“Sorry, sir, but do you have an invitation?” he asks Chris.
Chris yanks his phone out and scrolls through his emails, searching for the invitation he received a week ago.
“Hi there!” a chipper voice to his right pipes up. He glances over and finds the journalist who interviewed him on the radio, standing next to him, searching her phone as well. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, holding her invitation up for the policeman to see. “Not after what you said on the show. Have you come back around on Elliot’s?”
Chris presents his invitation, and he and the journalist are admitted. “Elliot’s is a wonderful restaurant, and I think Miss Napier and the chef will do amazing things here. They already proved it at the Foodies Festival. I have a huge amount of respect for them both. Feel free to quote me and tell everyone you know I said that.”
“I will,” she smiles, “if you get me a drink.”
Chris senses the crowd simmering down, and he realizes that Susan and Philip have gone back inside. They’re lost in the tightly packed mass.
“All right,” he agrees, moving toward the door. Maybe he’ll find Susan on the way to the bar.
* * *
Philip is stuck to her like a mollusk. He wraps an arm around her waist and keeps it there, steering her around the room, introducing her to his actor friends, all of whom are very smiley, very enthusiastic, and very firm with their handshakes.
“Great place! Great place!” they all chorus. “Great food! Great food!” they exclaim, even though she doesn’t see a single one of them eat any of it.
No matter: other guests wolf it down. The flow of empty plates going back down the dumbwaiter increases. The bartenders shake, shake, shake; the crowd gets noisier, the heat closer. Susan’s face and hands hurt from all the smiling and handshaking. She’s been too busy talking to people to eat anything herself, and she’s starting to feel a little sick. When Philip finally lets go of her for a moment, she takes the opportunity to escape downstairs.
Gloria and her crew are winding things down; the sweets are going upstairs now. Susan stops by the pastry kitchen first, to thank Rab profusely for all he’s done and reassure him that it looked great. He smiles, seeming extraordinarily relieved.
Gloria looks up as Susan comes back into the kitchen, and Susan grins.
“I think we did it!” she says.
“That’s what I like to hear!” Gloria bellows, beaming, edging around the pass so she can give Susan a hug. “You okay? You look a little peaky.”
“I just need a minute,” Susan answers. “Are there any more of those potatoes left?”
“Kept a few back, just in case.” Gloria hands her a plate. “All yours.”
“Thanks.” Susan retreats to the office and devours half the plate in seconds, enjoying the relative peace. But after only five minutes, Philip appears in the doorway.
“Here you are! Come on back up—there are some more people for you to meet!”
“I think I’ve met enough, thanks,” she answers, more sharply than she means to.
He recoils momentarily, then steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Okay, we’ll just sit here, then.” He settles down on the extra chair.
Susan sighs and rubs her forehead. She wants to be left alone. “Why did you invite all those extra people?” she asks. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out he was behind it: they were clearly all friends of his.
“I thought it was a party.” He shrugs. “And you needed something to keep the press’s attention, didn’t you? This did it!” He shakes his head. “I thought this was what you wanted. I mean, isn’t that why you wanted me here?”
“No,” Susan answers. “I wanted you here because you’re part of my life, and I believe in sharing important events with the people in your life.” She throws back her head, contemplating the ceiling and trying to get her thoughts in order. “They’re so radically different, your life and mine. You like this sort of thing, but I just want to be in a kitchen or arranging things behind the scenes. I’m better that way. I’m not at home in a spotlight.”
“But you could be!” He reaches out and takes her hand. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think so.” She lifts her head and looks at him. He has a resigned expression on his face. He isn’t even going to put up a fight. She wonders if she actually meant anything to him or if what Rufus said was true: that she was just a prop to help him win back fans. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Were you really interested in me? Was this a real thing for you or—I don’t know—filler? Something to do just while you were in town?”
He leans back and runs a hand through his hair. “Geez, Susan, of course I’m interested. You really think so little of me that you believe I’d use someone like that? Especially Kay Ashley’s favorite niece? Do I seem crazy to you? She’d skin me alive and use the hide for a punching bag.”
Susan snorts, despite feeling ashamed of herself for having accused him.
Philip sighs and leans toward her. “I think what you really want to know is how much commitment I was looking for here. And honestly? I don’t really know. I mean, we basically just met, and like you said, I’m only here for the month. It’s hard to know so early whether something’s really worth a major investment, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmurs, her voice catching a little. “I think you know, sometimes. And then it just seems easy. But sometimes we still manage to screw it up.”
There’s a long pause as he looks away. Then, “Yeah,” he says, and she thinks his voice sounds a little thick too. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean.”
She knows he’s not talking about her, and she’s fine with that. He looks back at her, and they share an understanding smile.
“We don’t give men enough credit for having tender feelings,” Susan comments, reaching out and stroking his arm. “We think it’s only women who feel the sting and burn of a broken heart.”
“We men don’t do ourselves any favors,” he says with a rueful smile and shake of the head. “We’re supposed to be all tough and stoic, so that’s what we are. We tamp it down, take it out on the machines at the gym or throw ourselves into work or whatever. We think emotion is weakness, until some of us get paid to show it, and then we get Academy Awards. Funny world.” He chuckles.
“Strange world.” Susan shakes her head. “Maybe that’s the blessing and curse of being a woman: we’re allowed—encouraged, even—to feel and express our feelings. We can get them out, but sometimes I think we get stuck in them too. We think about them so much that we just keep turning over and over all the things we did wrong and should have done differently, and how things could be so different and maybe better if we’d just …” She stops, unsure how to continue, as her throat closes and her eyes tingle painfully with tears.
Philip, his face pursed in an understanding grimace, rises and pulls her into a tight hug. Susan rests her head on his shoulder and draws in a deep, shuddering breath as he rubs her back the way Meg does when one of the boys is upset.