In Death 23 - Born in Death

as women. One day, when you’re ready, you’ll know.”
    “Seeing all this—and that birthing class I had to take—it’s pushed the idea—which is actually more of a concept—way, way down on my to-do list.”
    “When you’re ready,” Mira repeated. “I like watching them. Women. The different sizes and shapes, the colors. The dynamics that form. Look at Louise and Nadine, sitting over there with their heads together. And Mavis’s friend Trina, huddled with those two women. Probably giving them hair and skin-care advice for during pregnancy. And Peabody, hauling gifts in her efficient way, so happy to be useful. Mavis on her throne—a charming concept, by the way—looking so healthy and vital.
    “And here we sit, you and I. The observers.”
    “A lot of it, for me, is like watching aliens. Still, not without it’s entertainment value,” Eve admitted. “Take that blonde over there, in the red dress. Her feet are killing her. But people complimented her shoes, and she claimed they were comfortable. Now she’s stuck. And the brunette—short, green skirt? She keeps wandering back to the food table. She takes this little sliver of cake each time. Hit it about a dozen times now. But she can’t just go and take a human-sized piece straight off. She tells herself the sliver doesn’t count.”
    When Mira laughed, Eve relaxed into a game she knew how to play. “And Trina? First, let me thank God she’s been too busy to corner me about my hair. She’s soliciting clients—no point letting an opportunity like this go by. But at the same time, she’s rarely more than three feet away from Mavis. Watching out for her. Brought her a fizzy, some cake. Went with her every time Mavis made one of her countless trips out to pee.”
    “She told me she had a new product that, quote, ‘Kicks the ass out of winter dryness.’ She even gave me a sample. Ah, Mavis is about to open Peabody’s gift. I can’t wait to see it.”
    “She’s nervous. Peabody,” Eve added. “Standing there sweating, afraid Mavis won’t like it as much as she hoped. Giving gifts is torture.”
    But when Mavis lifted the lid on the box, there was a stunned look on her face, followed by a collective gasp by those close enough to see the contents.
    “Oh, Peabody !”
    And the awed, almost reverent joy in Mavis’s voice told Eve her partner had hit the bull’s-eye.
    She lifted out, gently, the little booties and hat done in a rainbow of pastels. It seemed to Eve every woman in the room went gooey. And when Mavis took out the blanket, there were exclamations, and fingers reaching out to touch and stroke.
    “It’s lovely,” Mira commented. “Absolutely lovely. She’s just given Mavis an heirloom.”
    Obviously thrilled, Mavis managed to level herself out of the chair to grab Peabody in a giddy hug. Flushed and shiny, Peabody accepted the compliments.
    “Um, since you’re up,” Peabody began. “You got one last gift coming from your hostess. Dallas?”
    “Jeez. That’s my cue.” Eve set her drink aside, crossed the room. Since Peabody had nagged her brainless on just how it had to be done, Eve took one edge of the cover as Peabody took the other.
    When they whipped it off the chair, Mavis actually slapped her hands to her heart. “Holy shit! Holy shit! It’s the exact one I wanted. Oh, oh, look at the colors! And I’ve been sitting in it this whole time. Dallas!”
    It was Eve’s turn for a hard hug. “It’s the ult in rocker systems. The absolute! You didn’t have to give me a present. The party was enough.”
    “Now you tell me.” It was the exact response needed to make Mavis laugh instead of cry. “Go ahead, take it for a spin.”
     
    W hen it wound down and thinned out, and there’d been no catastrophes, no emergency child-birthing procedures, and happy faces all around, Eve figured she’d scored a winner.
    She also figured on dumping herself into a hot jet tub with a double bellini until she was comatose.
    “The guys are heading back,” Peabody announced. “They’re going to load up your haul, Mavis. Leonardo, McNab, and I will get it all up to your apartment.”
    “I’ll give you a hand,” Trina told her. The beauty consultant had her hair in a complicated pattern of braids and curls today, and in showy magenta. She turned her eyes on Eve. “You’re due for a treatment.”
    “Don’t start on me. I’m riding on alcohol and sugar.”
    “You did good. You get a break. Sit down, Mav, take a load