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She would have shaken his hand, but he took the one she extended and kissed the back of it instead. Make that Einstein meets Sir Galahad.
“Call me Elliot. We don’t stand on formality around here.” His bushy brows pulled together in a frown and he muttered, “At least I don’t. I run a toy company, for the time being, at least. That should be fun, don’t you think?”
“I do,” she agreed.
“Good. At least someone does. Would you like something to drink?” Instead of offering the usual coffee or tea, he said, “My secretary makes the best strawberry malts this side of the Mississippi. Probably the best on either side, come to think of it.”
Ella’s mouth watered at the offer, but she shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“All right. Then, have a seat and we’ll get started.”
The room didn’t have a proper sitting area. Instead, it boasted two white chairs that resembled hollowed-out eggs on clear plastic stands, and a cushioned porch swing that hung from the ceiling on a pair of thick chains. It creaked when Ella sat down and set it into motion.
“Comfortable?”
“Very. My grandmother has a swing like this at her house in New Jersey.”
Elliot beamed. “My grandmother had one, too. I loved that swing. Did some of my best thinking on it as a boy. That’s why I have one here. What do you think of my office?”
She glanced around and couldn’t hold back her smile. “It’s a lot fun.”
“Exactly. Let me ask you something, Ella. Do you think toys are only for children?”
She shook her head. “Aren’t we all children at heart?”
“Not all of us,” Elliot said. Then, “Ah, speak of the devil.”
She glanced over to find Chase looming in the doorway. His expression was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of his uncle’s inviting grin. He looked positively grim.
“Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to remind you that before this afternoon’s meeting with the board of directors we need to go over some reports.”
“Meetings and reports,” Elliot muttered before hooking his thumb in Chase’s direction and adding in a not-so-confidential whisper, “All work and no play, that one. I guess some good genes skip a generation.”
She bit back a smile. It was impossible not to find the older man charming, even if his humor came at his nephew’s expense.
Chase remained stoic. “It’s important. When do you think you’ll be finished here?”
“Oh, it will be a while yet.” Instead of pointing out that they had barely gotten beyond introductions, Elliot said, “The cars are only on their third lap.” Then he whistled softly. “Look at your blue car, Ella. It’s pulled ahead of the silver, but my red one is still in the lead.”
“Come see me when you’re done in here.” Chase nodded politely in her direction.
When he turned to leave, however, Elliot said, “I’d like you to stay, Chase. I value your opinion.”
“You already know how I feel about the party, Uncle.”
“Wake, you mean.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Oh, but I am. Professionally speaking anyway.” To Ella, he said matter-of-factly, “My board of directors thinks I’ve lost my marbles. That’s ironic, don’t you think, given that I make toys for a living?”
“I...I...” At a loss for words, she glanced at Chase.
His cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red. “No one is saying that,” he ground out.
“To my face,” Elliot conceded. “But we both know what is being said behind my back.”
“When I find out who started the rumors we’ll sue them for slander,” Chase declared.
“I will be out of a job by then. Owen is only too happy to take my place. He’s my son,” Elliot informed Ella. “He has the head for this business, but not the heart. That apparently skipped a generation, too.”
“Ah.” She nodded, not knowing what else to do.
To Chase, Elliot said, “The writing is on the wall. Don’t think I don’t know it. I may be slowing down, becoming a little forgetful, but I’m not stupid.”
The older man sounded weary, resigned.
In contrast, Chase’s tone was infused with urgency. “That’s why we need to talk, put together a plan of action before this afternoon’s meeting.”
“All right,” Elliot conceded with a sigh. “But after I speak with Ella. Stay, Chase. Please.”
Chase was too tall to sit comfortably in either of the egg-shaped chairs, so he joined Ella on the swing. His feet remained firmly planted on the floor, bringing the swing to a halt. It was time to get down to business.
Calm. Collected. Confident. She chanted the three words in her head as she exhaled slowly and pulled a small notepad from her purse. She’d jotted down several questions she figured a party planner would ask.
In her most professional voice, she said, “Let’s start with the basics. When do you want to have your wake?”
“Memorial Day would have been fitting, but it’s passed.” He sighed. “What about the weekend before the Fourth of July? We could have fireworks at night.”
Ella might not have planned any parties, but three weeks to prepare seemed doable. Until she asked, “How many guests will there be?”
“Six, maybe seven hundred.”
Her mouth went slack. A party for sixty would have left her panicked. How on earth was she going to pull off a party for six or seven hundred? And in less than a month?
“Uncle Elliot, be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable. If I’m going out, I’m going out with a bang. What do you say, Ella?”
“Well, the, um, timeline is a little tight for a gathering of that size.”
“You’re right.”
She relaxed until Elliot said, “Let’s push it to August. My Isabella died in August. August twenty-seventh.” His expression dimmed. In a bewildered voice, he asked, “Can it really be three years?”
“I’m sorry,” Ella told him.
“I couldn’t have started my company without her. She was my rock.”
The race cars whizzed past on the span of track that wound under Elliot’s desk. Just that quickly, his attention was diverted. He clapped his hands together, eyes once again bright, and crowed, “My red car is still in the lead! Have your ten dollars handy, Ella. There are only three laps left.” Afterward, he scratched his head. “Now, where were we?”
“The guest list,” she prompted, still feeling dazed.
“Right. Definitely seven hundred. In addition to friends and family, I have a lot of acquaintances in business and the community at large who will want to pay their respects.” He snorted before adding, “And my competitors will want to come and dance on my grave. The media, too.”
“Media?” Chase asked, sounding alarmed.
“That’s right. I plan to invite reporters from several news sources, both tabloid and mainstream. You can’t keep those vultures out anyway. I might as well open the doors and the bar to them. That way, they won’t be circling in helicopters overhead.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” she replied, thinking of her father’s treatment by some so-called journalists. She glanced up to find Chase studying her. Clearing her throat, she asked Elliot, “Do you have a location in mind, then?”
“My house. Estate, I guess is more accurate. It’s in the Hamptons. We could set up tents. The grounds are quite expansive.” He chuckled. “I just happened to think, the name of my estate is The Big Top. What about Three Ring Circus for the theme?”
“I thought the theme was Irish wake,” Chase and Ella said at the same time.
“Right, right.” Elliot nodded. “What if it’s both? What do you think, Ella?”
She nibbled her lower lip to give herself a moment to think. A circus-themed wake for a man who wasn’t dying? For the first time since seeing Elliot’s call, she wondered if perhaps Madame Maroushka had gotten her palm confused with someone else’s.
“Well?” Elliot prodded.
“While there is nothing wrong with a party that has two distinct themes, marrying them can become, um, tricky. That’s especially true when they are so, um, so...different,” she finished, hoping to sound authoritative even if she was making things up as she went along.
“But it can be done?” Elliot asked hopefully.
Uh-oh.
“It can be. But it would take a lot of planning. Months, say, to do it right. Are you willing to wait that long?”
“No.” He sighed.
Ella nearly did, too.
“I suppose that answers that question,” Chase said. He looked as relieved as Ella felt. Then he asked, “May I make a suggestion, Uncle?”
“By all means.”
“If you are determined to have a party, why don’t you go with the circus theme and save the wake idea for another time?”
Elliot scratched his head. “I don’t know. I really want to have a wake. Ella?”
She’d already done some research on wakes. Besides, she had a clown phobia, and was pretty sure any big top-type bash the size Elliot wanted would have to include at least a few of the painted-faced performers.
“The circus theme is overdone.”
“What?” Chase asked at the same time Elliot said, “I should have known.”
“An Irish wake will be very, um, cutting edge.”
Chase gaped at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Really?”
“Really. This is the first one I’ve ever planned,” she added truthfully.
“She should know, Chase,” Elliot said. “She’s the expert.”
Ella worked up a smile that she hoped didn’t reveal her newbie-ness.
“Look, Uncle Elliot, you claimed you want my opinion, so I’m offering it. Throwing a party right now—”
“A wake,” Elliot corrected.
“That only makes it a bigger mistake. Calling it that will feed the rumor mill.”
Elliot shook his head, his expression patient, but still resigned. “I appreciate your input, my boy. Really, I do. But if I am going to be turned out of the company I started, I will do it on my own terms.”
“But a wake?”
Elliot looked every year of his age when he replied, “It’s fitting. What is forced retirement but another form of death for someone like me?”
The whir of the race cars broke the stretch of silence that followed. Elliot’s sober expression brightened when the little vehicles shot into view.
“Ella! Look! Your fortunes have changed. I think you’re going to win the race!”
He hurried over to the ladder, arriving at the top step just in time to wave the checkered flag. As he’d predicted, the blue car marked with number seventy-seven was the first to cross the finish line.
“Congratulations, young lady!” To Chase, he said, “Pay her for me, will you, my boy? Our wager was for ten dollars.”
Chase stood to retrieve his wallet from the rear pocket of his pants. He pulled two fives from his billfold and handed them to her. Afterward, he didn’t return to his seat. He paced to the window, where he stood, arms crossed, back to the room, a quiet yet imposing presence whose mood she could not quite gauge. He wasn’t angry. That much she could tell. Frustrated? Perhaps. But something else was going on.
She did her best to ignore him for the next twenty-five minutes as she culled as much information as she could from Elliot. The task wasn’t easy. The man was full of suggestions for his wake, but he kept going off on tangents. One moment, he was talking about beverages and the next he was relating a story about a fly-fishing excursion in the Rockies, the only common thread between the two being grape soda.
As they wrapped up, they made plans to meet again the following week, by which time Ella promised to have a mock invitation ready for Elliot’s approval, and some menu suggestions.
What did one serve at an Irish wake? Surely the fact that Elliot was so offbeat gave her license to be creative.
“You haven’t discussed the budget,” Chase said, turning back from the window. They were the first words he’d uttered in nearly half an hour.
“Ella can spend whatever she needs to spend. Money is no object,” Elliot replied on a shrug.
A muscle ticked in Chase’s jaw and he shoved a hand through his hair. Every strand fell back into place, except for those caught up in the cowlick. They staged a rebellion and remained erect. Sandra’s claim about men and cowlicks had Ella sucking in a breath.
Chase’s gaze met hers. She swore the air crackled with electricity, almost as if he could read her mind.
“Well?” he challenged.
Her mind went blank except for X-rated thoughts. “Wh-what?”
“How much do you think you’ll spend?”
