So Close by Emma McLaughlin Read Free Book Online Page A

to Pax’s explanation I simply said, “People always ordered those seafood towers at the hotel, but I couldn’t understand it.  I mean, I get expensive cooking, but why would you spend a fortune for groceries on ice?”
                  Pax grinned and waved his arm like a magician’s assistant.  “E voila.  Groceries on ice.”
                  I smiled and took a shrimp.  Which was admittedly delicious. 
                  “So, how long did you work there?” he asked, slurping an oyster. 
                  “Four months.”
                  He pulled a W-monogrammed napkin from the pile to dab his chin.  “And what would you like to do—in all seriousness.”
                  “Join the navy—see the world.”
                  “Really?”
                  “No.”  I shifted my drink to my other hand to take a passing pastry puff.  “What about you?”
                  “Oh, you haven’t heard?” he said sarcastically.  “I’m being groomed to take over Westerbrook Equities.”
                  “Like monkeys?” 
                  “Yes, just like that.  Whoever can pick the most grubs off my step-dad’s fur gets to be CEO.”
                  “That’s how I got my hostess job.”
                  He clinked my glass with his.  “Want to meet Tom Davis?”
                  “Oh, I couldn’t,” I said, suddenly shy for perhaps the first time in my life. 
                  “Come on.”  He led me across the dance floor to a cluster of men in seersucker and women in sherbet-colored dresses.  We elbowed our way in. 
                  “I’m sorry, Dale,” Tom was addressing an older gentleman.  “But you’re going to have to explain to me what the fuck a bootstrap is.”  The crowd laughed.  Lindsay grinned.  “I mean it.”  Tom was smiling.  “I went to the same public school as my parents.  When they graduated it still had a Math Club—can you imagine that?  We had two stoplights and a Math Club.  By the time I passed through VH1 was already trying to save the music and now they have kids zoning out in class because their houses are meth labs.  And how do you keep the teachers giving a crap in that kind of environment for that kind of pay?  My parents got a bootstrap.  These kids aren’t getting shit from us.”
                  “Forget Watkins,” someone said, “You should run, Tom.”
                  He blushed.  “Nah, I’m a long way off from anything like that.” 
                  “Your sure?”
                  “Sure.”  Tom took Lindsay’s hand and squeezed it.  They smiled—not at each other, but into each other.  The way couples look at the altar.   Then he turned back to his enthralled crowd.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to make sure I have my note cards in order.” 
    The Davises started to walk away when Pax took two quick steps after them.  “Mr. Davis, sir.”  He turned.  “Pax Westerbrook.  We’re delighted to have you here this evening.  I’m sure my sister has everything organized to the minute, but is there anything you need?”  He was suddenly formal.  Groomed. 
    “For the Tampa Bay Rays to beat the Red Sox tonight—any update?”
    “He really wants to know,” Lindsay said wryly.
    “I do,” Tom admitted.
    “I will get right on that.  And this is my friend, Amanda Luker.” 
    Tom shook my hand.  “Pleasure to meet you, Amanda.  This is my wife, Lindsay.”  She startled as she registered me.
    “Nice to meet you.”  I took her hand, trying to telegraph that whatever happened in the ladies’ room was nobody’s business as far as I was concerned.  “I heard a little bit of your speech last month in South Beach,” I said to Tom. 
    “I wouldn’t have taken you