“But…”
“What could she possibly do to Spencer? What could she possibly do to this hotel? In two days, this show is going to be performed in front of over fifty influential people from the New York theater community. That’s what we have to pay attention to. I’m going to go freshen up before dinner.”
Marlene came out of the elevator as Mrs. Amberson was going up. She hadn’t spoken to Scarlett since the fight the other night, but her stance was no longer combative. Or, it wasn’t as combative as normal.
There was a grudging respect behind it, like she now accepted Scarlett as a fellow warrior.
“We have to set the table,” she said. “Mom said.”
The burning smell was much worse in the dining room. Scarlett and Marlene exchanged a look of mutual disgust as they worked. They were almost getting along until a familiar black car pulled up in front of the building.
“He’s back!” Marlene yelled, rushing for the door.
“Oh, God,” Scarlett said.
Chip was getting out with a freakishly tall arrangement of white and pink orchids when Spencer came skidding along on his bike.
“Oh, God,” Scarlett said again, almost dropping the plates in her rush to get outside.
Chip and Spencer were staring at each other like two cats who haven’t quite worked out if they’re going to claw each other apart or groom each other to death. Spencer was almost twitching in his desire to say something. Marlene, meanwhile, was swarming around Chip in unfettered delight, openly flirting and batting her eyelashes.
The arrangement he was carrying, aside from being three feet tall, was delicate and vaguely Asian, in a square vase wrapped in strips of bamboo. It looked very, very expensive.
“Those are pretty,” Scarlett said, stepping between the steelygazed Spencer and Marlene and her dance of love.
“Oh.” He looked down at the flowers as if he had forgotten he was holding them. “Yeah. I tried. Lo likes white, and this pink color seemed good. I was just going to leave them. I should just leave them…”
There was a look on his face that she recognized—a hopeful, pained look.
“No,” she said. “You can come in.”
Spencer coughed. A tiny, polite cough.
“You should,” Marlene said, tugging on his sleeve.
It was clear that Chip had planned to leave his flowers at the desk unnoticed, and instead, three separate Martins had accosted him on the street.
“It’s okay,” he said, passing Scarlett the flowers. “And if she doesn’t want them, you can keep them.”
There was so much sadness in his voice. Stupid Chip, with his bottomless bank account and his Number Ninety-eight status and his repulsive friends.
“Hello, Chip,” Spencer finally said. His voice was completely normal, but the delay was oddly menacing.
Marlene continued to protest, asking him to come in, requesting a ride in his car, on his boat…
“Come on, Marlene,” Scarlett said, trying to pull her back while balancing the huge flowers. This did not improve Scarlett-Marlene relations, and when Chip eventually left, she stormed inside.
“It’s nice to see him,” Spencer said, watching the car disappear around the corner. “Really. I miss him.”
“I felt bad for him,” Scarlett said.
“He can go home and suck on a credit card.”
Scarlett looked at the flowers. Chip had chosen them with care—they really were perfect for Lola.
“Sorry,” Spencer said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I forgot. I guess you would feel bad for him now. Special circumstances.”
He did a quick up-and-down check of her overall demeanor and expression and didn’t look completely satisfied with the result. Spencer must have assumed that her pale and stricken expression was still the aftereffects of the day before. It was—but it was also having Donna Spendler on their doorstep.
“You never punched Chip,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I kind of wish I discovered my violent streak earlier.”
He locked up his bike, and they went inside. Scarlett set the flowers down on the desk. Lola came down the stairs a moment later and reeled at the sight. She kept a radius of several feet around them, like they might reach out for her.
“Chip brought them,” Scarlett explained.
“Why didn’t you get me?”
“He didn’t really want to stay.”
Lola looked to Spencer accusingly.
“I did nothing,” he said, holding up his hands. “Besides, why would you want to see him? You broke up with him. Don’t you want me to keep him away?”
“That’s not the point,” Lola said.
“It’s not?”
“Just…forget it.”
She stormed into the dining room, leaving Spencer to shake his head in bafflement.
“Someone’s in a bad mood,” he said. “Always at me.”
The elevator opened, and Mrs. Amberson joined them. She had changed into a rare pair of jeans and a formfitting tank top.