The caterer arrived bright and early Saturday morning. I spent the next several hours directing the setup of round tables and chairs on the expansive lawn, getting the band and the bartender situated, and showing the florist exactly where I wanted all the floral arrangements. I had her drape flowers on ribbons behind each chair and do several garlands along the porch railings. The effect was charming and lovely. I smiled up at the clear blue sky, dotted with a scattering of fluffy white clouds. It was going to be a beautiful day—lots of sunshine, but not overly hot. It was the perfect day for a garden party.
Satisfied with the results of the setup, it was time to shower and get dressed. I hadn't packed many dressy outfits, not knowing exactly what I'd be doing here, so my choices were limited. But I had a black, sleeveless dress with a floral, lace overlay that I thought would work well for a garden party. After blow-drying my hair, I put it up in a loose updo, pulling a few pieces down to frame my face. Happy with the result, I did my makeup, dressed, put on a pair of strappy black heels, and went downstairs.
Therese, the head of the catering company, shot me a strange look but then smiled and said, "The appetizers should be ready in half an hour or so. Mr. Ramsay arrived a few minutes ago and is upstairs changing."
"Oh. Okay, thank you. Everything looks great." I started to head upstairs when Brogan appeared at the top landing. I sucked in a breath. He was gorgeous in a black suit that fit his strong physique to perfection, and his dark hair was still slightly wet from a shower. Our eyes held as he descended the staircase, and I clasped my hands in front of me, those old familiar feelings of girlish infatuation rushing through my blood.
"You look very handsome."
"Thank you." He looked me up and down, a small disapproving frown on his face.
I smoothed my hands down the skirt of my dress. "Is this not okay? I didn't bring a lot of clothes—"
"It would be fine if you were one of the guests. You're part of the staff, Lydia."
"Oh." I paused, confused and embarrassed. "I mean, I know. But I still have to mingle and make sure everything runs smoothly. What else should I wear?"
"You're not running this event. You're working it. You should wear a catering uniform. Therese brought an extra one for you."
Oh God. When he'd said I'd be working this event, he meant as a server. My face flushed. My stomach dropped. "Oh," I breathed. "Oh right. My . . . my misunderstanding." I shook my head, my hands fidgeting at the lace overlay of my dress.
Brogan's lips thinned, and he looked very uncomfortable. "Everything looks nice—the flowers especially. Thank you for organizing that."
I waved my hand. "It was nothing. My mother always said the flowers are what speak to a host's taste and artistry. Hydrangeas were her favorite," my voice trailed off as more blood rose in my face, making it feel hot. I was babbling. Shut up, Lydia. Just shut up.
"Hydrangeas are your favorite. At least they were," he said softly.
I blinked at him. What had he said? Oh. I felt dizzy like I was about to faint. I needed some water. "Oh, well, yes, mine, too. You remembered."
"I was a gardener, Lydia. Flowers were part of the job."
"Right." He had been a gardener, yes. Now he wanted me to be his server. And given his cold tone, I had been dismissed. I pulled my shoulders straight and let out a breath. "Well, I'd better go get changed."
Brogan nodded curtly, something in his eyes that I didn't have the awareness or time to try to read. I hurried away, turning the corner into the kitchen and standing against the wall for a moment to get my bearings. God, I was an idiot. I banged the back of my head lightly against the hard surface behind me. "Idiot, idiot, idiot," I chanted. I'd thought Brogan wanted me to organize his party, to help plan it. Instead, all he wanted was for me to work it as part of the serving staff. I felt like sinking into the floor at my stupid assumption. I took several deep breaths. I wouldn't sink into the floor. Okay, fine. He wanted me to carry trays around and serve his guests. Fine. And why not, really? I was sort of jobless as of now—or at the very least, my employment situation was in limbo. So I could use a job as a matter of fact. I wasn't too good to be a food server. Lots of wonderful, talented people worked serving food, sometimes temporarily, sometimes not. I'd spend a couple hours offering the delicious dumplings I'd put on the menu, and then I'd make Brogan sit down with me and spell out the terms of this ridiculous arrangement. This would settle the score from my long-ago wrong—surely—and we'd move forward from here. So what if we had joked a little bit via text? Obviously it'd meant nothing to him and it shouldn't mean anything to me either. We weren't friends, he hated me, his whole family hated me, and I needed to continue to remind myself of those important facts.
I found Therese and asked her for the uniform she'd brought, and she retrieved it for me. Talk about eating demeaning humble pie. Therese either thought me completely vapid and stupid, or pitied my embarrassing faux pas. My guess went toward the former.
Ten minutes later, I was outfitted in the same black pants and white button-down shirt as the rest of the catering team.
After wrapping a short black apron around my waist, I grabbed a tray of hors d'oeuvres and followed the other servers out to the party. The first guests were just arriving, and I spied Brogan near the gate, a blonde woman in a strapless yellow dress holding on to his arm as he greeted his guests. My heart sped up slightly. Ugh, he'd brought a date. Of course he had. A different woman. Not Anna and not the woman I'd seen him with at the garden party. Apparently he had at least three on call. Good for him. Variety was the spice of life and all that. I was going to ignore the ache in the pit of my stomach. I had a job to do.
A blond-haired man stood next to Brogan, leaning toward him and saying something that made Brogan laugh. My eyes caught on him momentarily. He was as tall as Brogan and almost as handsome, dressed all in black as well. They looked like two fallen angels—one dark, one fair. Look out, ladies of Greenwich. I straightened my spine for the tenth time since I'd donned this outfit and walked directly toward Brogan. If I was going to survive this with my pride intact, I needed to show him immediately that this was not going to humiliate me quite as much as he might hope. I was not going to shrink from this. I was going to do it, but I did still have some self-respect left.
Brogan's eyes widened when he saw me, and I noticed him fidget slightly. "Sir," I said, holding the tray toward him, "crostini with caramelized onions, melted cheese & sage?" I raised one eyebrow. "They're delicious. I sampled one myself before coming out here. You can dock it from my pay of course. I wouldn't expect anything less." I smiled sweetly. Brogan's mouth set in a grim line. Our eyes clashed while in my peripheral vision I saw his date narrowing her eyes. I heard someone clear his throat and glanced at the man standing next to Brogan.
"I gather you're Lydia," he said, his lips twitching in a held-back smile and a twinkle in his eye. His Irish accent was strong. I looked back to Brogan.
"I'm just part of the serving staff. Please enjoy the party." I turned and walked away, my head held high, and my tray thrust in front of me like a shield.
Behind me, I heard the blond man whistle and say, "I think I'm gona start gettin' meself good and hammered. I have a feelin' this party's gona go tits up real quick."
"Shut up, Fionn," I heard Brogan grumble before I moved too far away to hear more.
I went inside to grab another tray and when I came out, I sucked in a horrified breath. Lindsey Sanders and crew were just walking through the gate. I ducked back inside the house and took a moment to gather myself, breathing deeply. That bastard had invited them on purpose—he knew very well they had been my high school clique. He was not only going to make me serve his guests, he was going to make me serve the people I'd once led. Associated with. Been. If anyone had told me Brogan Ramsay was capable of this level of ugliness seven years ago, I wouldn't have believed it. I had spent time with the group he'd invited today, but I had never treated him with the blatant rudeness they had. Chin up, Lydia.
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I moved around the perimeter of the party, trying to avoid Lindsey etcetera. Maybe they wouldn't even notice me. After all, they'd been trained to pretend the people who served them were invisible. I'd just hope to blend right into the background.
Turning, I offered the hors d'oeuvres I was carrying to the people standing behind me and froze when I saw it was the man named Fionn and Brogan's sister, Eileen. Eileen stared at me with a slightly shocked look on her face and Fionn smiled slightly. I lifted my chin. "Sweet potato rounds with herbed ricotta and walnuts?"
"Don't mind if I do," Fionn said, loading up a napkin with the small appetizers and popping one into his mouth as he winked at me. I almost smiled, but didn't. He was Brogan's and Eileen's friend. I had to assume he was enjoying my public disgrace at least to some extent.
"No, thank you," Eileen said, the tension in the air palpable. I swallowed, making a small curtsy before I turned and walked away. A curtsy? Really, Lydia? What the hell was that? A curtsy! My God.
"It can't be," a loud female voice said. "Lydia De Havilland? Seriously?" I halted and turned slowly back in the direction of Fionn and Eileen. Standing several yards away from them were Lindsey and company. "Oh my God," Lindsey breathed, bringing her hand to her chest and stifling a laugh.
I smiled a tight smile as they moved toward me. Holding the tray up, I tilted my head, and asked, "Appetizer?"
Lindsey burst out laughing even harder, looking gleefully happy with this turn of events. She put her hands on her hips and did a full circle around me, looking me up and down before she burst out laughing again. "My, my, how the mighty have fallen," she said, barely disguised delight in her voice.
I smiled again as if this situation didn't faze me in the least, but I felt the hot blush in my cheeks that was surely giving me away. It felt like every guest in the yard had suddenly turned to look at me.
I simply smiled. "I hope you have a wonderful time," I said, turning and trying to hurry away. But my heel stuck in the grass and I tripped slightly, causing the girls behind me to giggle maniacally. Straightening myself, I took a deep breath and continued inside.
The vultures had descended, and now I was going to be consumed.
After that, I wasn't left alone for a moment. You would have thought I was the only one working the party, not that I was one of a dozen servers. Just when I'd delivered a requested glass of champagne to Lindsey, Daphne dropped her napkin and needed another. Then Bridget Baker wanted more of "those delicious little thingamabobs," and no sooner had I brought out a sample tray of every appetizer we'd passed through the crowd, Crystal Adler needed me to fetch a wet cloth so I could help her wipe an invisible stain off her Louis Vuitton clutch. I kept a smile plastered on my face, acting as if I were pleased as punch to meet their every need, not allowing them to see me sweat.
I caught sight of Brogan several times, standing to the side, his jaw clenched as he watched me being run around relentlessly. His date still hung on his arm, obviously trying to get his attention with her chatter, but he didn't seem to notice her at all. Apparently he was having too much fun watching me. I held my head higher, increasing the size of my smile. My cheek muscles wobbled with the effort of holding it in place.
On my way back into the house, I almost collided with the man named Fionn. "Oh, sorry," I said, scooting past him.
He leaned close to me as we passed and murmured softly, "Good on ya, Lydia," and winked. I wasn't sure what he meant, but in any case, I hardly had time to try to figure it out because someone else had me running to do her bidding.
I came back out with a tray of mini desserts and the seltzer water with a twist of lime Maya Richards had asked me to pick up for her at the bar, breezing past Fionn who was again standing with Eileen.
I delivered the seltzer water to Maya who proceeded to spill it on the lawn. "Oh phooey!" she exclaimed. "Clutzy me. Fetch me another one, would you, Lydia?" She smiled sweetly.
I resisted the urge to claw her eyes out and instead took a deep breath and said brightly, "No problem, ma'am. I'll get another one for you right away." Maya turned away and began speaking to the woman next to her as if I suddenly didn't exist.
I inclined the dessert tray toward Lindsey who looked annoyed. I supposed I wasn't giving her the show she was hoping for. Tears perhaps, or maybe a complete and total emotional breakdown, clawing at my face, dropping to my knees and declaring that as God as my witness, I'd never work in catering again. "Something sweet?" I asked, giving her my most innocent smile.
Glaring at me, she took a small dish of chocolate mousse off my tray, picking up the tiny spoon and dishing a bite into her mouth. "Mmm," she murmured, a glint of something evil coming into her eyes. I'd seen that look before. Right before she'd decimated someone socially in the cafeteria. But before I could figure out what she might have in mind, a huge spray of chocolate mousse hit me square in the face, splatters of it raining all over my hair and down the front of my shirt. "Oh goodness!" Lindsey gasped. "This silly little spoon just slipped. I'm so embarrassed!"
I heard an intake of breath and everything seemed to grow quiet all around me. Had the band stopped playing? A glob of mousse that was stuck to my eyelashes fell onto my cheek and started sliding down my face slowly. Lindsey dropped her bowl back on my tray and snorted into a napkin. As I stood there, it seemed that the entire party had stopped and everyone was staring at me. Vomit rose in my throat as humiliation and loneliness engulfed me. I didn't have a single friend here, not one. I'd tried so hard to hold on to my composure, but standing there with food purposefully splattered on my face was the final straw. I couldn't do this. It hurt too much. Horrified, I glanced around at all the staring eyes, some mildly sympathetic, others amused.
Sucking in a huge breath, tears filled my eyes and I turned and ran toward the house as fast as my feet would carry me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brogan start after me, and so I kept moving, dropping the tray on the table in the foyer and running up the stairs to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and stood against it, breathing heavily, tears streaming down my face and mixing with the chocolate.
I heard voices outside the bathroom and hurried over to the sink, using a washcloth to wipe my face clean. For a moment I simply stared. The black eye makeup I'd applied so carefully earlier now streaked down my face, my white shirt splattered with chocolate, my hair droopy and wilted from all my running around. Dropping the washcloth, I put my hands over my face and allowed the tears to fall freely. I was an utter mess. The mirror image of my life.
"Lydia?" I heard a female voice say from the other side of the door. I took a deep breath, figuring it was Therese wanting to fire me. That was good because I was happy to be fired. But when I swung the door open, Eileen was standing there.
I sighed, turning away. "If you're wanting to slap me again, you're going to have to stand in line this time." I walked back to the sink and picked up the wet washcloth and started to dab at the chocolate stains on my white blouse. After three or four dabs, I threw the washcloth back in the sink. These stains would never come out.
Eileen came to stand next to me, and we stared at each other in the mirror for a few seconds, her gorgeous and perfect, me splattered, smeared, and defeated. Eileen tilted her head, giving me a small smile. "Ya need to get back out there," she finally said.
I gave one small laugh. "No way. I'm throwing in the towel. I call uncle. Maybe that Bob guy you mentioned. I call Uncle Bob."
She turned toward me, grabbing my upper arms so I was forced to face her as well. "No way are ya gona give those shite-flingin' primate bunch of bitches the satisfaction of gettin' the last word." She glanced at my stained shirt.
"It was mousse." I sighed.
She waved her hand as if one thing was basically the same as another. "Mousse-flingin' socialite bunch of bitches. Whatever. Both require the same basic brain maneuverings—those being slow and basic."
I almost laughed, but the shame I felt left it stifled in my clogged throat. "I used
to be the leader of those bitches," I admitted softly.
She nodded. "Right. Which is why ya have insider information on exactly what would annoy the shite outta them the most. Now, what is it?"
I stared at her. "I . . . I don't know. They think I consider myself better than them."
She cocked her head. "I think ya might be, as much as that fact shocks me." She regarded me for a moment. "That's why ya have to get back out there and let them know they didn't get the best of ya, and they never will no matter how much shite they hurl your way." She looked me over. "Ya always were prettier than any of them, too. That's another reason they hate ya, I'd guess. Shallow as all hell, mostly because they have nothin' else except the superficial goin' for them."
I sighed. "I shouldn't care what they think," I said. "I shouldn't care what anyone thinks."
She looked at me thoughtfully. "Em, well," she said after a long moment, "we're made to care, aren't we, though? Find me the person who doesn't care a whit what anyone else thinks of them and I'll show ya someone very lonely. The trick, I believe, is to know whose opinion matters and whose doesn't." She paused and I thought how very wise she sounded for such a young girl. Then again, if anyone would know something about being shunned by others based on superficial things, it would be the girl who had worn braces on her legs for most of her life.
She gave me a small smile before continuing. "Ya gettin' back out there proves to them and to ya that those girls don't matter. They do not get the satisfaction of watchin' ya break over their petty antics." She worried her lip as if she were strategizing. Slowly, my cold despair was being replaced with warmth.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked. "Yesterday you hated me."
She looked me in the eye. "I believe in slappin' someone once and movin' on. I've moved on now. Have ya?"
"Um . . . sure."
She laughed, a sweet, musical sound. "Okay, wash your face. I'm gona re-do your makeup and then you're gona be forced to wear a different shirt. Unfortunately, the only choice is gona be one quite a bit smaller, like." She gave me an innocent shrug, and I laughed, a genuine one this time. "My brother is gona self implode."