Cocktail Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

and he looked back at Lucie just as she started shaking her head.  He said, "Wow. I didn’t think-“
    “No!” Lucie said, shaking her head harder. “I don’t want some big thing, I just-“
    “Why not?” her father said, his face crumpling in frustration. “Lucie. The world is your oyster. But you have to take the pearl. It’s not going to jump into your hand.” He started nodding, while he continued. “Yes, this may be just the thing for you. School is out, we all know that. Your GPA-“
    “Painkillers and agony make it hard to concentrate, Dad.”
    He put up a hand. “You didn’t apply yourself. Don’t make excuses. I had pneumonia and then mono in college and I was on the Dean’s List anyway. I propped my eyes open with my fingers when I studied, practically crawled to classes.”
    Lucie slumped. He was right. She should have fought harder, pushed herself.
    Ryan spoke up. “Well, it’s nice to know that you possess superpowers, Mr. Scott. Not everyone has them. You’re a very lucky man.”
    Her father glanced at him, but didn’t deign to reply. He refocused on Lucie. “The point is: you have a talent for cooking. Why not parlay it into something truly valuable to society in general? Not just a few clients here and there.” He looked off, his lips turning down in thought. “Hmm, books, maybe a television show?”
    In that moment, Lucie could see it, her future in her father’s eyes. She had to admit it glittered. She nodded and shrugged. “Maybe.”
    Flo said, “Of course you can! Start with the catering like you planned, and then take it from there. That’s how they all do it. And you couldn’t pick a better place to do it than right here in Fairfield County. Martha started in Westport. Ooo, I know you’ll do wonderfully!”
    Now, sitting in her car, Lucie realized that it wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe she would become famous. She imagined glossy full-color cookbooks displaying her recipes, a French-themed cooking show, perhaps some kind of tribute to Mere’s career as a pastry chef. That idea, involving her mother somehow, appealed most of all. Lucie knew one thing: her father expected great things and she was tired of disappointing him. She remembered how wonderful it had felt in high school when he had put his arm around her and boasted openly about her to his friends whenever he and Mere had entertained, would never forget the look of pride in his eyes when he looked at her back then. And Flo, she was always supporting Lucie – it would be nice to please her. If only Flo would give even a drop of that support to her own daughter.
    Lucie thought of Erin and felt the sinking sensation again. How would Erin possibly help her? She couldn’t cook to save her life: the microwave and the fast-food drive-thru were the only ways her stepsister got sustenance. She couldn’t help with bookkeeping: she was a mess with money, losing it and mixing up simple numbers and forgetting important things like bills. She was no good with customer service: either being too chummy and personal or, if in one of her bad moods, rude and dismissive.
    Lucie sighed. There had to be something Erin could do, she just had to think. She turned around in her car seat and backed out of the parking space inch by inch, going so slowly that a woman sitting in her shiny new black Explorer and waiting for Lucie’s space honked at her.
    “Okay, okay,” Lucie muttered. She pulled the rest of the way out as fast she could, feeling her heart jump, and watched the woman zoom into the space. “You’re welcome. Have a nice day,” she said wryly. Then she drove slowly out of the parking lot and into the stream of traffic on the Post Road, heading toward the bar at Ibiza in Stamford and hoping that, over a few drinks with Chelsea and the other girl, some solution for what to do about Erin would occur to her.
     

 
     
    Strawberry Daiquiri
     
    Chelsea sat in one of the chairs on the periphery of the darkened conference room with a