Read Happy Any Day Now for Free Online Page A

novels. My hand skimmed its smooth surface and he groaned and inched me toward the kitchen table. For Geoff any flat surface would serve. Failing that, he’d make do with a broom closet.
    “Not here. My lower back’s been acting up.”
    “I love older women.” His laugh was husky.
    “Sofa?” I mumbled.
    “Bed,” he said. Bed was best. He did this incredible trick with pillows and a rolled-up quilt. And other jazzy moves. He had a large repertoire, sweet and hot.
    “So good,” I said when it was over, when I could catch my breath.
    “Just
good
?” He was propped on his elbow, gazing at me in mock alarm. “Not exceptional?”
    “Exceptional,” I agreed. And it had been, in spite of a minor interference during the blissful post-orgasmic decrescendo when The Barrister’s face had surfaced.
    “I can’t allow a blot on my record. Give me twenty minutes and we’ll try again,” Geoff promised with the assurance of a man in his prime.
    We did. It was even better the second time. No ghosts.

Chapter 5

    O n Thursday, I still hadn’t heard from Charlie, but Marti had called three times and then stopped by with a loose-leaf notebook crammed with party-related materials she’d collected over the last few days. First, we chose the invitation. I passed on the one with a cartoon Maxine bitching about support stockings and droopy boobs for something blandly tasteful in ecru with engraved lettering. Done.
    Next, she briefed me on the venue. She’d narrowed the choices to the Parthenon, the Hamden Rotary’s clubhouse, “and”—she consulted her notes—“there’s the Belvedere,” naming the Baltimore landmark that had once been the city’s most famous hotel. The building had been converted to condos in the nineties, and its two gorgeous ballrooms on the twelfth floor were perfect for weddings and other celebrations. “The Belvedere will give me a twenty percent discount because the catering manager and I went to culinary school together, but it’s still pricey, probably out of your range.”
    “The Belvedere, definitely.” It wasn’t even a horse race. “My mother is footing the bill.”
    Marti’s face brightened. “No shit? Gracie came through. Your father die and leave her guilt gelt?”
    “We should only be so lucky. No, she struck it rich at the craps tables. Or maybe baccarat. I can’t remember.”
    My mother was—had been for as long as I could remember—a gambler. As an Asian, she had gambling in her blood, she told me. “Korean people love to bet anytime, anything.”
    In my childhood, she’d given me—a kid—sucker’s odds on the outcome of cockroach races she set up on our kitchen floor. And she’d pocket my pennies, too. “You always pay off, Judith. It is honorable thing to do.”
    “Well, good for Mama,” Marti drawled on. “I guess this means I strike Irwin Raphael’s name off the guest list.”
    “Not funny, Marti.”
    Without my father-in-name-only, she still insisted on fifty. Fiftieth birthday, fifty guests. Propitious.
    “That’s a lot of people. I’m not inviting the whole freakin’ orchestra,” I grumbled.
    “Of course not. You’ll cherry-pick. You’ll want the fifty who loomed largest in your life. The ones who made a difference. Current, past, whatever.”
    “Brenda Himmelstein,” I blurted. “My mother gave me strict instructions to invite Brenda Himmelstein.”
    “Then by all means invite your grade school best friend.
Only
friend in your pathetic antisocial childhood. Just joking.” Marti flicked me a semi-penitent glance.
    “I’ve searched for her on the Net but I guess she’s married with a new name,” I said. “And she probably left Brooklyn. How can you track someone down after all these years?”
    “Leave it to me and my laptop. There are all kinds of Web sites out there willing to tell the world your deepest, darkest secrets for a price. I could turn up Jimmy Hoffa with enough time and money. I’ll find Brenda.” Marti was like a