The Do-Over(70)

“You know nothing.”

I smiled. “If you say so.” My answer incensed him.

“You have nothing on me.”

“If you say so.” I continued to smile.

“Don’t push me, Tara.”

“No Julien, don’t you push me. I know all about April 22, 1994 and even if Wes doesn’t know what kind of scum you really are, I’ve got the whole picture. So, it might be in your best interest to stop threatening me.”

“What happened on April 22, 1994?” We had been so engrossed in our argument that neither Julien nor I had seen Wes approach. How much he had heard before my last comments, I had no clue.

Turning to Wes, I put my hand on his upper arm and calmly said, “That’s a conversation you need to have with Julien. Though, at least from me, I know you’d get the truth.” I took a moment to glare at Julien before turning on my heel and walking away from the two old friends as I headed back into the ballroom.

Returning to my table, a slice of flourless chocolate torte drizzled with raspberry coulis waited for me.

“So, that looked pretty intense with Wes on the dance floor.” Laynie remarked, giving me the eyebrow raise that was code for I want all the details.

“Ugh. That was the least of it. I was just accosted by Julien walking out of the Ladies’ Room.”

“Accosted?” Jonathan laughed. “Ooo, Tara’s pissed. She’s using big words.”

“The man is such a douche.” I was still riled up from what had happened in the corridor.

“D word. Tara’s cursing. She’s mega-pissed,” laughed Jamie.

“You need chocolate.” Jonathan pointed at my uneaten dessert. It was then that I noticed that all the other dessert plates at the table looked like a dog had licked them clean.

“No, I’ve lost my appetite.” Which I had. But I was also fearful my hands were still shaking from anger and I wouldn’t be able to successfully maneuver the cake from the plate to my mouth without making a huge mess.

Jonathan picked up my fork and cut the tip of the torte slice. I was just about to bust on him about a second dessert ruining his boyish figure when the fork approached me.

“Open up, doll face. This will make you happy.”

The minute my mouth opened to respond, the chocolate was in there. And divine it was. The smooth ganache melted in my mouth and I instantly felt better.

“Wow, that is delicious.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jonathan had the next bite already to my mouth, this time the torte was dripping of raspberry sauce.

“Mmm.” I savored the second bite. “If I finish my dessert, can I leave?”

Everyone laughed.

“I think we’ve all made a good showing tonight and we’re at the point where it’s no longer rude to disappear,” was Jamie’s assessment.

“Mom, I want to say goodbye to Wes.” Scarlett started to look around the room.

“Okay, go find him and say goodbye and then we’re leaving.”

As soon as Scarlett left the table, Laynie leaned over. “It looks like you’ve got a lot to tell me.”

“It has been an eventful evening,” was all I said.

“I can’t find him. I like literally looked everywhere.” Scarlett was pouting when she returned to the table.

“Okay then, let me buzz the limo driver and let’s get out of here.” I was on overload. Wes. Julien. April 22nd. My hurting feet. I just needed to freaking leave, go home, crawl into my bed and process the evening.

Exiting the ballroom, tables were set up on each side of the door with giftbags. Usually you just grabbed one and left, but these all had individual name tags on them.

“That’s odd,” Jill commented.

“Maybe it gives them a count of the no-shows tonight?” I conjectured, but wasn’t really sure.

As we walked the length of the Silver Corridor, I could see Julien up ahead, a roadblock strategically located between us and the safety of the elevator. Just the sight of him again made my stomach knot. I was so done with our confrontations.

“Oh f*ck,” I muttered under my breath. I just wanted out.

“I’ll handle this.” And Laynie was immediately four strides ahead of us, strutting elegantly in her sparkly skyscraper shoes.

Watching her spine straighten to full height and shoulders fall back, I knew immediately what my best friend was doing and there was no doubt Julien would succumb to the siren’s call of her barely sheathed breasts. And as if right on cue, enchanted, she began to lure him in. With his eyes focused on the prize(s) and his signature sneer brightening by the second, he was so entranced by the perfection of this exotic creature’s breasts, that even he was surprised to be yelling ‘Shit!’ as his chest met a cart full of dinner dishes filled with leftover prime rib, mashed potatoes and gravy.

As she passed by him, Laynie leaned down and gave him a spectacular view of what was under the crimson silk chiffon. With her lips just grazing his earlobe, she whispered to Julien, “You’ve got egg on your face.”

He looked at her, perplexed.

There was not an egg on the cart.

My lips were twitching, dying to break out in a smile as I reached where he stood, now brushing himself off. Taking joy in his food stained, white shirt, I managed to look straight ahead, maintaining my composure as the ornate elevator doors opened. Although close, I had escaped without another Julien run-in, so I was beginning to breathe easier and when we reached the lobby and immediately saw our limo driver waiting by the hotel’s entrance, I felt the thousand-pound weight lift off my heart. Home free. Finally.