I laughed at her comment and flagged a passing waiter. His tray held little pancakes rolled up and stuffed with bits of grilled lobster and a light sauce. I hummed in pleasure as one slid down my throat.
From another waiter I took a prosciutto-wrapped melon to cleanse my palate, then wasn’t sure what to do with the long plastic toothpick and napkin, so I shoved them into my purse. You’d think I didn’t get out much.
Yet another server offered tiny quesadillas stuffed with champagne grapes and melted Brie. I grabbed a quesadilla and popped it into my mouth. “Oh, my goodness. I love this party.”
I gazed around, watching all the different people and trying to guess what their stories were.
A waiter jostled one woman’s arm as he passed her. She winked at him.
Three women nearby burst into laughter. The man standing with them scowled and slugged down half the contents of his highball glass.
Another man was dressed in a foppish white shirt that billowed out from beneath a tight black velvet vest. He was alone at the moment and I could see why. He resembled some sort of Charles Dickens villain, complete with bad posture and little rodent teeth.
Alex explained that he was a local bigwig for one of the political parties. She wouldn’t mention which one.
Everyone was having a great time enjoying Edward’s eccentric furnishings, delicious food, and excellent band. But where was Edward? I hadn’t seen him since we’d arrived, but he had to be here somewhere.
I was debating whether to embarrass myself out on the dance floor when part of the crowd shifted and Edward appeared a few yards away. Looking thin and elegant in a vintage tuxedo, he greeted guests with kisses on the cheek or hearty handshakes. When he reached me, he gave a slight bow. “Brooklyn, dear, how wonderful to see you again.”
“Edward, thank you so much for inviting us.”
I introduced him to Derek and Alex. He shook Derek’s hand, then took both of Alex’s hands in his. “Oh, I know this remarkable young lady. How are you, my dear?”
“Fine, Edward,” she said. “Wonderful party.”
“We have our fun,” he said demurely.
A sudden buzz arose near the entryway and spread instantly throughout the room. Edward looked toward the door and gasped. I whirled around to try to see who had just walked in.
“Oh. My. God.” I held my hand over my mouth in complete shock. It was horrifying. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. It was like viewing a bad accident on the freeway. To ease my distress, I swigged the rest of my champagne in one long gulp.
“Do you think it’s a joke?” Alex whispered. “Who is that?”
I couldn’t form the words to answer her, but it was no joke. It was Minka, fully transformed into Mae West.
Minka’s hair was platinum blond now, a large, curly ball of fluff with spit curls plastered all over her glistening forehead.
Her lips were painted siren red, not the best color for someone whose lipstick always seemed to migrate to her teeth and whose smile resembled a demented prairie dog’s.
The white halter-top gown she wore was a blindingly shiny polyester blend that looked as if it had been glued—badly, with rubber cement—to her more than ample body. The clingy material showed off every one of her flaws—and they were countless—and threatened to rip apart at the seams any minute now. In fact, the dress was already beginning to shred along the back seam at her butt. I took a step backward because when that thing blew, it was not going to be pretty.
Not to change the subject, but it was a darn shame that she wasn’t still in jail. Too bad the studio and the book owners had decided not to press charges.
The same couldn’t be said for Garth, or, rather, Gerald, thank goodness. Having attempted to murder Randolph—and me!—on more than a few occasions, he would be staying in prison for quite a while. And I intended to make sure of it.
But meanwhile, I was watching Edward, who tittered with glee and lightly clapped his hands together with every bump and grind Minka tried to pull off. It was terrifying to watch her and Edward’s slavering adulation just made it that much worse.
“Don’t go anywhere, my dear!” Edward cried out over the music, and skittered across the dance floor to speak with the big-band leader. With one sweeping wave of his hand, the man stopped the music.
Edward rushed back to Minka, took her hand, and kissed it. For a long moment, he gazed into her eyes with something resembling adoration.
“Hello, sweet lady,” he crooned.
“Hello, big boy,” Minka said in an abysmal attempt to imitate Mae West. She placed her hand provocatively on her hip and wiggled around a bit. “Why doncha come up and see me sometime?”
I glanced up at Derek in time to see him grimace in pain. I knew how he felt. She had misquoted Mae West slightly, but that wasn’t what pained him. No, it was Minka’s nasally, high-pitched voice that hit us both like nails scratched on a blackboard.