A party at Scarlett’s always meant takeaways, treat bags like kids’ parties. And they always included Alka-Seltzer for the next day. Ugh. Velma got the last box. Plop plop, just a matter of time now. She scuffed back to her room and slept.
When she woke to kitchen clinking and coffee percolating, it was nearly noon.
They finally got to lunch, umbrella-ed, outside in the high sun of the afternoon, a decadent day of sleeping late and comfort foods.
“Splendid party, old chum. Stellar. All day I’ve been thinking of moving back to the city… What’s so funny?”
“I’m exhausted, Velma. All day I have been thinking about your campaign for me to retire out to the countryside near you and the spinsters’ rooming house. I couldn’t live communally, but I would love a little place nearby.”
“Aha! Let’s grab a martini and talk this through!”