ADVERTISEMENT
from New York. Together, we planned a menu that made Vivienne’s catered dinner look like reheated leftovers.
Fresh oysters with caviar.
Butter-poached lobster.
Truffle pasta.
Roasted tenderloin.
A croquembouche tower glittering with spun sugar.
On Christmas Eve morning, Vivienne called.
“Margaret,” she said, her voice dripping with false kindness. “I just continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT