Travel Reference
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“His mother's sick?” she hazarded, backing away just beyond my reach.
“Really?”
“He's not super dependable, I admit.”
She appeared to be on the verge of tears, or at least she was pretending to be.
“So who's your back-up?”
She swallowed hard.
“Sorry?”
“Who's your back-up bartender? I assume you have someone on call in case Marcus'
mother stubs her toe.”
She all but whimpered.
“Not really.”
I let this sink in.
“Then get in your car and drive to the store as fast as you can. When you get there, buy
every drop of alcohol they have, rubbing and otherwise, and get back here pronto.”
I shoved my credit card towards her.
“And, by the way, you're the new bartender.”
☼ ☼ ☼
When Michael got home fifteen minutes later I was staring in disbelief at the trays of
hors
d'oeuvres
lined up on the counter.
“Yummy, smells good.”
“Don't even start.”
“What's wrong?”
His face registered immediate concern, which pulled me up short. Clearly I was over-
reacting. I sketched a brief smile.
“I'm being a little dramatic, I guess. I'm sure everything will be fine.”
“What will be fine?”
“The fact that we've got no alcohol and no one to serve the food.”
“Good God.”
For some reason I was beginning to feel bad again.
“Where
is
everybody?” he asked, looking around the room.
“The servers are late.” I looked at my watch. “Very late. The bartender's not coming.
The alcohol's in his car, I assume, which means it's not coming either.”
“Where's the caterer?”
“At the supermarket buying booze.”
He assessed the situation in his usual business-like way.
“How does the food look?”
“Good, though maybe a little sparse.”
He thought for a moment. “Doesn't matter. Booze is the important thing on this island.”
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