“Honestly, we’re fine, thanks!” I say to Carla. “See you later!” And I drag Danny across the pavement and into the restaurant.
We do have to wait a bit for a table. But I stick out my stomach as far as it will go and sigh wistfully at the maître d’—and a few minutes later we’re ensconced in a corner banquette, dipping bread into yummy olive oil. Which is a relief. I was going to have to admit defeat and call Buffy.
“This is so great, being here,” Danny says, as a waiter pours him a glass of wine. “Here’s to you, Becky!”
“Here’s to you!” I clink his wineglass with my water glass. “And here’s to your fabulous design for The Look!” I force myself to leave a natural pause. “So, you were going to tell me when you thought you might have something to show us?”
“Was I?” Danny looks surprised. “Hey, you want to come to Paris with me next week? There is the best gay scene there—”
“Fab!” I nod. “The thing is, Danny, we kind of…sort of…need to have something quite…quickly.”
“Quickly?” Danny opens his eyes wide, looking betrayed. “What do you mean, ‘quickly’?”
“Well, you know! As soon as you can manage, really. We’re trying to save the store, so the sooner we can get something going, the better….” I trail off as Danny fixes a reproachful gaze on me.
“I could be ‘quick,’” he says, uttering the word with disdain. “I could throw together a few crap ideas in five minutes. Or I could do something meaningful. Which may take time. That’s the creative process — excuse me for being an artist.” He takes a gulp of wine and puts his glass down.
I can’t say that a few crap ideas in five minutes sound great to me.
Can I?
“Is there a middle road?” I venture at last. “Like…some fairly good ideas in about…a week?”
“A week?” Danny looks almost more offended than before.
“Or…whatever.” I back down. “You’re the creative person; you know how you work best. So! What do you want to eat?”
We order penne (me) and lobster (Danny) and the special quail’s-egg salad (Danny) and a champagne cocktail (Danny).
“So, how’ve you been?” Danny asks as the waiter eventually retreats. “I’ve been having a total nightmare with my boyfriend, Nathan. I thought he was seeing someone else.”
“Me too,” I confess.
“What?” Danny drops his roll in astonishment. “You thought Luke was…”
“Having an affair.” I nod.
“You’re kidding.” He seems genuinely shocked. “But you guys are so perfect.”
“It’s fine now,” I reassure him. “I know nothing’s going on. But I nearly had him followed by a private detective.”
“Get out.” Danny is leaning forward, his eyes alight. “So, what happened?”
“I canceled it.”
“Jesus.” Danny chews his roll, taking this all in. “So, why did you think he was cheating?”
“There’s this woman. She’s our obstetrician. And she’s Luke’s ex-girlfriend.”
“Ooh.” Danny winces. “The ex-girlfriend. Harsh. And what’s she like?”
I have a sudden flashback to Venetia making me put on those revolting surgical stockings, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
“She’s a redhaired bitch and I hate her,” I say, more vehemently than I meant to. “I call her Cruella de Venetia.”
“And she’s delivering the baby?” Danny starts laughing. “Is this for real?”
“It’s not funny!” I can’t help giggling too.
“I have to see this birth.” Danny skewers an olive on a cocktail stick. “‘Push!’ ‘I won’t, you bitch!’ You should sell tickets.”
“Stop it!” My stomach’s hurting from laughing. On the table my phone beeps with a text and I pull it over to have a look. “Hey, it’s Luke! He’s stopping by to say hello!” I texted Luke while we were ordering, to let him know where we were having lunch.
“Great.” Danny takes a swig of his champagne cocktail. “So, you guys are cool now?”
“We’re great. In fact, things are wonderful. We’re going to look at prams together tomorrow.” I give Danny a beatific smile.
“He doesn’t even know you thought he was cheating?”
“I brought it up a couple of times,” I say slowly, buttering another roll. “But he always denied anything was going on. I’m not going to mention it again.”