Read Online Dog Eat Dog by Laurien Berenson - Free Book Online Page B

mall.”
    And for this, he got a college education. I bit my tongue and didn’t say a word.
    My coat was draped over the back of the kitchen chair. I picked it up and put it on. “Davey goes to bed at eight-thirty. He’ll protest some, but he usually caves right in if you’re firm.”
    â€œGot it.”
    â€œIf Faith goes to the back door, just open it and let her out. The yard’s fenced—”
    â€œGo,” said Frank. He took my arm and walked me to the door. “We’ll be fine.”
    â€œI won’t be late.”
    â€œYou said that already.” He had the door open and was pushing me out.
    I can’t help it. He’s my little brother, so I worry. “If you need me—”
    â€œWe won’t.”
    The door slammed shut in my face.
    â€œHey Davey!” I heard Frank yell as I started down the steps. “Let’s paaarty!”
    He was kidding. At least I hoped he was.
    Â 
    The restaurant had given us the same room as last time. This evening the tables were arranged in a single long line down the center. In a quick glance, I counted fourteen seats, about half of them already filled when we arrived.
    Nearly all of the faces around the table looked familiar. It seemed that most of the people who held an office in the club or had voiced an opinion at the meeting, were also show committee heads. Aunt Peg had mentioned that there was a core group of members whose participation involved every facet of club activity. Here they were.
    Lydia, wearing the same gray cardigan she’d had on the meeting before, had saved us two seats. Aunt Peg sat down next to the club president and I found myself squeezed between her and Cy Rubicov.
    He held out a hand. “You were here last time, but I don’t believe we met. Cy Rubicov. And this is my wife, Babs.”
    â€œBarbara,” she corrected with a cool smile. Her suit was spectacular, in an understated way. I was guessing Armani. “You must be a new member. Don’t tell me they’ve got you working on the show already?”
    â€œNo, actually I’m not a member at all. Margaret Turnbull is my aunt, and she needed a ride. I’m just here as transportation.”
    Cy frowned. He reached around behind me and tapped Peg on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you call us if you needed a ride? You know we’re right over in Conyers Farm. We could have swung by and picked you up.”
    â€œWhy Cy, what a nice offer. Next time I’ll think of you first.”
    I wondered if he knew her well enough to read the subtle nuances in her tone. Aunt Peg was smiling, but she was picturing hell freezing over.
    Cy turned back to me. He lifted a beefy hand and rested it on my shoulder in a friendly fashion. “Now listen, Mel ... It’s Mel, right?”
    â€œActually, it’s Melanie. The only one who calls me Mel is my ex-husband.”
    Barbara’s gaze flicked in my direction, then skimmed away once more.
    â€œAs I was saying, if you do want to get involved in the show, you just let me know. I’m in charge of hospitality and we can always use some extra hands.”
    â€œI’ll do that,” I said. What the hell. He hadn’t read Aunt Peg’s tone. He probably couldn’t read mine either.
    As soon as we were settled in our seats, a waitress came around to take our drink orders. The last dinner had been for socializing; this one was for work. While we were waiting to be served, business got underway.
    As club president, Lydia had run the last meeting. This time Louis LaPlante, the show chairman, was in charge. He started by asking each of the various committee heads to give a report. Bertie Kennedy, who was handling the advertising, went first.
    She bent down to the floor beside her chair, picked up a notebook and placed it on the table in front of her. For anyone else, the movement would have been mundane; Bertie managed to make it look distinctly sensual.