looking. She inched closer and reached out a hand toward the bucket.
“Give me a whiskey and soda would you?”
The voice came from behind Rivka, and she jumped.
“So sorry, didn’t see you there, you go first.” The man motioned to her to go forward. His black bow tie was starting to slip to one side, and his white pleated shirt had wilted in the humidity.
Rivka shook her head and eased back into the shadows next to a large, potted fern.
The bartender filled a clean glass with ice, poured a shot of golden liquid over it, and squirted in soda from a siphon. He put the sweating glass on a napkin and slid it across the bar. The man took the drink, and the bartender turned back to his boxes.
Rivka’s heart was pounding so hard she felt light-headed. She waited for a moment then sidled closer. And then closer. The bartender grunted, put a hand to his back and started to straighten up. Rivka scurried back toward the shadows of the friendly fern.
But the bartender merely rubbed a hand to the small of his back before bending to his task again. Rivka marched forward. It was now or never. She reached out a hand and grabbed one of the bottles from the bucket. Icy rivulets of water ran down her arm, and she shivered. She was turning to flee when she ran smack into a solid, masculine chest.
“I see you’ve finally gotten yourself something decent to drink,” he drawled.
It was Pamela’s father.
“Yes.” Rivka smiled brightly and tried to hide the bottle behind her back.
“Ssss excellent. Help yourself. Want my guests to have a good time.” He raised an unsteady hand toward Rivka, but she ducked and bolted back through the French doors and the safety of the darkened terrace.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it.” Rivka held the bottle aloft.
“Good girl,” Pamela clapped her hands. “Give it to me.”
Rivka held the bottle higher, and Pamela jumped toward it, trying to grab it. The heel of one of her navy silk pumps snagged on the edge of her dress, and they heard the sound of fabric tearing.
“Shit! Look what you made me do.” Pamela whirled around to examine the damage.
“I’m sorry.” Rivka’s moment of triumph was over. She held the bottle out meekly and Pamela grabbed it.
Mary sat by the pool with her dress hiked up and her legs dangling in the water. “Want me to open it?”
Pamela shook her head. She inched the cork up out of the bottle with her thumbs, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration. They all jumped when the cork popped loudly and went flying. It landed in the pool and sank from view.
Champagne sluiced over the sides of the bottle. Pamela held it to her mouth and licked at the overflowing liquid.
“Yummy, champers.” She held the bottle toward Mary.
Mary took the bottle of champagne and had a sip.
Rivka looked from Pamela to Mary and then back again. Weren’t they going to offer her any? She was the one who had risked everything to grab the bottle off the bar. She’d promised her parents she wouldn’t dream of having anything alcoholic to drink, but it was hot, she was thirsty, and champagne hardly counted. Everyone was having some. A few sips wouldn’t hurt. Nothing had happened the time she’d let Pamela put the vodka in her soda. Her mother hadn’t even noticed! And she wouldn’t notice this time either. Sometimes she wondered how smart her parents really were.
So when Pamela swung the bottle in Rivka’s direction, she didn’t say no. She took a long swallow, and then another.
“Hey, I want some more.” Mary hoisted herself up from beside the pool and tried to take the bottle from Rivka.
“No.” Rivka held on tight and put it back to her lips. This time she wasn’t being excluded. She would show them she was just like them.
“Come on. That’s enough.” Mary tried to grab for the bottle, but Pamela shook her head.
Mary shrugged and