Read Online Looking for a Love Story by Louise Shaffer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise Shaffer
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is from his pal. His new business partner. Who is suggesting doing things to him when they’re alone in her hotel room that you’ve never even imagined. And you pride yourself on your creativity.
I changed into my gown, skipped the makeup and hair drill, grabbed my purse, and headed out.
THE HOTEL BALLROOM was decorated in black, red, and silver. Red-and-silver trellises had been attached to the walls and live black roses—I guess they were dyed—were threaded through them. The room was jammed with small round tables that were covered with red tablecloths, black china, and silver-rimmed glasses. The centerpieces featured black roses floating in big bowls of water tinted red with silver flecks drifting around. Very festive—if you could get past the feeling that there was something creepy about roses that were black. Personally, I couldn’t. But then no one had asked me.
There was a long table on a dais at the end of the room. I scanned it, looking for Jake. I knew he’d be sitting on the dais because he was giving the introduction. I spotted him right away, seated in the center of the table in front of the microphone. Hewas properly attired in black tie. So there was an Alternate Plan Tux. Like the woman who was seated next to him, the fun, successful pal who had been offering him an alternative to his not-fun, not-successful wife. His partner, who was glowing like a teenager—probably because she’d spent the last couple of hours with him doing all those things she’d outlined in her email. Andy. My friend.
The first course had already been served by the time I arrived. I’d been to enough awards dinners to know that they wouldn’t be starting the speeches while people were still munching on their salads, so I moved up to the dais, planning to—well, at that point, I didn’t have a plan. I was winging it. Jake was chatting with someone on his right. On his left, Andy was staring at a bowl of ugly black roses. She looked pensive. Was she having second thoughts about breaking up my marriage? No, that was too much to ask. She turned to Jake with her glowing smile and joined his conversation. I was a little less than a foot away from her. It only took a second to step in and dump the red water over her perfectly coiffed head. Black rose petals stuck to her face and shoulders, looking like polka dots—or a really gross rash. She was drenched in water the shade of cherry Kool-Aid. Did I mention that the silk gown she was wearing was beige? Talk about your sweet moments.
Andy shrieked, and Jake looked up. He saw me, jumped to his feet, and hunched over Andy, trying to shield her from me. I thought about pointing out that I was the one he’d promised to protect and cherish, but there was still some water left in the bowl so I dumped it on him instead. I watched the red liquid run down his beautiful face and over the place on the back of his neck that I loved to kiss, and I tried to be as mad at him as I was at her. But he was Jake, so I couldn’t. And that made me even madder.
I started to leave. That was when I noticed that five hundredpeople were staring at the three of us. Clearly they’d finished their salads—and they were waiting for someone to say something. But Jake was trying to get the silver flecks out of his hair and Andy was still wailing. I clamped my free hand over her mouth and leaned in to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said to the room. “My soon-to-be ex, Jake Morris, was supposed to introduce your honoree tonight, but he’s otherwise engaged, so I’m helping out. I give you Andrea Grace, the postmenopausal slut, who has been screwing my husband.” Then I strode out.
As I left the ballroom, I tried to feel vindicated. Or satisfied. Or triumphant. But all I could think of was Jake holding me in his arms in a darkened photography studio and whispering into my hair, “Smart, foxy, and unhinged.” I thought I was going to start crying then, but I didn’t seem to have any
I changed into my gown, skipped the makeup and hair drill, grabbed my purse, and headed out.
THE HOTEL BALLROOM was decorated in black, red, and silver. Red-and-silver trellises had been attached to the walls and live black roses—I guess they were dyed—were threaded through them. The room was jammed with small round tables that were covered with red tablecloths, black china, and silver-rimmed glasses. The centerpieces featured black roses floating in big bowls of water tinted red with silver flecks drifting around. Very festive—if you could get past the feeling that there was something creepy about roses that were black. Personally, I couldn’t. But then no one had asked me.
There was a long table on a dais at the end of the room. I scanned it, looking for Jake. I knew he’d be sitting on the dais because he was giving the introduction. I spotted him right away, seated in the center of the table in front of the microphone. Hewas properly attired in black tie. So there was an Alternate Plan Tux. Like the woman who was seated next to him, the fun, successful pal who had been offering him an alternative to his not-fun, not-successful wife. His partner, who was glowing like a teenager—probably because she’d spent the last couple of hours with him doing all those things she’d outlined in her email. Andy. My friend.
The first course had already been served by the time I arrived. I’d been to enough awards dinners to know that they wouldn’t be starting the speeches while people were still munching on their salads, so I moved up to the dais, planning to—well, at that point, I didn’t have a plan. I was winging it. Jake was chatting with someone on his right. On his left, Andy was staring at a bowl of ugly black roses. She looked pensive. Was she having second thoughts about breaking up my marriage? No, that was too much to ask. She turned to Jake with her glowing smile and joined his conversation. I was a little less than a foot away from her. It only took a second to step in and dump the red water over her perfectly coiffed head. Black rose petals stuck to her face and shoulders, looking like polka dots—or a really gross rash. She was drenched in water the shade of cherry Kool-Aid. Did I mention that the silk gown she was wearing was beige? Talk about your sweet moments.
Andy shrieked, and Jake looked up. He saw me, jumped to his feet, and hunched over Andy, trying to shield her from me. I thought about pointing out that I was the one he’d promised to protect and cherish, but there was still some water left in the bowl so I dumped it on him instead. I watched the red liquid run down his beautiful face and over the place on the back of his neck that I loved to kiss, and I tried to be as mad at him as I was at her. But he was Jake, so I couldn’t. And that made me even madder.
I started to leave. That was when I noticed that five hundredpeople were staring at the three of us. Clearly they’d finished their salads—and they were waiting for someone to say something. But Jake was trying to get the silver flecks out of his hair and Andy was still wailing. I clamped my free hand over her mouth and leaned in to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said to the room. “My soon-to-be ex, Jake Morris, was supposed to introduce your honoree tonight, but he’s otherwise engaged, so I’m helping out. I give you Andrea Grace, the postmenopausal slut, who has been screwing my husband.” Then I strode out.
As I left the ballroom, I tried to feel vindicated. Or satisfied. Or triumphant. But all I could think of was Jake holding me in his arms in a darkened photography studio and whispering into my hair, “Smart, foxy, and unhinged.” I thought I was going to start crying then, but I didn’t seem to have any
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