What Nora Knew by Linda Yellin Read Free Book Online Page B

horticulturist, asked Cameron.
    “They never survive?” I said. “Not one of them? What woman would date this guy?”
    Rachel scowled at me.
    “I’d date him!” Blair said. “I cried in book two when he sent Monique a white rose every Monday and then buried her with white roses. You know what women want, Cameron.”
    Yes, nice funeral flowers, I thought. The truth is, I was jealous of this Cameron guy. Nobody ever fawned over my writing.I never got fawning. “How’d you become such an expert on women?” I asked.
    “Four sisters,” he said. “All older.”
    “Any brothers?” Lindy Sue asked with a wink. I admire good winkers. My winks look more like a tic.
    “No. Just me,” Cameron said. “I’m the baby in the family.”
    Did he just refer to himself as the baby in the family?
    “That is so sweet,” Marya said.
    “Adorable,” Rachel said.
    “No wonder you’re so sensitive,” Blair said. “And Mike Bing’s so romantic.”
    Cameron did this fake aw-shucks, shy-guy thing, complete with humble shrug and sheepish smile. “I think men are much more romantic than women give them credit for,” he said. “What man doesn’t love Sleepless in Seattle ?”
    The women all cooed. The men all looked confused.
    “Is there any more corn?” I asked.
    After a short discussion praising the delicious garden-fresh zucchini, and who had Lyme disease, Rachel said, “I hated when Mike Bing couldn’t save Sasha on top of the power plant. Darn arachnophobia.”
    “Acrophobia,” Cameron said, smiling. “Heights. Not spiders.”
    “I can’t wait for the movie,” Blair said from one side of me across to Cameron on the other side of invisible me.
    “Me, either,” Cameron said. “I’ll be sitting in the very front row like I’m part of the show.” He turned to me. “Sylvester Stallone’s making my movie.” Another humble shrug. Another sheepish smile.
    “Really?” I said.
    “Really?” Russell piped in.
    “Who’s playing Sasha?” Rachel asked.
    “That’s up to Sylvester,” Heike said. “We’re hoping for Angelina.”
    Pamela paused mid-fig bite. “Oh, they’ll be a terrific couple. Slygelina!”
    “I picture Gwyneth Paltrow,” Blair said. “Slytrow!”
    “Gwyneth’s too young,” Rachel said. She was checking her lipstick in the blade of her knife. “I hate these eight-hour lipsticks. They last eight minutes.”
    “I wonder if they gave couples combo-names back in history,” I said. “Romeo and Juliet: Julio. CathCliff or Heatherine?”
    “You read romantic literature?” Cameron asked me.
    “I’m just making a point.” Nobody seemed too interested in exploring my theory further.
    “Mike Bing’s girlfriends aren’t bimbos,” Lindy Sue said. Why was she looking at me ? “They’re always age-appropriate.”
    “Did anyone watch that terrible Diane Keaton–Justin Bieber DVD?” Russell asked.
    A general mumbling of Never saw it, never saw it followed, interrupted by Heike’s barking, “It’s not my fault Justin Bieber can’t act!” while punching her thumbs into her BlackBerry.
    I wondered if it was too late to change my seat to the Bruce side of the table.
    “How old is Mike Bing?” I asked Cameron.
    “Forty-two,” he said.
    “How old are you?”
    “Forty-two.”
    “Sounds like this Mike fellow and you might get along. Do you like age-appropriate women?”
    “I like all women.”
    “Really? How time-consuming.”
    The plates were cleared and desserts served—lemon curd cheesecake, chocolate bundts with créme anglaise, poached pears with apricot sauce, fresh watermelon slices—and the conversations broke down into smaller configurations. Pamela was talking to Marya and BlackBerry-tapping Heike. Rachel was talking with Lindy Sue. Russell was handing Blair his business card. Farther down the table Thatcher and Darrin were arm wrestling next to a plate of pastel-colored macaroons. Somehow it was just Cameron and I chatting while I ate watermelon. I love watermelon.