Well excuse me, Martha Stewart, she thought as she watched him resize the portions. The thought of going upstairs for a few hits of pot were dashed when she saw Michael and Laura ascending the stairs. Fuck it, I'll settle for a cigarette and a drink. Looking around, she spotted the bottle of gin on the counter. "Would you like another drink, Mister Knight?"
"Oh please call me Peter, and no thank you." He picked up his half full glass and jiggled it. "The home handyman won't let me have more than a couple of drinks while we're out."
"He's upstairs now," she pointed out, holding the bottle in her hand.
The redhead looked over at the empty living room, then at the stairs before thrusting his glass at her. "Well I suppose there's nothing wrong with topping it off."
"No, nothing at all," she said as she filled his glass.
"Thank you," he said, bringing the drink to his lips. "Ooh, now that has some kick to it, doesn't it?" He took another sip. "You do like to make them strong, Miss Sheridan."
"Crystal and yeah, the stronger the better." She took a healthy swallow or her own drink and headed for the sliding glass door. "I need a smoke." "By all means, Miss, I mean Crystal." He followed her outside. "I see Laura is enforcing her no smoking rule."
"Mm, One of her many rules," the stripper mumbled as she lit her cigarette. "You should be a used car salesman."
Peter laughed nervously. "Well now, I guess I wasn't completely forthcoming about Laura's little quirks."
"No, not exactly," she agreed.
"But you two are getting along splendidly from what I see now," he offered in defense. "Laura likes you."
"Peter you'd better stop talking about me," the writer's voice carried from the upper deck. The balding man's face turned redder than his hair.
"Oh my, what an embarrassing faux pas." In a louder voice he called "I was just commenting on how well you and Miss Sheridan were getting along."
"Uh huh, I know exactly what you were doing," Laura said, leaning over the upper rail. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" "Um, the fruit salad is ready," Crystal said before taking a long drag of her cigarette. "And I'm getting hungry."
"All right, we'll be down in a minute."
Crystal's fork carefully avoided all but the grapes and peaches while she listened to Michael ramble on about how to wire a fixture on the upper deck. Peter and Laura were in deep conversation, about what the stripper wasn't sure. Deciding that it had to be more interesting than the benefits of adjustable lighting, Crystal turned her attention to them. Peter was shaking his head in disagreement with something Laura said.
"Well what are they going to do? Decide not to publish your book?"
"They could. Most likely they push it back on the production schedule."
"That means pushing back your checks," Peter said. "Any chance you'll meet the deadline?"
"Even if I sat in front of that computer day and night I wouldn't make it. I can't figure out where to go from here with the characters and the whole trial scene seems awkward at this point." Laura took another bite of her fruit salad and pushed the bowl away, dabbing the corners of her lips with her napkin. "I hate writer's block." The ding of the oven timer ended the conversation. "If you will excuse me," she said as she rose to her feet. "I have to check on dinner."
"I'll help," Crystal offered, not wanting to be stuck alone with the quarreling lovers. She followed Laura into the kitchen.
"Sorry about that," the writer said as she pulled the pan out of the oven. "Sometimes the boys get into a fight and they don't know enough to leave it at home."
"It's all right. At least they're not throwing punches."
"No, they won't get to that point." Laura began transferring the chicken to the serving tray. "At the very worst they'll just not speak to each other. Would you bring the soufflé to the table?"
"Sure." Using the potholders, she picked up the ceramic dish and headed for the deck. The aroma wafted under her nose, making Crystal's mouth water in anticipation. Despite her earlier misgivings, she was now looking forward to her first sampling of the spinach soufflé. She found Peter and Michael staring in different directions when she stepped out onto the deck.
"Oh here, let me help," Michael said, moving a trivet to the center of the table.
"You have to leave room for the entree," Peter huffed, moving the hot plate to the side to make room for the chicken plate. Once she was certain the wrought iron trivet was staying put, Crystal set the dish down. She turned to go help Laura but found the dark haired woman coming through the doorway with the entree in her hands.
"The rice and sauce are still in there," Laura said, jerking her chin in the direction of the kitchen.
"I'll get them." Crystal stepped around her roommate and returned to the kitchen. Scooping the rice from the pot into the bowl, she couldn't resist taking a taste or two. Fortunately Laura had made more than enough.
They sat at the round table on the deck with the women across from each other, Michael on Crystal's left and Peter on her right. "Smells delectable," Peter said enthusiastically as he took the dish from Laura. "I haven't had lemon chicken in ages."
"Well I've never had it but you're right, it does smell good," Crystal said as she reached for the dish.
"Oh no, my dear, allow me," Peter said, setting the plate down on the trivet. He put two pieces on her plate and poured a generous amount of sauce over them. "Trust me, you'll love it."
Love it or hate it, Crystal was determined to put a good face on for her roommate. She waited until everyone had filled their plates before picking up her fork. Deciding the rice pilaf looked safest, she aimed her fork for it.
"You haven't tried the soufflé yet?" Michael asked before her utensil made contact with any food.
"Don't be silly, Michael," Peter admonished. "Of course she's going to try Laura's chicken first. Go ahead my dear, try it." "Actually" she started, looking hesitantly at the green vegetable.
"No, it's okay," Laura said. "You can try the soufflé first if you want to. I don't mind."
"See?" the blond man said impatiently at his lover. "Go on, Crystal. It'll melt in your mouth, I swear."
Six eyes watched as Crystal took a forkful of the puffy dish and brought it to her lips. "Mmm." As Michael had predicted, it did indeed melt in her mouth. "It's good," she mumbled, putting another piece in her mouth.
"I knew you'd love it," the large handyman said, his round face beaming with pride.
"Of course it's delicious," Laura said, shooting Peter a look to forestall any comment.
Crystal lowered her head to hide her smirk at the silent exchange. Encouraged by the soufflé, she picked up her knife and began cutting up the chicken.
"So Laura," Peter said, an almost sinister look coming to his face. "Are you going to the dance next Friday at the community center? I heard from a reliable source that Tina would be there."
"She's too butch for you, Laura," Michael said without looking up from his plate.
"Oh please." Peter leaned back in his chair, the late afternoon sun reflecting off the bald spot on the top of his head. "So she likes body piercings, so what?"
"So I prefer my women not look like pin cushions," Laura replied.
Crystal chewed her chicken slowly, more interested in the conversation than the tangy meat.
"You're too picky," the redhead said. "I've told you that before. Face it, my dear, you're not getting any younger."
"It's my life, I can afford to be picky," Laura protested. "Besides, I'm not going to the dance. I have to stay home and get some writing done." "Are you going to the game tomorrow?" Crystal asked.