The Housewife(29)

Meredith lives next door so I just walk over. At 10:30 a.m. precisely, I knock on the door. I didn’t know what to bring so I made a strawberry cheesecake. It’s one of Roy’s favorites. I also brought a bottle of Taittinger—that’s French champagne—because I know that these ladies love their champagne and I think it would be a nice icebreaker.

Meredith opens the door in her bare feet and a towel around her head.

My heart sinks. “Did I get the wrong day?” I ask.

“Jodie! Not at all. You’re right on time. What have you got there? Champagne? Oh, right. You shouldn’t have. Come this way.”

I’m the first one here. I check my watch. Ten thirty-one. Perhaps I should have been fashionably late. I guess I have a lot to learn. Or did I get the time wrong? Because I do remember thinking ten thirty was very early for lunch, but then I just assumed we’d have cocktails first. For an hour and a half. Anyway, she hasn’t said I am too early, so I don’t need to worry.

I’ve never been inside Meredith’s house, and it’s as beautiful as you’d imagine, if a little clinical for my taste. Lots of white and beige and pale grays, but the large windows are what draw the eye anyway, and her garden is beautiful.

“Shall I put this in the kitchen?” I say.

“Well, yes, obviously. That’s where we’re going.”

The kitchen is similarly clinical with a large central island made of stainless steel. It’s not to my taste but at least there’s no risk of food poisoning due to cutting raw chicken on the wooden top, and I appreciate that. People have no idea how unhygienic those fixed wooden bench tops can be. On the other hand, the kitchen bench is absolutely covered with food. Eggs, cartons of them, pots of cream, fruits and vegetables spilling over, little jars of spices and herbs that look like they’re still sealed, bags of flour, blocks of butter…

“Where shall I…” I hold my pie aloft, looking around for a clear space and seeing none.

“What is it again?” She peers under the cake dome.

“Strawberry cheesecake.”

“Oh! You got an early start. Clever you. Now. There’s salmon in the refrigerator, and some dips and those Greek dolmades… Anyway, you’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Let’s see…what else do you need? I did consider asking you to bring all the ingredients, I thought you’d know best, but Eileen said… Anyway, I didn’t. But I ordered everything you need and more, so I’m sure you’ll be fine. Now. In this drawer here, you’ll find all the utensils…” She opens a large white drawer, the type that you tug and it slides out in a soft whoosh. “Did you bring an apron? No? Let me see… There should be one somewhere…” She rummages in a cupboard and comes out with a crumpled square of linen. She shakes it loose. “Is that an apron? Yes.” She hands it to me, one arm outstretched.

And only then does it dawn on me, with a slow sinking of my stomach, that Meredith didn’t invite me to join her friends for my scintillating conversation or to mine my creative ideas to raise money for a good cause.

She wants me to make lunch.

“That should be everything, then. You’re all right, Jodie? You look a bit red.” She checks her watch. “I better get a move on. I still have to style my hair and the luncheon is at 12:30. My friends—by the way there will be twelve of us, I don’t remember if I mentioned—are very punctual so you should probably get a move on too… Oh, here’s Dolores.”

A short woman with curly dark hair and a narrow face walks in. She’s wearing a light blue blouse that goes down to her knees.

“Dolores, this is Mrs. Davies. Remember how I told you? No? Maybe I didn’t. Anyway. I’m sure you two will get on perfectly.” She taps my shoulder lightly. “I’ll leave you with Dolores. You’re in good hands. Just ask if you need anything. Ask Dolores, I mean. Please do your magic, Jodie. I promised my friends a very special luncheon so I’m counting on you.”

I’m still holding the cake, staring at Meredith’s smooth, unlined face, and I am reminded of a book of medieval feasts I found in a yard sale once. The front cover had a picture of a pig’s head with an apple in its mouth. For a moment, I can see myself as if from above as I put the cake down to pick up that big, sharp knife over there, and then, in the next moment, I am serving cheesecake with Meredith’s head on top of it, a strawberry stuck between her teeth.

“Well then. I’ll see you at 12:15 for the hors d’oeuvres,” she says, breaking the spell.

“Everything all right, Mrs. Davies?” Dolores asks after she’s gone.

Dolores looks worried. I’m about to say that no, nothing is all right so I’m going home, but then I think about Deborah. If I want to figure out what really happened to her, I need to speak with the people who knew her, even if they’re horrible, horrible people.

I put down the cake on the sideboard, smooth my hair with the palm of my hand. I’m here, so I may as well make lemonade out of lemons .

Also, I love cooking.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you. And please call me Jodie.” I tie on the apron. “Do you like cooking, Dolores?”





An hour later, the strangest thing happens. I’m laughing. In fact, I’m laughing so much I’m crying. And as someone who never laughs and never cries, this is quite the surprise.