richie stood up, downed the remaining champagne, and ordered the waiter to bring him more. Once his glass was full again, Richie surveyed the room.
“I hope you all are having a good time on my dime,” he ungraciously started. “It’s time to praise our guest of honor. I’m hoping Leigh scripted me a toast because I didn’t write one.” Richie started patting down his pockets as if looking for a piece of paper.
“Nada,” he said with a wicked smile. “Leigh planned every other detail of this party. Why not my toast, too, honey?” he said as he looked in Leigh’s direction with raised eyebrows.
Her steely expression remained unchanged.
“Leigh told me where to have this party, who to invite, what to serve, and even tried to control what I wore tonight. You see, none of my ideas were big or clever enough. A celebration with just our family was, in her estimation, too dull. How do you think our kids felt when they overheard her say that?”
He paused and looked around the room again. He chugged his champagne and the waiter, who had smartly sensed to be right next to him, filled up his glass again.
“Well, Leigh, maybe you’re right about me. I’m really not a good planner because I haven’t thought of what to say about you tonight. I’ll have to wing it.
“Happy thirty-fifth birthday, darling. You’ve hit the age where everything starts to decay. Better keep up that gym membership and, if you haven’t already, find a good dermatologist and plastic surgeon. But I know you will. You always take care of yourself, and you will have no problem spending the thousands upon thousands of dollars it will cost to keep you looking thirty-five. You, Leigh, are a wonderful spender. It’s really is your best attribute. So cheers to that and cheers to you!”