Free The Coach House by Florence Osmund Page B

the room, he wore no tie. His shirt lay rumpled beneath his cheap, ill-fitting suit coat, and his pants had long since lost their crease.
    “Godalite?” He winked at Marie with a red-rimmed eye and held up a cigar with his sausage-like fingers. Her eyes rolled toward the thick tufts of hair growing out of his ears and the shimmering beads of perspiration on his temples. “I’m sorry, I don’t,” she responded, taking a step back from him. Her eyes darted in the direction of where she had last seen Richard.
    “Hey, Guido! Stop harassing my girl!” Richard returned from the bar with a glass of red wine in one hand and something on the rocks in the other.
    “I ain’t harassin’ her, Med Man. I was just lookin’ for a light. Whatsamatta? Can’t I even talk to your new boo?”
    Richard made quick introductions and then briskly took Marie’s elbow and headed into the main dining room.
    “Why did he call you Med Man?”
    “I don’t know. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s crazy.”
    When dinner was about to be served, Richard led Marie to two seats in the middle of the nearly fifty-foot-long table. Five waiters carried in massive trays and placed the serving bowls and platters down along the entire length of the table. Turkey, ham, and veal. Mashed, baked, fried, and oven browned potatoes. Beans, peas, corn, and beets. And pasta, all kinds of pasta. Marie looked at Richard and shook her head. The amount of food was overwhelming.
    Dinner went on for a full two hours. When the waiters brought in the trays of desserts, everyone groaned, but that didn’t stop them from trying bite-size pieces of tiramisu, cannoli, cassata, and zabaglione.
    “I need to visit the restroom. Will you be alright?” Richard asked.
    “Yes, of course.”
    She watched him walk away from her. He stopped to talk with people along the way, including the social misfit, Guido, who now had a woman on his arm. She was easily a foot taller than he, slim and well dressed. Richard worked the room like a seasoned politician.
    “May I sit down?” a woman asked. Tall, loose-limbed, with an oval-shaped face and delicate features, she looked like the kind who was easy on the eyes, but not on the heart. She put her hand on the back of the chair next to Marie, the large diamond ring hard not to notice.
    “Of course, please do.” Marie held out her hand. “I’m Marie Costa.”
    The woman ignored Marie’s hand, sat down, and looked straight ahead. “Yes, I heard.” Her eyes were cool and expressionless. “I was in your chair last Christmas.”
    “Oh?” Marie didn’t know what to expect of Richard’s former girlfriends, but this wasn’t it.
    She turned to face Marie and gave her a thin watery smile. “And I can assure you there will likely be someone else there next year.”
    Marie tried to look past the glazed smile on her cold face. Even though she was the current girlfriend in Richard’s life, she felt threatened by the woman. “Hmmm. What makes you so sure?”
    “Because I know him. How long have you been dating?”
    “A few months. Why?”
    “You’ll see.”
    Marie squirmed in her chair, not knowing what to say next. Richard saved her from having to say anything.
    “Hello, Richard. You’re looking handsome as ever.” She smiled a curl of a smile and held out her hand, but then dropped it into her lap when he didn’t take it.
    Marie watched Richard’s face tense up. The way his eyes skipped from hers to the other woman’s was telling, and Marie couldn’t help but wonder if the fire was really out between them. He glanced at her ring and said with a cold distant voice, “I think Beatrix is looking for you, Carmela.”
    She got up from her chair and turned to Marie. “Nice chatting with you, Marie.” They both watched her walk away with her hips swaying gently from side to side in a confident gait.
    “C’mon, Marie.” He reached for her hand. “It’s getting late. Let’s find our hosts and thank them for inviting