“Hello. I’m sorry I’m late,” Wendy Healy said, arriving at the table. Her glasses were steamed and she was dripping slightly.
“Sweetheart, you look like you walked,” Susan cracked. “Aren’t they taking care of you at Splatch?”
Wendy made a face. She had walked from her office—her assistant, Josh, had casually informed her that he couldn’t get a car. “I have a male assistant,” she said, by way of explanation.
“I had a male assistant once,” Victory said. “He wore pink sweaters he bought from a thrift shop, and he took naps in the afternoon. On the couch. Just like a child. I kept thinking I should feed him milk and cookies.”
“Are all the men in this town going crazy?” Wendy asked.
“Speaking of which, have you seen Victor Matrick lately?” Susan asked casually.
“I’m supposed to see him this afternoon,” Wendy said.
“Give him my love, will you, dear?” Susan said.
“Of course,” Wendy said.
“Enjoy your lunch,” Nico said, with a wave.
“I didn’t know Susan knew Victor Matrick,” Wendy whispered, sitting down.
“Used to date him,” Victory said. “They still vacation together in St. Barts. With their respective spouses, of course.”
“I’m always astounded by how you know these things,” Nico said.
“I get around,” Victory said. “I ran into them in St. Barts last year.”
“How was Victor then?” Wendy asked.
“Weird,” Victory said. “He had a golf club shoved down the back of his pants. And there aren’t any golf courses on St. Barts.”
“I am seriously worried about Victor,” Wendy said. “He sounded crazy this morning. If he goes, I’m fucked.”
“No one’s career should depend on one person being there or not,” Victory said. “It should only depend on yourself.”
“Should be. But you’re lucky,
you don’t work for a corporation.”
“And I never will—for that reason,” Victory said. “But Parador is making money. And everyone knows that’s because of you.”
“It’s easy,” Wendy said with a shrug. “I’ve got to win an Oscar, that’s all. With Ragged Pilgrims. Or else Nico has to get Victor’s job.”
“That’s going to take at least a couple of years,” Nico said, as if this were entirely within the realm of possibility. “In the meantime, I wouldn’t necessarily be worried about Victor.” She signaled to the waiter. “Victor is manageable. If you know how to deal with him.”
“Yes?” the waiter asked tentatively.
“We’d like to order.”
“I’ll have the hanger steak, please? Medium rare,” Victory said sweetly.
“The trout, please,” Nico said.
“And I’ll have the tuna Nicoise salad. With no potatoes,” Wendy said.
“Potatoes on the side?” the waiter asked.
“No potatoes at all. Not even on the plate,” Wendy said. “In fact, if you could remove all the potatoes from this restaurant, that would be ideal.”