PI On A Hot Tin Roof

ice cream too fast?”
    “What you called your sister-in-law. Go to your room.”
    “Whatever.” Lucy sauntered out, not the least nonplussed.
    “What am I going to do with that child?” Adele said to Talba. “She’s such a brat Buddy’s at his wit’s end. I try, but with this party and all, things are just getting away from me. The damn caterer misunderstood the order and now she’s got to double it and doesn’t have time.”
    “Guess she better make time,” Talba said.
    “That’s what I told her. And she’s only sending me one server. She’s piss-poor. Are you good at serving?”
    Talba shrugged. “I can get by.”
    Adele exhaled. “Well. Are you free Sunday night, by any chance? I hate to ask you, but I’m really—”
    Talba interrupted, to save her the trouble. “Sure, I could do it. I’d love to. I could really use the extra cash.”
    The older woman closed her eyes in relief. “I’ll dance at your wedding. Wear a white shirt and black skirt.”
    “Blue skirt okay?” Talba had a dozen of them. White shirts and blue skirts were her invariable work attire—practical, always suitable, nearly invisible.
    “Blue’s fine.”
    Talba had a great idea. “You sure you’re going to have enough help? I know a real good waiter—probably I could talk him into coming.” Darryl was no waiter, but he’d just love this—and a high school English teacher ought to be smart enough to figure out how to pass hors d’oeuvres.
    “You’ve got to be kidding. You could really get me somebody?”
    “I can try.”
    “I swear I don’t know what we ever did without you. I’ve got to go see about the flowers. See you tomorrow then? About two o’clock to set up.”
    “Yes’m, I’ll be here.”
    Talba went home, lined up Darryl to serve, and wrote two poems. She had a reading tomorrow, after her setup date, and she needed something new. Whatever else happened, she was still the Baroness de Pontalba. The day’s tapes could wait. She couldn’t drink while working, and she could while listening.
    When she was finally able to get into bed with a glass of wine and her tape player, she got so excited she nearly phoned Eddie and Jane Storey. But she had a meeting with Eddie and Angie the next night, after her reading. The content of the tape would keep till then, and it was so good it deserved personal delivery.

Chapter 7
    She slept till nearly noon and woke up feeling as if she’d been issued a fresh skeletal system. It was a gorgeous February day—more spring than winter—so she wore a tank top under her chambray work shirt, thinking to strip down if necessary.
    At two sharp, she arrived at the Champagne house—to a scene of chaos. Furniture was in disarray, tempers were frayed, and no men were in sight.
    All the women except Lucy were, though. “Thank God you’re here,” Suzanne said instead of hello. “Daddy Buddy and Royce went off to an Iris Party with Brad and left us to do everything—although Daddy Buddy said something about some guys coming to help. Naturally, they aren’t here. Don’t you think the food table ought to be in the dining room, and the bar out in the hall?” She was wearing denim capris and a tank top that showed a sun tattoo on her upper back.
    Kristin, in jeans that looked ironed, joined them. “Buddy wants the bar in the dining room.”
    “Then everything will just get jammed up. Come on, Sandra, what do you think?”
    “If I start thinkin’, I might have to charge overtime.”
    Kristin laughed, Suzanne didn’t. “Come on, Suze, you know how Buddy is about this party….”
    She was about to say more, but Suzanne cut her off. “How many times have I asked you not to call me ‘Suze’?”
    Kristin glared at her. “Suzanne, what do you really care? This party’s Buddy’s pride and joy. You know Mardi Gras’s more important to him than Christmas and Thanksgiving put together. Why are you being such a crybaby?”
    “Crybaby! How dare you? Since when are you an expert on traffic flow? What do you think feng shui’s all about, anyway? You’ve got me—why not take advantage of me?” She was shrieking.
    Adele entered the dining room and put a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Suzanne. We’ll do it Buddy’s way.”
    “Fine! Just fine. Do it Daddy Buddy’s goddam way. Whatever Buddy wants, Buddy gets.” She glanced sideways at Talba, suddenly remembering the new maid had witnessed the disturbing scene at lunch. “He wishes!” she