Martini & Bossy - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 300

Patty, the harassed-looking caterer, arrived punctually at five o'clock with a car load of
food—and no staff.
“They'll be here soon,” she said brightly, darting a glance at her watch. “I'm absolutely
sure.”
Her use of the word absolutely made me absolutely sure they'd be late.
“What time are they due?” I asked.
“About five minutes ago.”
I helped her bring the food inside. It looked delicious, though a little skimpy.
“We're expecting about fifty people, you know,” I said, pulling back the tidy foil cover-
ings. “And they'll eat a lot,” I rambled on. “People always eat a lot at my parties. I'm not
sure why. I always serve lousy food.”
She seemed unfazed.
“There's plenty. And anyway, people on Vieques drink a lot more than they eat.”
Drink. Did she say drink?
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Where's the booze?”
Her face assumed the same dodgy expression.
“The bartender's bringing it.”
Deep breath.
So I was expecting a throng of thirsty guests in less than ninety minutes and there was
no alcohol in the house-except for my usual stash of a case or two of vodka, but that was
beside the point.
“And when is the bartender coming?” I asked.
She consulted her watch again.
“About ten minutes ago.”
I was tempted to grab her by the shoulders and shake hard.
“Call him!” I barked. “Now.”
I hardly knew myself anymore.
She peered at me tremulously from under her henna-dyed bangs and reached for her cell-
phone.
Short pause.
“Marcus, you bastard, where are you?” she growled.
Another pause.
“I see. And how about the party? Mr. Patrick is really counting on you.”
So true. Mr. Patrick really was.
“No? Then go to hell!”
She ended the call with a sharp tap of her brightly-lacquered index finger.
“He's not coming,” she murmured to no one in particular.
“Could you repeat that?”
For the first time Patty began showing signs of discomfort.