Page 22 of Save Me
But what will Abbi Wolf think about the crazy rooster commune lady who plastered all sorts of unsavory posters, including headlines that dragged her? Does she know about those? Which reminds me … Talk of Abbi Wolf and Alaska last night has stirred up dust in the far recesses of my memory. I can’t quite remember why it all sounds so familiar, and the only thing I can think of is that I likely read something in an article. I need to go mining for information again.
Gigi watches me quietly as she nibbles away.
“So, what do I do about dinner?”
“Do you want to go?”
“No.”
She arches a wrinkled eyebrow.
I could never get a lie past Gigi. “I mean, I want to know Ronan better, especially given our situation.”
“That he has no clue about,” she chips in.
“Right.” In a public setting where our clothes have to stay on. Then again, Starfish Island is pretty public, and that didn’t stop us. “But it’s the hotel. Aren’t I being a giant hypocrite by showing up there now, after everything?”
“Why? You were invited.”
“Not by Henry Wolf. He doesn’t know what Ronan’s planning.”
“Maybe he’ll have no idea who you are.”
“I guess there is that possibility.” I’ve never met the man; he never involved himself in any of the council meetings. Unless Ronan makes a point of introducing me as the crazy rooster commune lady, I could be completely incognito, just arm candy. “I could pretendI’m someone else.” Am I that good of an actress, though? Likely not.
Gigi hums. “I imagine it’ll be a nice meal.”
“I would hope so. And it’s not just him and his wife. There will be a bunch of people there. Ronan said it’s a casual, friendly thing.”
“Aren’t you just a little curious to meet this billionaire man and see what all the fuss is about?”
“Maybe,” I admit with reluctance. “At least so I can say, yes, I’ve met him and can confirm once and for all that he is, indeed, the douchebag we all think he is.”
She tsks. “Neither the hotel nor the man is going anywhere, whether you like it or not, so you may as well make peace with it.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Frank.”
“Frank’s a wise man. Why do you think I kept him around all those years? You should listen to him!”
“But can you imagine how awkward a dinner with Henry Wolf would be?”
“For you or him? I say put on a dress and let the man feed you. Be sweet as peach pie. That’s what I’d do.”
“I’m not good at that.”
“Fine, then spit in his face and call him a filthy ghoul while you get your fill of caviar.” She cackles. “Oh, to be a fly on that wall.”
A knock sounds.
Like a child about to get caught doing something naughty, Gigi stuffs the last piece of her scone into her mouth and, crumpling the packaging, drops it into the nearby trash.
I shake my head but grin as I call out, “Come in.”
Frieda pushes through the door, a tray of medications in one hand and a blood pressure machine in the other. She’s one of the daytime nurses and probably my favorite. “Good morning, ladies. How are we feeling today?”
“Pretty well,” I offer as Gigi chews and swallows the evidence. “I just braided her hair, and we were catching up on things. I’ve got to head out now. Lots to do.” A blood test or two, for starters.
Rita sets the tray down and begins opening caps. “How’d you sleep last night, Gigi?”
