Free Table for Seven by Whitney Gaskell Page B

you?”
    “Of course I was humiliated. I spent the entire evening trying to talk a straight man into having a homosexual relationship with one of my spa clients,” Audrey exclaimed.
    “Well, yes, I can see how that would be slightly embarrassing.”
    “I’m still not clear why you lied about his sexuality in the first place.”
    “I didn’t want you to think it was a set up. I know how you feel about that.”
    “Are you really going to take the position that you lied to me in order to spare my feelings?” Audrey asked.
    “No,” Fran said. She smiled. “Well, yes, sort of. It was Will’s idea, I swear. Back when I wanted to invite both you and Coop to our New Year’s Eve party. I told Will you’d think it was a set up, so he said to tell you that Coop was gay. It all seems so stupid now.”
    “Yes,” Audrey agreed. “Very, very stupid.”
    “I know.” Fran sighed. “It was all part of some weird revenge plan Will had cooked up. Something to do with Coop telling a girl that Will only had one testicle.”
    “Will only has one testicle?”
    “No, he has two.”
    “I’m confused.”
    “It’s not important,” Fran said.
    “Except for my public humiliation.”
    “Right. And just so you know, I would never have tried to set you up with Coop.”
    “Why not?” Audrey asked. “You try to set me up with everyone.”
    “I can’t see the two of you together. You’re a much more serious person than he is.”
    “Serious? That makes me sound like a drip.”
    “No, not at all. It’s more that he’s never serious about anything. And besides, you’re a go-out-to-a-nice-restaurant-in-heels kind of woman. Coop is more of a beer-and-chips-on-the-boat kind of guy,” Fran said.
    She was sitting on the living-room couch, her bare feet tucked up beneath her, a worn purple chenille pillow clutched to her chest. She’d always thought the purple had been a mistake, a discordant note in a room that was dominated by heavy brown leather sofas and an ugly sage green rug they’d gotten on sale years ago.
    I want to live in an all-white room , Fran thought. Tailored sofas with crisp white slipcovers. One of those furry white rugs. Maybe a small punch of orange here or there, a pillow or a small round stool. Modern and stark and completely impractical for a family that liked to lounge in front of the television with their bare feet up on the furniture.
    Fran looked down and noticed a smear of something—it looked like chocolate—on the pillow. She sighed and put it to one side.
    “I don’t know. I thought Coop was interesting,” Audrey said thoughtfully.
    Fran’s attention snapped back to their conversation. “You think he’s interesting?”
    “Sure. How often do you meet someone who directs oceanographic documentaries?”
    “But he’s not at all your type,” Fran said.
    “Do I have a type?”
    “I don’t know, do you?”
    “Hmm,” Audrey said. “I’ve always liked Jeff Goldblum.”
    “The actor.”
    “Mmm.”
    “Really?”
    “You don’t think he’s attractive?”
    “No, not really. And is he a type?”
    “He could be a type. Funny, dark hair, sexy glasses.”
    “I guess. Nothing like Coop, though.”
    “No,” Audrey agreed. “But I never said I was interested in Coop. I said I thought he was interesting. Big difference. Besides, Coop seemed full of himself.”
    Fran tried to ignore the trickle of relief she felt at these words. “Yeah, he can be. And when it comes to women, he has a short attention span. He’s had a lot of girlfriends.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. A lot of girlfriends,” Fran said again. “We need to find you someone who’s ready to settle down.”
    There was a huff of impatience on the other end of the phone.
    “First of all, as I’ve told you about five hundred times, Idon’t want you to find me anyone. And second of all, why do you assume that I would only be interested in someone who wants to settle down? Maybe I want to sleep around. Sow my wild oats. Have wild