“Here.”
He looks up at me. “Thanks.” He sounds a little surprised. His eyes are really very green.
“Whatever. I just didn’t want to run over groceries. Even if they are yours.”
“I’ll say one thing for you. You’re a hell of a sweet talker.”
“Bye.” I head back to the car.
“See you around, Hortense.”
“Not likely.”
I look in the rearview mirror again as I drive away. He’s walking across the parking lot. It looks like he’s whistling. What a weird guy. Even for a cop, he’s weird. So weird, it totally overrides the fact that he’s cute. And the fact that he’s the first guy I’ve wanted to talk to for years.
“Also,” I say, squinting at my face in the mirror, “there is no way I look like a Hortense.”
10
Mom goes out after we eat our lobsters and as soon as she gets in the next morning, she tells me there’s a party at the yacht club tonight and that we’re going. The bartender, Glenn, told her about it. She tells me this in an offhand way, which means that not only is this party important, she’s done with Glenn. Which also means that now there’s someone else.
I wait, and sure enough the conversation switches to Harold. He’s the real estate agent she told me about before, the one the first agent, Sharon, didn’t like.
Harold specializes in beachfront property, and although I’m sure he doesn’t know this yet, he’ll be totally in love with Mom in about a day. I listen to her talk about what kind of houses she thinks Harold could get us, what she’s going to say when she meets him, and then we talk about what needs to happen tonight.
Mom is going to the party as “Miranda.” Miranda is staying with her friend Tom (“He’s in banking, darling, you’ve heard of him, right?”) for a few days at Tom’s friend’s house. Tom can’t come to the party (“Big deal, couldn’t be helped, you know how it is”) but he’s told her to go and enjoy herself.
My story is even simpler. I don’t have one. People my age are dragged to these things, stand around drinking, and then head off to get high and/or plot ways to escape. The only thing I’ll be asked is if I have anything or know someone who does. You’d think I’d end up coming away from these things with more information than Mom but I never do. She just has a knack for working people, one I’m not sure I’ll ever have.
I take her to Heaven after eight and drop her off. Then I drive around for an hour, killing time, and park by a restaurant next to the yacht club. Five minutes later I’m at the party, sliding right past the stressed-out-looking party planner, who is clearly up to her eyeballs in some sort of catering crisis. There are always catering crises at these things.
I see Mom right away. She loves dressing up and she looks gorgeous tonight, wearing a white dress with her hair down, a tumble of curls cascading over her shoulders. She’s standing so a nearby light shines on her just right, making her skin glow. She’s talking to a red-faced guy in a blue blazer who is clearly thrilled to have someone like Mom talking to him. She looks like she’s having fun. She probably is, though not in the way the red-faced guy thinks.
I grab a drink at the bar, where the bartender is so busy he doesn’t even have time to pretend he wants to see proof I’m twenty-one, and then walk around the room slowly, listening to conversations. They’re all very boring, but I find out that someone named Sandy has just bought a yacht and that the Donaldsons should be sending out invitations to their party soon. Mom will be happy to know that. I go back to the bar and get myself another drink and walk around the room again. I’m asked if I know where someone named Red is by a very stoned girl and her equally stoned date. I hear about Sandy and his yacht another two times.
After I get asked if I want something to “help me relax” by a guy who puts his hand on my ass, I hit the bar again and then head outside, feeling a little dizzy from all the people walking around (and okay, the drinks). There’s a wooden walkway that looks out over the water with little paths that lead down to the yachts. I can see their shadows on the water from where I’m standing.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?”
I turn, see James has come up behind me.
“Relax,” he says, holding up his hands. “I just came out for some air. Didn’t know you were here till just now, I swear.”
I look away from him, stare back out into the dark.
“Okay,” he says. “The truth is, I thought you looked lonely. And I—these things always make me feel that way too.”
“Really?” I shouldn’t believe him—I know better, I so know better—but I am lonely. Parties like this always make it worse, remind me that I’ve never been to one for fun, that I’ve never been to a party as me. I’ve always played someone else, always had a job to do.
“Yeah,” he says, moving closer, and I can tell he’s going to try and kiss me.
I could let him. No one can fool you like you can fool yourself—Mom says that all the time—but it’s just one kiss, a kiss from a great-looking guy. Just a connection, no matter how brief, with someone. I close my eyes.
“Sydney?”
I turn around and Allison is walking toward us, smiling.
“I thought that was you. I love your dress! I’ve been looking all over for a blue dress, but they’re always the wrong shade of blue, you know? Too light or too dark or—you know what? Come with me to get a drink and tell me where you got it, okay?” She loops her arm through mine. “James, do you want anything?”
“Sure, I’ll have a drink,” he says easily, but gives Allison a look when we start to walk off, one I can’t read. She raises her eyebrows at him. He shakes his head, says, “You know, in case you forgot, I have a mother already.”
“Oh, so funny,” Allison says. “She’s looking for you, by the way. There’s someone else she wants you to meet.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Wasn’t introduced,” she says, her voice shading sad for a moment, and then turns back toward me. “Oh! Your shoes! I have a pair just like them. Don’t you just love them? Did you know they make them in yellow? I almost bought a pair but then I realized I wasn’t sure what would go with them—”
She keeps talking as we walk to the bar. It’s so crowded I wait off to one side while she goes and orders drinks. I wonder what’s going on. The whole thing with her and James was a little weird.
“Weren’t you going to get James something?” I ask when she comes back with only two glasses.
“I would if he hadn’t wandered off,” Allison says cheerfully, and hands me a drink. I take a sip. It’s club soda. I look at her.
“I saw you go outside when I was trapped talking to my cousin Blair.” Allison makes a face. “She’s so boring! Anyway, you were wobbling a little and I’m not one of those ‘drinking is bad!’ people, but, like, some guys around here are kind of jerks, so…”
She takes a sip of her drink. “Besides, puking during one of these things? It’s awful. Everyone can hear you. Now, I’m totally dying to know where you got your dress. You have to tell me!”
“What’s going on with you and James?”
“Oh, nothing. He’s just…he couldn’t believe you didn’t go walking with him on the beach and when he doesn’t get his way he can be—oh crap. There’s Blair.” She moves so she’s standing behind me. “I can’t handle another conversation about her stupid trip to the Bahamas where she—” She breaks off as someone bumps into her.
“I’m so sorry,” a voice says. A voice I know. “I didn’t even see anyone there…oh, hi, Allison. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Allison says, laughing. “Last year I got an elbow in the ribs from someone desperate to get to the bar before it closed. Miranda, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Sydney, this is—”
I turn and look at my mother standing in front of me. There is a polite smile on her face, the smile of someone meeting a stranger, and it doesn’t waver at all as she says it’s nice to meet me.
“Y
ou too,” I say, and watch her turn all her attention on Allison, making her shine under her gaze.
“I’m actually glad I bumped into you,” Mom tells her. “I was trying to escape from a dreadful conversation about security bonds or something—honestly, just because I’m with a banker, it doesn’t mean I know anything about banking. Actually, I’d love to hear the rest of the story you started before. How on earth did your mother manage to find replacement flowers for that party on such short notice?”
“Do you want to get another drink?” I ask Allison. I know I shouldn’t be saying this, that I should leave Allison with Mom and go, but I just—I don’t like what Mom is doing. Allison’s nice, the kind of nice that Mom takes advantage of, and it’s bothering me more than usual.
Mom gives me the faintest and fastest of looks, annoyance flickering through her gaze even as her smile stays glittering on her face.
“Never mind,” I say, and when Mom’s gaze flickers over me again, add, “I’ll be right back,” leaving to let her work Allison. I hope Allison will decide to come with me, but she doesn’t, and is still talking to Mom when I’m waiting at the bar again.
Not my problem, I tell myself. Allison talking is what we want. The bartender tells me all that’s left is scotch. I take the glass I’m given and sip it slowly, trying not to make a face.
“They must be down to scotch.”
James again. I put my glass on the bar.
“How did you guess?”
“It always happens. In about ten minutes there’ll be a run on the bar, and then everyone will go home.”
“So I guess you’re leaving?”
“I was going to, but then I saw you and realized I hadn’t said good-bye.”
“Right.”
He grins at me. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Well, we could change that,” he says, and draws me toward the side of the room, into a corner the caterers were using earlier. It’s just the two of us now, the last of the catering crew heading down a hall beside us.
“I’d really like to get to know you,” he tells me, and cups my jaw with one hand, tilting my face up toward his. Very smooth. Too smooth. I lift my foot up, ready to mash it down on top of his, and then someone says, “Look, I get that you have to pack up. I’m just asking if it’s necessary for you to pack up by leaving three vans in the middle of the street. Could you maybe just pull them over to the side—oh, sorry about that.”
Whoever’s talking bumps into me and I stumble. James’s arms—naturally—catch and close tight around me.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—oh. Hey.”
I turn around to see who’s talking to me. It’s Greg the cop. He’s in his uniform tonight. He actually looks kind of cute—No! Not going there. Dark blue polyester does nothing for anyone. Not even him.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He nods, glances at James’s arms around me.
“Sorry about all that,” he says to James. “Are you okay?” James doesn’t reply, just stares at me like I’m the only person in the world. I barely manage not to roll my eyes.
“Okay then,” Greg says, “guess you’ll live.” He looks back at me, and I wonder if he’s going to bring up the grocery store or worse, call me Hortense, but then one of the catering people calls out, “Look, we’re moving the vans, all right? There’s no need to have a tow truck come down here,” and he turns away.
“Hey man, I didn’t call anyone,” he says. “Someone else must have complained. How much stuff do you have left? Just this and this? Okay, you get that and I’ll get this—damn, what’s in here, bricks?”
He’s still talking as he leaves the hallway and heads outside. He turns back once and I look away quickly, focus on James.
James is still giving me that stupid look. I can’t believe I ever thought, even for a second, about letting him kiss me. There’s no way this guy would ever make me feel less alone. I slide out of his arms, walk away without looking back.
Mom is already in the car when I get there, sitting in the driver’s seat with her eyes closed and her hands resting lightly on the steering wheel.
“Didn’t think you’d beat me here,” I say.
“The Donaldson girl wore me out. Talks a mile a minute, I swear. ‘I love this, I love that, oh my God, I just love—’”
“She’s not like that. I mean, she didn’t seem like that to me. She seemed nice.”
Mom snorts. “Of course she’s like that. Trust me, baby, if you were some tourist she passed on the street she’d be a lot less ‘nice.’”
“I guess,” I say, and think of Allison complaining about how the people she’s expected to hang out with are awful and shallow. I remember how much she likes Brad, a regular guy, a guy who doesn’t even have connections to money. Mom would call Brad—she wouldn’t call him anything. He’d have nothing she could use, and so she’d never notice him.
“So,” Mom says, interrupting my thoughts. “Who were you with over in the corner? I saw you as I was leaving. Next time try a closet. They’re more private and a lot more fun.” She winks at me.
“What?” She thought I was with James? That I’d want to be with someone like him? Someone like—well, someone like us?
“Hey, it’s about time you started to live a little. Maybe now you won’t get all uptight whenever I’m having fun. That’d be nice.”
“Mom—” I say, stung.
“Look, I could be really pissed that you talked to the Donaldson girl and didn’t get anything and then almost blew it when I came over to take care of things. But I’m not. So why don’t you—” She coughs, loud and harsh. I watch her as she tries to stop, pressing her lips together, but the coughs keep coming, making her shudder and hunch forward.
I lean over and rub her back. She rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t move away. I can feel her back shuddering under my hand, the coughs shaking her whole body.
“Mom?”
She shakes her head, coughs once more, and then sits up, starts the car.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine, baby. Don’t I look it?”
“Of course,” I say automatically. “It’s just…you look kind of tired.” She does, which frightens me. I’ve seen Mom look angry, happy, focused. But never tired. Not like this, a weary expression on her face, creating lines around her eyes and mouth. I’ve never thought of Mom as old, ever, but right now she looks like she is.
“Oh, it was just that crap champagne,” she says, and closes her eyes briefly. I look at the road flying by and press my hands against the seat. This is the Mom I know, the one who is daring in ways I will never be. I would never drive blind down a road, not ever.
When she opens her eyes she turns, smiles at me. She looks like herself again. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“How many times have we done this, baby?” “A lot.”
“And we always get it done, don’t we?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We do.”
11
Mom wakes me up at seven and tells me she wants donuts.
“That’s great,” I say. “Bring me back one.” I pull a pillow over my head and shut my eyes.
“Okay,” Mom sighs. “I’ll just put away all the stuff I was working on and drive to the store. I didn’t realize you were busy.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“Please, baby,” Mom says, sitting down next to me. “I have to meet Harold later and—”
“Fine,” I say, because I know where this is going and that’s Mom staying here until I agree. “But you know, in the time it took you to wake me up you’d have been halfway there already.”
“But I don’t want to go. And besides, what good is being halfway there?” She kisses my forehead and goes back downstairs, humming. I get up and throw on some clothes, head out to the car.
The donut place is packed and I’m stuck waiting in line behind a guy with two scream
ing children who seem determined to try and shatter the windows. Mom always wants donuts or some sort of pastry after a good night. I once had to drive to four convenience stores in middle-of-nowhere Maryland to find something for her to eat after we’d hit a place way out on the Eastern Shore.
The screaming children are really going at it now, both of them shrieking “You touched me!” at the same time. I close my eyes and rub my forehead.
“Hey, Hortense. I was just thinking about you.”
I turn around and see Greg standing behind me. He’s not in uniform today. He has a bruise on his face, right by his jaw, a really nasty-looking one. I wonder what happened to him, if he’s okay.
I have to snap out of this—whatever I feel around him. “Lucky me. And stop calling me Hortense.”
“But I thinks it kind of suits you. And seriously, I was.”
“It does not suit me. And you thinking about me means what? That there’re three girls in town now instead of two?”
“Close. Five.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. He grins at me. “I was surprised to see you last night, you know. I didn’t figure you for a yacht-club-party kind of girl.”
“How would you know?”
“What, you don’t think I get invited to yacht club parties?”
I look at him.
“Yeah, okay, I don’t. It’s just that you just seem too—”
“What?” I say, tensing, aware that I’m talking to a cop. And cute or not, that’s something I really shouldn’t be doing.
“Nice. But I don’t know why I was thinking that.”
“Yeah. Great seeing you again.” I turn back around. The guy with the screaming kids has finally reached the counter.
“Okay,” he says. “Truth? You’re like, too alive for those kind of parties. There’s something about you. A spark.”
I turn back around. My insides are doing that fluttery thing again. “A spark?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him, unsure of what to say.
“Never mind,” he says, blushing a little. “It’s early. I haven’t had my soda yet.”