Unfortunately, the heaping plates went to Hal and Brad. Heidi, SueEllen and I got portions the size of rice cakes. Heidi and I snarfed ours down with lightning speed; I practically scraped the design off my plate trying to finish every last drop. Once again, SueEllen nibbled at her food. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing one of her potatoes.

Needless to say, nobody asked me if I wanted seconds.

What’s worse, SueEllen actually expected me to be taking notes. That’s right. SueEllen wanted it to be a “working dinner.” While everybody ate, she picked up where she left off in the bathtub, in the saga of SueEllen.

“I’ll just give you the broad strokes now,” she said, spearing a particle of carrot. “We’ll fill in the details later.”

And so she was off and running, dominating the conversation with a non-stop commentary about how she left the South and moved to L.A. and became a model, and later a game show hostess, until she finally hit the jackpot and became Mrs. Hal Kingsley. When she came to the part about her job as a game show hostess, she demonstrated how she used to point out the contestants’ prizes, by making a flamboyant “L” with her arms. Left arm up in the air, right arm pointing to the imaginary prize. I only hoped she didn’t expect me to write about Game Show Hostess Positions in the book.

When everyone else had finished their beef and their eyes were glazed over with boredom, Hal piped up.

“SueEllen, honey, you haven’t touched your dinner.”

Indeed she hadn’t. Her dollop-sized portion was still sitting there in the middle of her plate. Reluctantly, she shut up and started eating.

Brad took advantage of her blessed silence.

“Hey, Dad,” he said. “I got the new Ferrari brochure today.”

SueEllen looked up from the pea she was pushing onto her fork.

“Ferrari? What Ferrari?”

Hal grinned sheepishly. “I sort of promised Brad a Ferrari for graduation.”

“A Ferrari for an eighteen-year-old?” she said, abandoning the pea. “That’s ridiculous. He should be happy with a BMW like every other teenager in Beverly Hills.”

“But Dad promised me I could get one.”

“Can you imagine what the insurance will cost?”

Hal’s face clouded over with doubt. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“But Dad, you promised.”

“I did promise him, SueEllen.”

“Well, if that’s your decision,” SueEllen said, a veil of ice descending in the room.

Hal finished what was left of his martini in a single gulp.

“Maybe SueEllen’s right, Brad. I’ve got to think it over.”

SueEllen ate her pea with a satisfied smile.

Why did I get the feeling that Brad Kingsley was about to kiss his Ferrari goodbye?

Finally, SueEllen finished picking at her beef bourguignon, and Conchi was allowed to bring in dessert. Cherry cobbler, as advertised. Once again, Conchi served Hal and Tony hearty portions, after which she brought out golfball-sized portions for the gals. She put mine in front of me with an apologetic smile, then gave SueEllen hers.