56. Salmagundi

"Thanks, again, for making time for us, Bonnie. Did I happen to mention you were really great?"

Bonnie took a sip of wine, and, setting her glass down on the table, grinned at Vanna. "Once or twice. I'm glad you think the talk went well. I was a little nervous, I'll admit. Speaking in public always gives me butterflies."

"Honestly? I never would've guessed! You looked completely at ease on stage, very open and natural. The passion you have for conserving great works of art really came through. Personally, I thought you were the best speaker of the afternoon, and, if the number of girls who flocked to have tea at your table is any indication, I'd say I wasn't alone in that opinion! From where I was sitting, it looked like you and the girls were having a lively conversation. I'll bet you didn't get more than a gulp of tea and half a cucumber sandwich in all that time."

"You're right on the money," Bonnie said, with a chuckle. "And now I'm famished, so thanks for suggesting an early dinner."

"It's the least I could do. And besides, it's been too long since we've talked. What's it been? Three weeks?"

Their server arrived with their salmagundi, its components arranged on the platter with such artistry Bonnie had to exclaim at its beauty. Vanna sent the solicitous young man off with a smile and her compliments to the chef.

Bonnie selected a marinated mushroom cap from the array. "I know I promised to stay in touch, Van, and I'm sorry I haven't called. I've had so much going on…"

"Say no more. I understand. I've been up to my eyeballs, too. A lot more goes into putting together a fashion show than I ever imagined. But then, you know that."

"Freya running you ragged?"

"Not too bad. That checklist you mailed me has been a godsend, so thanks for that. Oh, and the door prizes you solicited have started coming in, very generous some of them."

"Good to hear. I don't expect any of the promised donations to fall through, but if anyone needs reminding, let me know and I'll follow up on it. And don't hesitate to call me if you have questions, or if you need help with anything else, all right?"

"Thanks. I'll try to keep it to a minimum. I know you've got your own fish to fry." She picked up an asparagus spear with her fingers, and nibbled one end. "Which reminds me: how's the Lebrun painting coming along? Are you making good progress? Any setbacks?"

"No, thank goodness. We're right on schedule. We're finally done removing the old varnish, and we're on to filling in the small areas of paint loss. Then, it'll be time to lay on a fresh coat of varnish, and let the painting dry. Another two weeks should do it, three at the outside."

"So, you'll have it finished in plenty of time for the gala?"

Glass in hand, Bonnie's arm stilled mid-lift. "You know about that?"

Vanna, her mouth momentarily full, nodded. "My parents are Jeff Society members. Their tickets came in yesterday's mail, and — can you believe the selfish beasts? — they plan on going themselves instead of letting their favorite daughter use them."

"The nerve," Bonnie said, enjoying Vanna's mock-outrage. She helped herself to a grilled shrimp. "Are you serious about wanting to attend?"

"Are you kidding? From what I hear, it's going to be the premier event of the Fall season! I suppose I could spring for a membership of my own," she mused aloud. "The Jeff is certainly worth supporting."

"You'll get no argument here." Bonnie hesitated, torn between conflicting loyalties. "I really shouldn't discourage you," she began carefully. "Raising money is the purpose of the gala after all, but, as it happens, I can probably get you a ticket. It'll be a work evening for me, but, even so, I'm allowed to bring a guest."

"Bonnie!" Vanna's expression softened with gratitude. "That's incredibly nice of you! I couldn't possibly accept, though. It'll be September by then, and you'll want that ticket for…" She broke off, her eyes widening in mortification. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

Bonnie hoped the twinge of pain hadn't shown on her face. "Please don't apologize. The subject was bound to come up, and, since it has, I can assure you all the Wyndham-Pryces are Society members, even Emma. They'll have tickets, and to spare."

"I see. Well, in that case, l may take you up on your offer, but only if I can't wangle a ticket on my own. And, in the meantime, don't let that stop you from inviting someone else. Preferably," she added, with a playful leer, "someone of the tall, dark and handsome variety."

Bear, dressed in black tie, appeared suddenly in Bonnie's thoughts: broad-shouldered Bear in a form-fitting jacket and starched white shirt, dark hair barely tamed, eyes stormy with irritation, an ebony butterfly resting uneasily against the strong, tan column of his neck. She felt a prickle of heat along her cheeks, and, dropping her eyes, reached for her water glass.

Vanna might have numbered mind-reading among her talents, for she said, "Your hunky colleague will be attending, too, I suppose. Dr. Foxx, wasn't it?"

"Baer," Bonnie supplied, only to catch the twinkle in Vanna's blue eyes too late. "Oh!" She smiled sheepishly. "That went right over my head."

"And I thought it was so clever! Anyway, Dr. Baer… I don't like to harp, Bonnie, but you did promise to introduce me."

"And I will, scout's honor, at the first opportunity."

"Which won't be till the gala, no doubt. Ah, well." She sighed theatrically. "I've waited this long. What's another month?" She popped a perfectly round cherry tomato in her mouth, and, chewing, regarded Bonnie speculatively the while. "I don't mean to pry," she said finally, "and I'll understand if you don't want to say, but I have to ask."

Bonnie, mildly alarmed, met Vanna's gaze warily. "Okay…"

"What're you wearing to the gala? What?" she objected, as Bonnie, relieved, broke out in a laugh. "I wasn't trying to be funny."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just, I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. Actually, I would've brought up the subject, myself, if you hadn't. I've been toying with this idea for a dress, but I'm not feeling great about it. I could use your advice and maybe your help."

"Oooh, a fashion consult!" Vanna leaned in, all bright attention. "Let's hear it."

"I don't know how well you remember La Coupe d'amour." Bonnie picked up her vid-screen, and scrolled through her photo library for a shot of the painting. "Here," she said, passing the screen across the table. "Take a look at the woman's garment."

Vanna did as she was bid. "I can see why you don't call it a dress. It looks like she wrapped herself in a sheet, knotted one end in place, and called it a day." She pored over the image a few moments longer, then handed the vid-screen back. "So, what're you thinking? Not to copy that look, surely?"

"Not slavishly, no. The girls need to be decently covered, for starters. What I want, ideally, is a dress that recreates the flow of the woman's draperies, but as an illusion, an effect of design. Let me show you." She cued up a new photo, and held out the device. "This isn't exactly what I have in mind, but it comes fairly close."

Vanna needed only one glance at the picture for her face to light up. "Oh, Bonnie!" she breathed. "That's just stunning. It looks like a gown a Greek goddess might wear. And I see what you mean. The ruching on the bust, the folds that drape across the front and over the side, the tie with the trailing ends — there's a sense of movement to this dress that recalls the one in the painting without imitating it." She took a last appreciative look, and handed the screen back. "I take it that's the point: for the dress to be a tribute of sorts to the painting?"

Bonnie nodded. "My tip of the hat." She grimaced uncertainly. "I don't know. What do you think? Genius, or the lamest notion ever?"

"For my part, I think it's brilliant. In fact, I like the idea so much, if you don't go for it, I will."

Their server appeared to inquire how they were doing, and if he could bring them another round from the bar. When he had gone, Vanna said, "You mentioned you could maybe use my help?"

"Yes, I was wondering if you could recommend a good dressmaker, someone who can work from a sketch, or collaborate on a design. It's looking more and more like I'm not going to find my dream dress locally or online."

"I know just the person! The wonderful Emily Krebs! She made all my pageant gowns back in the day, and they were all exquisite. She's in crazy demand, but I can get you in to see her." Vanna paused and fixed Bonnie with a straight look. "On one condition."

"Shoot."

"That I get to be part of the process, start to finish."

Bonnie grinned, delighted. "I was hoping you'd offer."

They went on to talk of other things: of the re-election campaign, which would be scaling back for the month of August, so the Senator and staffers alike could recharge their batteries in anticipation of the big push in the Fall; of the successful pageant Vanna's mother had recently staged; of their summer travels to date, which in Vanna's case had included a weekend at the Wyndham-Pryce lake house. They did not speak of Trev, but he was present in that very silence, a ghost at the table. Bonnie longed to ask how he was doing, if he was all right, but she managed, albeit with difficulty, to restrain herself. At one point, to judge by a sudden diffidence, Vanna was on the brink of broaching the subject herself but she seemed to think better of the impulse, and promptly steered the conversation another way. "So, what's new with that dashing cousin of yours? Seen anything of him lately?"

"Just last week," Bonnie confirmed. "We had a family get-together at Virginia Beach. Everybody came, including Eddie. And he brought a guest."

"The same blond as before?"

"No, a different woman." Bonnie had nearly gaped in surprise when he'd introduced the diminutive brunette at his side as his "business partner, Deena Clemens." Small-boned and whip-thin, with a waif's over-large dark eyes and short, choppy hair, Deena could not have been further from the tall, blue-eyed blond of Bonnie's imagining. Her reputation for being shrewish was, however, close to the mark. While not precisely rude, she did not put herself out to be sociable, and came across as prickly and aloof. Bonnie had the distinct impression that Deena had not wanted to come, and was steamed at Eddie for having compelled her, somehow, to do so. They'd been the last to arrive, and, after an argument conducted in furious whispers, the first to leave, but, even watching them together for only that short time, Bonnie'd come away with a startling conviction. "He'd probably deny it to high heaven if you asked him, but I think it's safe to say he's off the market."

Vanna pulled an exaggerated frowny face. "Well, if that isn't just my luck! The good ones get snapped up so fast, you notice that?" They shared a moment of wry philosophical amusement, and then Vanna, a tad over-bright, pressed on, "So… how about you? Seeing anyone?"

Bear flashed on Bonnie's mind again. Was she seeing him? It was a question without a clear cut answer. In the weeks since their visit to the zoo, they'd spent many hours together outside of work, all at Danny's instigation. On the days Bear picked him up from Jeff camp and gave him dinner out before taking him home, it was so consistently "Can Bonnie come, too, Daddy?" that eventually she received a standing invitation to join them whenever she liked. Not wanting to exceed her welcome, she made an excuse every once in a while, but in the main she accepted readily. Those evenings were all about Danny, but the camaraderie they shared over pizza seemed to carry over into their work days as well. Bear was no longer quite so guarded with her, or so stiff. He seemed lighter in spirit, somehow, more apt to take a joke or dish one out, more engaged. Their work relationship, too, had undergone a change; he treated her increasingly less as an assistant and more as a junior partner, or so it felt to her. Sometimes, she wondered if it wasn't all wishful thinking on her part… Bonnie became suddenly conscious of Vanna eyeing her expectantly. "Er… yes," she said, making her decision. "Yes, I am. Want to check him out?"

"Please!" Vanna took one look at the photo Bonnie passed her, and let out a peel of laughter. "Oh, Bonnie! What a cutie! What's his name?"

"Danny. He's been most persistent in his attentions, let me tell you."

"I don't doubt it. What's that he's holding?"

"His final project for his 'Mythical Monsters' summer camp. It's his version of a chimera."

Vanna shook her head admiringly, and handed the vid-screen over. "He's darling. I hope you don't mind my pointing out that you have a good twenty years on him. What is he, all of four?"

"Five, actually, but he'll be six next week."

"Well, in that case!" She smiled, her eyes alight with merriment. Then, the laughter fading, she said with feeling, "As long as he's the one, it's worth the wait."

The bill had been settled, and they were preparing to head out when Vanna said, "Are you familiar with Charles Dickens' last novel? Our Mutual Friend?"

Bonnie regarded her quizzically. "I'm not much for nineteenth-century literature. Why? Are you reading it?"

"In a manner of speaking. I thought you might be interested to know that Our Mutual Friend is good. Not great, but fine, under the circumstances."

Our Mutual Friend, indeed. "I've been wondering for a while, so thanks for telling me, Vanna. It's very good to know."