When they reached the hotel, Spencer took Eric upstairs to clean up a little before dinner. Scarlett ducked behind the front desk. Lola stashed a few quick-fix items in the back of one of the file cabinets—a mirror, some little papers that blotted oil from your face, a clear lip gloss. She fumbled around with these for a moment, then went into the dining room to prepare the way as best she could.
There was a pungent odor in the air that smelled vaguely like exhaust fumes. Marlene was making a half-hearted effort at setting the table by dumping silverware in the middle. Her dad brought a defeated-looking salad from the kitchen. He had decided to wear his hipster cowboy shirt. It was white-and-blue check with yellow roses embroidered on the collar. He’d bought it from the thrift store downtown and was exceedingly proud of it, not realizing that even the coolest NYU student would have a hard time pulling off that look. Spencer’s code name for it was “The Texas Style Massacre.”
Of course he was wearing it tonight. Of course he was.
“Someone else is coming,” Scarlett said, trying not to sound too nervous. “A friend…of Spencer’s. From out of town. From North Carolina. His name is Eric. He doesn’t have any family around, so…we brought him back. Is that okay? He’s upstairs.”
Marlene stopped shoving around the silverware and gazed at her. She was talking too much and too fast. If she did this all night, she would scare Eric away—that is, if he didn’t take one look at her dad’s shirt and leap right out the window.
“I guess it has to be if he’s already here,” her dad said. “I just hope we have enough. We have another guest for dinner.”
“Who?”
In reply, a tall figure appeared in the doorway dressed in what looked like a blue silk karate outfit and little Japanese slippers.
“I’m not late, am I?” Mrs. Amberson said with a smile. “I lose track of time when I’m meditating.”
Her face was tautly stretched into a smile that didn’t seem entirely sane to Scarlett. It wobbled just a bit in the corners. Also, she was carrying what appeared to be a dead ferret in her right fist.
“No,” Scarlett’s dad said, obviously trying not to look at the dead animal. “Right on time. Please, sit down.”
The addition of Mrs. Amberson and her dead ferret to this mix was not something Scarlett had anticipated. She sat down quickly to steady herself, and Mrs. Amberson planted herself right next to her, slinging the ferret around the back of her neck in a swoop that grazed Scarlett’s ear.
“I hope you don’t mind this,” she said, flicking the thing with her finger. “It’s a vintage fur collar I converted into a bead cushion imbued with essential revitalizing oils. I call him Charlie.”
So the ferret had a name. Even better.
“Marlene and I have met,” Mrs. Amberson said, preempting any introduction. “I’m very excited to meet the rest of the clan.”
Spencer came through the doorway that very second, followed by Eric. Eric had changed into one of Spencer’s T-shirts. Spencer was taller and more slender than he was, so the fabric gripped his body snugly, showing off the massive muscles in his arms. Scarlett felt herself rock forward in the chair.
Spencer sighed when he saw the cowboy shirt, but Eric didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. He shook her dad’s hand as if nothing was amiss. The two of them sat down on the opposite side of the table. Mrs. Amberson shrugged her shoulders lightly, allowing Charlie the Dead Ferret to shift a little.
“Amy Amberson,” she said, all smiles. “I’m the new guest. I’ll be here all summer.”
“All summer?” Spencer repeated.
“I think it’s adorable how you all do that,” she said. “Spencer…another wonderful name. All associated with classic films. There’s Marlene Dietrich, who played Lola in The Blue Angel. Scarlett, of course, is Scarlett O’Hara from Gone With the Wind. And Spencer is Spencer Tracy, one of the great leading men of all time.”
As she spoke, she was taking in Spencer and Eric with much too long and appreciative a look. It started on Eric and his tight shirt, but it landed and lingered on Spencer.
“I’d say you’re more of a Cary Grant type,” she added.
“Believe it or not,” Scarlett’s dad said, roughly shaking a can of grated cheese to dislodge the lump from the bottom, “we just liked the names. It wasn’t intentional.”
“We all know what we’re doing,” Mrs. Amberson said. “Whether we realize it or not.”
“This is really nice of you,” Eric said politely, filling the silence that came after that baffling remark. “Thanks for having me.”
“Manners!” Mrs. Amberson said. “Nothing is more attractive than manners.”
“I have manners, too,” Spencer said. “Lots of them.”