“I don’t think I know anybody here,” I said as we entered and looked around.
“Me neither,” said my father.
My mother sighed. “I know everybody.” A waiter approached us with a tray of drinks. My parents took glasses of sparkling wine. I took a martini. “Those are strong,” my mother said, eyeing my choice. “Pace yourself.”
I shrugged and took as big a sip as I could without making myself cough.
My mother shook her head but only said, “I should mingle.”
“I think I’ll try my hand at poker,” Dad said.
“I’ll go get chips with you.” I hooked my arm in his and we started to walk off.
My mother caught at my free arm. “Rickie—”
I halted, bracing myself for some kind of warning or complaint.
“It’s killing me not saying anything. You look absolutely beautiful tonight. So beautiful…” She looked at my dad and laughed. “I don’t know how it’s genetically possible for the two of us to have produced her.”
“Well, you never know how the genes will mesh,” Dad said.
“You waited until I couldn’t change to compliment me, didn’t you?” I said to Mom.
“Can you blame me?”
“I guess not.” But I smiled and so did she.
* * *
I spotted Melanie right after I left Dad happily settled at a poker game: she and Gabriel were standing side by side, watching the roulette wheel spin, their shoulders lightly touching. They both turned when I called her name, and Gabriel caught me to his chest in a big hug. Over his shoulder I mouthed at Mel, “How’s it going?” She gave me a noncommittal shrug but she looked happy, so it couldn’t have been going too badly.
Gabriel released me, and I said, “How beautiful does Mel look tonight?”
“She leaves me weak in the knees,” he said solemnly.
“Oh, be quiet, both of you,” Melanie said, blushing. “What do you think of the food so far, Rickie?”
“So far I like the martinis,” I said. “Haven’t had a bite of food. Is there any?”
“I’ve only seen a couple of trays go by. Do you think we need to say something to the caterers?”
“I’d check with Tanya first. Have you seen her?”
“Yeah, she’s here somewhere.” She turned to Gabriel. “Do you mind if I go with Rickie for a second?”
“So long as you come back…” He touched her bare arm tentatively and she shivered slightly.
“Come on,” she said to me, and we moved off.
“Well?” I said meaningfully as soon as we were far enough away.
She shook her head a little frantically. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
I plucked a martini off of a passing tray and handed it to her. I had finished mine already. “Have one of these.”
“You’re like a devil on my shoulder. Especially in that red dress.” But she took a sip of the drink. “Oh, there’s Tanya! But she’s leaving.”
Tanya was walking out of the gym. “Maybe she’s just going to the bathroom,” I said.
We threaded our way across the crowded room and out the door and found Tanya inside the girls’ PE locker room, which was serving as the official party restroom. She was putting on lipstick in front of the mirror. In a column-like dark blue dress and high-heeled black shoes, she looked dressed up but still businesslike, like a lawyer at a company function.
She spotted our reflections in the mirror. “There you are,” she said glumly. “It’s all a disaster, isn’t it?” She dropped her lipstick into her clutch purse and closed it with a snap.
“What is?” Melanie asked anxiously.
“The food, of course. There isn’t enough. Everyone’s talking about it. It’s ruining the whole event.”
“No one seems unhappy in there,” I said. “I’m sure it’s all fine.”
She shot my reflection a look of pure contempt. “Someone has to deal with this, but I can’t do everything.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Melanie said. “You just relax and have fun.”
She pivoted around to face us. “Relax? Do you know how much I’m in charge of here? No one understands how much work something like this takes. I’ve been here since four this afternoon, setting up. There was a whole thing with the napkins—” She flung out her hand like words couldn’t even begin to express the horror of the napkin situation.
“We’ll talk to the caterer right now,” Melanie said. “Please don’t worry about it anymore.”
“I’m the one everyone blames when things go wrong,” Tanya said. “How can I not worry?”
Melanie didn’t bother responding to that, just quickly said good-bye and tugged me out of the bathroom. She led us outside and across the field toward where the caterers’ trucks and grills were set up.
“Why does she do it?” I asked as we made our way along the track.
“What do you mean?”
“If it’s such a burden to her to run everything, why does she do it? It’s not like anyone’s forcing her. She volunteers for this stuff.”
“Maybe it makes her feel needed,” Melanie said. “And she really is helping the school. Someone needs to do it.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If everyone just said no, what’s the worst that would happen? I mean, people would still give money to the school, right? They just wouldn’t have to show up to things like this. Is that so awful?”
“I should really be volunteering more,” Mel said. Her thoughts had clearly run in a different direction from mine.
Out behind one of the trucks we located the plump, bleached-blond guy who ran Crackerjack Catering. He shook his head irritably when we voiced our concerns. “You said you wanted the food hot and fresh, so we’re rolling it out gradually. If you’d wanted a ton of food right at the beginning, you should have made that clear.”
“We just want to make sure there’ll be enough,” Mel said timidly.
“There will be more than enough food,” he said tightly, “if you’ll all just leave me alone so I can get on with it.”
We quickly scuttled away. “To be fair,” said Melanie, who always was, “he’s under a lot of pressure right now.”
“You know what?” I said as we headed back into the gym, “let’s stop worrying about the stupid catering and have some fun.”
“Yeah,” Melanie said. You could already see her scanning the room, looking for Gabriel. “Let’s.” She spotted him. “There he is. Come join us, Rickie.”
I shook my head. “You guys should have time alone together tonight.”
“I feel bad you don’t have anyone to be with.”
“I have Mom and Dad! What’s more fun than partying with your parents?”
“Seriously.” She studied me for a moment, hesitating, like something was on her mind. “Rickie—”
“Still standing right next to you,” I said helpfully.
“It’s just…” Another pause then a deep breath. “Okay. I have to say this, whether you want to hear it or not. I love Ryan. You know I do. He’s a great guy. But he isn’t exactly dependable when it comes to relationships.”
“Whoa,” I said. “What are you talking about, Mel? Why are you bringing up Ryan?”
She just looked at me.
“Why would you think that I care one way or the other about your brother-in-law?” I tried to sound genuinely mystified, but the words came out too strained.
“He told Gabriel a while ago that you and he get together when he’s in town. And Gabriel told me. But I didn’t feel I had the right to bring it up when you seemed to want to keep it a secret.”
“It wasn’t much of a secret if you guys were talking about it,” I said, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed. All those times I thought we were being so sly—and they were just pretending not to notice. “I wish you’d told me you knew.”
“You have a right to your privacy. That’s why I’ve never said anything before. But seeing you alone here
tonight… I have to tell you that I don’t think Ryan, as wonderful as he is, will ever come through for you. He’s not worth waiting for.”
“I know,” I said. “I swear to God I know that, Mel. And I’m not ‘waiting’ for him—we just have fun when he’s around. It’s no big deal.”
She looked dubious. “Sometimes a bad relationship can keep you from finding a good one.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” I said. “Now that you’ve proven yourself so knowledgeable about romance, why don’t you go back to the guy you can’t decide whether you love or hate? And maybe stop talking about me behind my back while you’re at it?”
“That’s not what we were doing.”
“Oh, right. You were respecting my privacy. Just don’t ever respect my privacy like that again, okay?” I turned her around by the shoulders and shoved her gently in Gabriel’s direction. “Go.” I watched her walk across the room and then made my way wearily toward the bar.
One more martini later and I felt like I was in some Italian movie from the seventies. Unknown people passed by in a blur, with an occasional random, familiar face thrown into sudden sharp focus. From a dreamlike distance I glimpsed my mother talking to Dr. Wilson, my father throwing down a hand in disgust at the poker table, Gabriel walking with his arm tight around Melanie like it belonged there, Maria Dellaventura winking at me tipsily….
And then there was Coach Andrew passing by, laughing, wearing a tuxedo as comfortably as if he were James Freaking Bond himself. Gracie was hanging on to his arm, striking in some long, tight, gray dress that made her look as tall and willowy and graceful as a tall, graceful willow. I tried to sidle by them unnoticed and had almost succeeded when Andrew stopped and looked back at me.
“Noah’s mom? Is that you?”
I halted.
“You look”—was it my imagination or did he dart a glance at Gracie before finishing the thought?—“different.”
Gracie held out her hand. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Gracie.”
“I’m Rickie,” I said as we touched hands in a mutually unenthusiastic not-quite-handshake.
“I’m Andrew’s girlfriend,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “I know. We’ve met a couple of times.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry.
“You both look very Casino Nighty,” I said. It hurt to look at Andrew. His wavy hair was brushed and almost neat, and the monkey suit made him look taller. I suddenly really didn’t want to stand there talking to them. “Excuse me,” I said abruptly. “I have to find someone.” I ran away.
“Be careful,” Maria Dellaventura said, coming up next to me at the bar just as the bartender was handing me another martini. “Those things are strong.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“Are you kidding? I’m on my third. The best part is that people are so drunk they’re bidding like crazy on the silent auction stuff. It’s good for the school, right?” She signaled the bartender, then leaned against the bar and scrutinized me. “You look fantastic, Rickie.”
“Aw, shucks.”
“I’m serious. I hate you for being so young. Your skin is like fucking milk.” The bartender handed her a filled glass and we moved aside. “So tell me, who’s the guy with your sister? The one who looks like Santa minus the beard and white hair?”
“That would be the ex-husband,” I said and braced myself for the attack.
Apparently alcohol had a mellowing effect on Maria. She just shrugged and sipped her martini. “That wasn’t how I pictured him.”
“Fatter than you expected?”
“He looks nice.”
“He is nice.” Having had two martinis, I added, “Too nice to say no to anyone who wants to have sex with him.”
“I’m not sure that counts as being nice. Not when you’re—” She interrupted herself. “Oh my god! Look who’s here!” She nudged my arm and gestured with her glass across the room.
Marley Addison had just entered the gym on the arm of her husband, the not-quite-so-famous-but-still-recognizable movie star James Foster. Despite the fact that people were very carefully not staring at them, the change in the energy of the room was remarkable: suddenly everyone was standing a little more erect, voices were a little louder and more enthusiastic, smiles were more animated and heads were tossing like crazy. The party had come alive. It mattered.
“A little underdressed, isn’t she?” I said. Marley was wearing black pants and a simple linen top. Her body was birdlike, tiny and very thin, and the narrowness of her shoulders made her head look enormous. She was stunningly beautiful on the screen, but in real life she was a little out of proportion.
“She’s underdressed? Look at him.”
Maria was right: James looked like he was dressed for dinner at home in torn jeans and a stretched-out green pullover sweater. His goal may have been to keep a low profile, but his clothes actually made him stand out among all the tuxedoed men around him. Then again, maybe that was his goal. No matter what, the guy was gorgeous. No proportion problems with him: his head and shoulders were perfect.
“He can wear whatever he likes, as far as I’m concerned,” I said dreamily.
“He’s a good-looking guy,” Maria agreed. “Hey, want to place bets on how long they stay at the party? I’ll bet you ten bucks it’s less than an hour.”
“Nah, you’d win.”
“Look at them,” Maria said. “I wonder what it’s like to be that famous.”
“We’ll never know.”
Maria went off to check on her silent auction bids and I was on my own again, which allowed me to discover my martini limit. One sip past two and suddenly things were getting a little too out of focus. I put down my drink.
The food had finally started coming out of the catering truck a little more quickly and I nabbed a slider as it went by. I took a bite. It was greasy and not hot enough. That, I thought, was what happened when you hired someone’s cousin to do the food. I dropped the rest of it on a tall table. A couple was standing at the other side of the table eating, and just as I was turning away the man said tentatively, “Uh, Rickie? Rickie Allen?”
I turned back.
“It is you!” He put down his fork and came around the table. “How are you, my dear?” It was Mr. Greene, my tenth-grade English teacher. He had a bit more gray in his thinning hair, but otherwise he looked pretty much the same: bushy beard, glasses, double chin. At school he had worn a lot of plaid shirts and jeans and kind of reminded me of a lumberjack, but the tuxedo he was wearing that evening lent him an air of old-fashioned and vaguely rumpled professorial elegance.
He gave me a quick hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How are things going?”
“They’re good.” I had sat in the front row of his class and argued passionately about how Hester Prynne was a big wimp. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “How about with you?”
“Good, good,” he said. “Still teaching at the upper school. My daughter graduates next year—I can’t believe it. She’s a bit frantic about the whole college thing. But I assume we’ll survive it. You remember my wife, Judy?” He gestured back toward the middle-aged woman behind him, who nodded at me with a pleasant smile. I didn’t remember her and I doubted she remembered me, but I waved back. Mr. Greene said, “You went to Berkeley, right? That’s Arielle’s first choice. Did you like it there?”
Did he know I was only there for one year? I couldn’t tell. “Yeah,” I said. “It was great.”
“I hope you majored in English. I still remember that paper you wrote on Romeo and Juliet. It was about the girl he’s in love with at the beginning.”
I remembered that paper. I had been proud of it. “ ‘The Trouble with Rosaline,’ ” I said.
“Brilliant. Just brilliant. So what are you up to now?” He peered at me curiously. Kindly. Expectantly. Maybe he didn’t know the whole Rickie Allen story. Maybe he’d forgotten it for the moment. Maybe he just wanted to let me tell the story my own way.
&nbs
p; I didn’t know, but it suddenly felt hard to swallow. I jerked my chin up, trying to open up my throat. “Not much. Living with my parents. Trying to figure stuff out. You know.”
“Ah,” he said. He waited another moment. I looked down at the floor and didn’t add anything.
I had nothing to add.
He patted me gently on the shoulder. “Well, if you find any answers, let me know. I’m still figuring it all out myself.”
I forced a short laugh and said, “Excuse me. I should—” Should what? “My parents are probably looking for me.” Lame.
“Of course, of course,” he said. “Don’t let me detain you. You look lovely, Rickie. And it’s wonderful to see you.”
I said good-bye to him and his wife and slunk away.
23.
I was halfway across the room when I spotted my mother and father standing at another one of the tall cocktail tables talking to a guy who I knew was on the board of trustees with Mom. He was some big real estate mogul, but I couldn’t remember his name. I also saw Melanie and Gabriel walking from one casino table to another, hip against hip, his arm tight across her shoulder. I got a warm and happy feeling seeing them together and thought how nice it would be if you could change the past with a simple wish. If a genie gave me that power, I’d use it for them, I thought. Not for me.
I was idly and slightly drunkenly watching the roulette wheel spin when I felt something touch my shoulder. Startled, I whipped around. The guy who had just run his fingers down my bare skin looked only vaguely familiar. His thinning hair was too long and he was wearing a skinny black necktie with his tux, which I thought looked weird.
“Hey, there,” he said enthusiastically, like we were old friends. “Remember me?”
“I’m working on it.” And wondering why you felt you had the right to stroke my arm without asking.
“We met at the basketball party. I’m Pammy’s dad. Dane Miller.”
Okay, now I did remember him. But not fondly. “Oh, right.”
He extended his right hand (first transferring a half-empty martini glass to his left) and I reluctantly shook it.