Read Online Twanged by Carol Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carol Higgins Clark
Ads: Link
her hands.
“I’m so sorry I burned your skirt,” Pammy said to her. “That iron is so old.”
“Don’t worry,” Brigid replied. “It was sweet of you to offer to press it for me in the first place. I have another one I’ll throw on.”
“I feel terrible,” Pammy insisted.
“It’s okay. Really,” Brigid said.
A few moments later they all gathered downstairs. Brigid was now ready to party, dressed in a calf-length flowing skirt, white short-sleeved shirt, and vest. With her fiddle case in hand, she looked the part of the funky musician, ready to play. Teddy, Hank, and Kieran were all in their black jeans; the cases with their guitars, mandolin, and banjo lay on the floor by the door. Pammy, clad in a skimpy halter dress, was checking her makeup in a compact mirror, and Kit was knocking at the door. A group of eight people from her house stood out in the driveway waiting.
“They’re anxious to meet you, Brigid,” she said.
Introductions were made and they all ambled over to chez Chappy.
“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!” he began again, barely letting the group get inside the door as he effusively greeted Brigid. “One hundred thousand and one welcomes.” He chuckled.
“I think he’s determined to say it a hundred thousand and one times,” Regan whispered to Kit.
“Brigid, I hope you don’t mind,” Chappy said. “I invited a few members of the press to meet you. The two young men from the country music station in town are here, and a couple others from the local paper.” In a stage whisper he added, “It’s good publicity for the festival.”
“That’s fine,” Brigid responded, smiling. “My manager already booked me on that radio show.”
“Yes, I know. They’ve been advertising your appearance. And since they’re hosting the festival, I thought I’d invite them! I see you brought that fiddle of yours! How wonderful!”
Between the coverage in the newspaper and on the radio, Regan thought, everyone will know where to find her.
“Hello hello to the rest of you,” he said. “Come in, come in.”
A voice from behind called out to Regan as she was inching her way in the door. “Regan! Oh, Regan!” She turned, and there was Louisa, resplendent in a red-and-white floral caftan, with a matching flower in her hair, jumping out of the car that Luke hadn’t yet brought to a complete stop.
Here we go, Regan thought, answering with a warm “Louisa, how good to see you.”
“Hnnnnnn. You too,” Louisa responded, racing over and giving Regan a big hug. “This is such fun. Herbert! Come say hello to Regan.”
F ifteen minutes later, everyone was gathered out on the deck, drinks in hand. Chappy had called everyone together for a toast. Brad Petroni and Chuck Dumbrell, the owners of the radio station, had already made a beeline for Brigid, while Louisa was making her presence and her intention to write an article about the Hamptons known to everyone. Regan, with one eye on Brigid as she leaned against the railing, liked to observe the dynamics of a group as people gathered for a party. She had the fiddle case by her side.
One of the guys from Kit’s summer house, Garrett, had already tried to sell her stocks. One of the girls, Angela, dressed in a tight shirt that showed off her curvaceous figure, was hanging by the bar, flirting with Duke as he made the drinks.
Kit walked over and stood next to her. “Did you get a load of the guy with the shaved head and gray pajamas?”
Regan laughed. “I haven’t met him, but I heard someone say he’s Bettina’s resident guru.”
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Chappy shouted. “Thank you . . . thank you.”
The crowd quieted, everyone turning to look at Chappy, who had one arm around Brigid, the other around Bettina.
That’s some diamond necklace Bettina is sporting, Regan thought. And that rock on her finger could compete for size with some of the seashells on the beach.
“Welcome to Chappy’s Compound. My wife,
“I’m so sorry I burned your skirt,” Pammy said to her. “That iron is so old.”
“Don’t worry,” Brigid replied. “It was sweet of you to offer to press it for me in the first place. I have another one I’ll throw on.”
“I feel terrible,” Pammy insisted.
“It’s okay. Really,” Brigid said.
A few moments later they all gathered downstairs. Brigid was now ready to party, dressed in a calf-length flowing skirt, white short-sleeved shirt, and vest. With her fiddle case in hand, she looked the part of the funky musician, ready to play. Teddy, Hank, and Kieran were all in their black jeans; the cases with their guitars, mandolin, and banjo lay on the floor by the door. Pammy, clad in a skimpy halter dress, was checking her makeup in a compact mirror, and Kit was knocking at the door. A group of eight people from her house stood out in the driveway waiting.
“They’re anxious to meet you, Brigid,” she said.
Introductions were made and they all ambled over to chez Chappy.
“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!” he began again, barely letting the group get inside the door as he effusively greeted Brigid. “One hundred thousand and one welcomes.” He chuckled.
“I think he’s determined to say it a hundred thousand and one times,” Regan whispered to Kit.
“Brigid, I hope you don’t mind,” Chappy said. “I invited a few members of the press to meet you. The two young men from the country music station in town are here, and a couple others from the local paper.” In a stage whisper he added, “It’s good publicity for the festival.”
“That’s fine,” Brigid responded, smiling. “My manager already booked me on that radio show.”
“Yes, I know. They’ve been advertising your appearance. And since they’re hosting the festival, I thought I’d invite them! I see you brought that fiddle of yours! How wonderful!”
Between the coverage in the newspaper and on the radio, Regan thought, everyone will know where to find her.
“Hello hello to the rest of you,” he said. “Come in, come in.”
A voice from behind called out to Regan as she was inching her way in the door. “Regan! Oh, Regan!” She turned, and there was Louisa, resplendent in a red-and-white floral caftan, with a matching flower in her hair, jumping out of the car that Luke hadn’t yet brought to a complete stop.
Here we go, Regan thought, answering with a warm “Louisa, how good to see you.”
“Hnnnnnn. You too,” Louisa responded, racing over and giving Regan a big hug. “This is such fun. Herbert! Come say hello to Regan.”
F ifteen minutes later, everyone was gathered out on the deck, drinks in hand. Chappy had called everyone together for a toast. Brad Petroni and Chuck Dumbrell, the owners of the radio station, had already made a beeline for Brigid, while Louisa was making her presence and her intention to write an article about the Hamptons known to everyone. Regan, with one eye on Brigid as she leaned against the railing, liked to observe the dynamics of a group as people gathered for a party. She had the fiddle case by her side.
One of the guys from Kit’s summer house, Garrett, had already tried to sell her stocks. One of the girls, Angela, dressed in a tight shirt that showed off her curvaceous figure, was hanging by the bar, flirting with Duke as he made the drinks.
Kit walked over and stood next to her. “Did you get a load of the guy with the shaved head and gray pajamas?”
Regan laughed. “I haven’t met him, but I heard someone say he’s Bettina’s resident guru.”
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Chappy shouted. “Thank you . . . thank you.”
The crowd quieted, everyone turning to look at Chappy, who had one arm around Brigid, the other around Bettina.
That’s some diamond necklace Bettina is sporting, Regan thought. And that rock on her finger could compete for size with some of the seashells on the beach.
“Welcome to Chappy’s Compound. My wife,
Similar Books
