Page 30 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“Where did these authors come from?” Kate asked, still confused.
“Snuck them on the island last night,” Serena said, obviously proud of herself. “A very clandestine affair, very romantic.”
“It was less romantic and more miserable,” said a man in his early sixties, looking haggard. “The storm battered us around like a kitten with a yarn ball. We thought we’d capsize.”
“Nonsense, Peter,” Serena said, waving him back. “Get on the line, don’t let up on them, boys!”
“Were you expecting… more people?” Kate asked, looking at the meager collection.
“Cowards, the lot of them,” Serena said darkly. “A bit of rain and wind and suddenly everybody’s got a case of the scaredy cats. We may be small, but our roar is mighty. And they’ll hear us, all the way back to Seattle. And you’re here now! Simon and Kennedy certainly can’t ignore their superstar. With you on the line, we’ll have some real firepower.”
“Oh, actually,” Kate said, shuffling awkwardly sideways toward the entrance, “I promised I would help move some things? It’s a time-sensitive matter, you understand.”
“Time-sensitive?” Serena said, her eyes bulging in shock. “And our career plight is not? Are you saying you won’t join us, Kate?”
“I’m not… exactly saying that,” Kate said, grimacing.
“You mark my words, Kate Valentine,” Serena said, pressing into her personal space and overwhelming her with the smell of flowery perfume and sweat. “You’re either one of us or one of them. And if you’re one of them, you’ll suffer the same fate as them. Mark. My. Words.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Scab!” Serena screeched as Kate ducked into the tent. “You all saw her. Kate Valentine crossed the picket line! She’s a scab!”
“I’m not a scab!” Kate hissed back through the flap.
“Scab!” Serena shrilled louder. “Kate Valentine doesn’t support the working writers!”
Kate ducked farther into the tent to avoid the meager cries of “traitor” by the other authors, turning her attention inward. Even with one corner of the tent down and two dozen men hauling out the decorations, the tent was still magnificent. Like a fairy-tale forest, it had live trees spread throughout as support structures, with blown-glass butterflies suspended among the branches. Each table had a different installation, some with brightly colored mushrooms and flowers, others with lush pads of grass and small fairy houses. There was even a babbling brook that meandered around the dance floor and ended beneath a sheet of heavy-duty glass made to look like a reflecting pond, with fish swimming in an underground tank.
“Gentle with the lights,” Jean-Pierre said halfheartedly from the center of the tent, reaching out forlornly to touch a piece of his dismantled creation as one of Spencer’s cousins hauled it out. “They are handblown!Faites attention!”
“It’s magnificent,” Kate said as she approached, watching one of the supporting trees as six waiters lifted it.
“It was,” Jean-Pierre said, his voice hollow. “My crowning glory. We couldn’t even get pictures because the photographer was busy at the rehearsal dinner and the tent collapsed overnight.”
“Hilarious, isn’t it?” snorted a familiar voice behind them, one that made Kate instantly want to take a shower. Jean-Pierre stiffened and did an about-face, striding away.
“Eric,” Kate said with distaste, turning to face Spencer’s younger brother.
“All this money and they can’t keep the walls from collapsing,” Eric said, shaking his head and brazenly drinking from a pocket flask. He grinned that shit-eating grin of his, smacking his teeth against a piece of gum that deserved a better fate. “You see those idiots with the signs out there? Hilarious! I asked the little Gomez Addams guy if I could borrow one of Rebecca’s hunting rifles, you know? Thin the herd a little.Pew, pew!”
He mimed holding up a rifle and shooting, which only made Kate loathe him all the more. Spencer had his inherited flaws, but Eric had perfected them. Spencer had always been strangely defensive of his brother, probably because he secretly knew what an awful human being he was. Spencer had even made Eric his best man, which meant Eric should have the inside line on Spencer’s whereabouts.
“Eric, it’s never a pleasure,” Kate said with a saccharine smile. “You haven’t seen your brother around, have you?”
“Why, you looking to make another scene?” Eric said, waggling his brows and braying once again. God, she hated him.
“Sure, I was hoping to throw myself at him in a desperate last-ditch attempt to win him back at his own wedding on his future bride’s obscenely wealthy private family island,” Kate said flatly. “Have you seen him or not?”
Eric shrugged, his gaze straggling over the tent as if he were already bored with her. “You’re the one who ought to know.”
“Why would I know?” Kate asked.
“Because he went looking for you after your little shit fit at the rehearsal dinner. We were supposed to bro down, drink some whiskies, smoke some cigars, get a little loose. You know, last night of freedom and all? But he was a no-show. So I had to make my own bro fun, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m glad I don’t,” Kate said. “But Spencer never found me last night. Have you seen him this morning?”
“Nah,” Eric said, smacking at his gum. “Missed his tux fitting this morning. That little French guy threw a total tantrum about it. Definitely not bro material.”