by Julie Wright
At the car, I moved to take my place in the back seat with Grandma. The idea of her sitting next to Walt, snuggling like a couple of teenagers, gave me anxiety, but the idea of sitting in front with Ben gave me even more anxiety. As I moved toward the door, Ben gave me a strange look and motioned his head towards the front, where he’d opened the door and stood waiting for me to get in.
Grandma had her eyebrows raised above her mask and her lips pursed in that wry look she gave instead of a verbal reprimand. Walt chuckled at Grandma’s sass. He obviously thought it was cute to see her getting bossy.
I cleared my throat and stepped up to the door Ben held open for me.
“Miss Hepburn.” Ben inclined his head in deference.
He removed his mask to drive, and I kept mine in my lap. The car ride was accompanied by the animated back seat chatter of Grandma and Walt talking about a play they’d both seen together. Grandma was going to plays?
“So,” Ben interrupted the back seat banter. “This is atypical of the usual volunteer work, isn’t it? Going to a ball, I mean.”
“Sometimes volunteering means cleaning out messes or organizing supplies,” Grandma answered. “And sometimes it means showing up to fundraising events so people see you there. Fundraising events are like raising your hand in agreement. The more people who raise their hands, the more people will want to join them. We are to be counted today so people know we can be counted on for tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” Ben said, and the conversation continued with Ben feeling comfortable enough to join in. He missed some very easy spots where he could have told my grandma and her boyfriend apparent the statistical chances of dying at a dance party, probably figuring that people as old as Walt and Grandma didn’t need mortality reminders. I wanted to ask why Alison decided to drive separately, but how did a person start that conversation without causing a commotion?
As I walked behind my grandmother and her date along the red carpet to the hotel entrance, people stopped and stared. Then whispered. Then asked if they could have their picture taken with me.
Grandma and Walt went on ahead, unaware that I’d been detained.
“You look just like her.”
“What a striking resemblance.”
“Where did you get such a perfect replica costume?”
These were the most common phrases uttered by the people crowding around me. It was almost like I’d become the event photo op. Ben stood to the side and kept watch. He knew I had difficulty with people claustrophobia and was watching for the signs. It hurt my heart that he knew such personal things about me when we couldn’t be personal.
As the crowd closed in, my heart rate spiked and my breathing became ragged as I tried to smile for the many flashes of light blinding my eye and the many different scents of perfume engulfed me as women I didn’t know hugged me and thanked me. My confusion over all the attention didn’t help matters any.
Once we were able to disentangle ourselves from the front-door crowds, we entered the event ballroom. Items for the silent auction lined the walls in elegant displays. Life-sized pictures of Audrey were strategically placed around the room, standing tall as if keeping watch over the proceedings of the event.
We made our way to the table reserved in Grandma’s name just as the emcee stepped up to the microphone. Alison hadn’t arrived yet.
“What took you so long?” Grandma whispered to me. “I thought you’d decided not to come in after all.”
“People kept wanting to get pictures with me,” I whispered back.
She smiled. “Who could blame them? Where’s your mask?”
I glanced around as if it would magically appear on my plate. “I must have left it in the car.”
She patted my hand. “It’s not like you need it,” she whispered, and then turned her attention up front.
It was a good ten minutes into the emcee’s opening announcements before my heartbeat regulated itself and my breathing became steady and normal. The incident confirmed to me that stardom would not suit me at all. All those people pressing in, wanting to take a piece of you away with them—it would frighten any introvert.
As the thought crossed my mind, the emcee’s words finally broke through my personal thoughts. “Audrey’s incredibly reserved nature made it very hard for her to be the center of attention, and so it makes sense that she spent her final years putting the spotlight on others, taking care of the needs of people who had no voice of their own yet.”
A UNICEF video began with children singing in a language I didn’t understand. The voice-over of Audrey Hepburn came on at the same time images of children in third-world countries being cared for by Audrey flashed across the screen. “I think I’ve been terribly privileged,” she said. “And it’s logical that somebody who’s privileged should do something for those who are not.”
I felt suspended in my seat at the sound of her voice. I’d seen her movies, but I’d never heard her voice when she was just being herself. With every word she spoke, I felt myself changing, convinced of the plight of the world’s children, convinced I had a role in helping those children. Audrey said she felt she didn’t have much to give, but that everyone had something they could do or offer. The call to action rose up in my soul, vibrated through my heart, and left me contemplative when she ended with, “There cannot be enough voices. If I can be one more and speak up for one child, it’s worthwhile.”
The short video reached deeply into me, so that when the emcee returned to the mic, I paid full attention, wanting to know more about the charity and my part in it. Grandma’s decision to make donations and buy a table to this dinner no longer seemed silly, and suddenly, though I was sure she spent a lot, her donation didn’t seem like nearly enough, because none of it came from me. I didn’t even notice when Ben’s date slipped into her seat, and I startled when I reached for my water glass and saw Alison sitting beside Ben. Her rich blue mask glittered, and the feathers along the top curled over her forehead. The gown she wore was similar to the one in the club, but instead of being short and meant for dancing, this one was long and meant for fine dining. She looked very pretty.
Awards were given throughout the whole meal and dessert, leaving little time for small talk. Which was fine with me, since Grandma and Walt only had eyes for each other, and I didn’t know how to talk to Alison and Ben. People were applauded, heroic stories were told, and then we were invited to enjoy the dance, indulge in the chocolate bar, and bid generously in the silent auction. Grandma and Walt beelined it to the dance floor to show off the moves of a couple who grew up in the heyday of great dancing.
Alison tugged Ben’s hand and whispered something to him, likely asking him to dance. Not sure what else to do with myself, I went to the displays. Or more specifically, I went to the life-size portraits of Audrey that stood between the displays. Black, carved wood framed each portrait in classic elegance. I stopped in front of one that could have been a mirror. The Audrey in the picture stood about as tall as I did. She wore the same sort of dress, had her hair done in the same way, wore a similar necklace. Even her makeup was perfectly identical in a way that only a master makeup artist could have managed. A cold chill shivered through me at the memory of lying in that hospital bed alone in the dark, terrified of the cancer monster lurking in the shadows.
That monster got part of me when they took my eye. They got her, too—all of her. Why did it frighten me? Why did learning about Audrey make me uncomfortable? Why did I always feel such a loss when I thought of her as a person and not as a character in a movie? Surely a grown woman could see enough reason to know that what happened to Audrey and what happened to me had no link at all aside from bad luck and timing.
Surely.
But my logic did nothing to quiet my fear.
I imagined, while gazing at the portrait, all the wasted years where the knowledge of Audrey could have been mine. For the first time in
my life, I was sorry I’d held Audrey at arm’s length. From everything I’d heard about her tonight, I realized that Audrey Hepburn’s life could have been my own personal blueprint for how to be a fully-realized woman—as a career woman, a friend, a mother—someday—and, an advocate—all the things I wanted to be. But I’d avoided getting to know Audrey, and now I felt guilty at the neglect—of her and of me.
Ben’s fingers wrapped around mine, tugging my attention away from the portrait where I’d seen more of myself than I’d ever seen before. “I know you hate it, but . . . care to dance?”
I startled at his touch and at his request.
“What about Alison?”
“She found the managing editor of Sony by the auction tables. They’re dancing now.”
“Oh. Sure.”
We joined the other couples on the dance floor, where Ben revealed his ability to actually dance, not just the turn-slowly-in-a-circle dance that had encompassed all my real-life experiences of dancing with men. “So,” he said, leading me in a way that made both of us look capable. “How have you been?”
How have I been? That was certainly a question with too many answers. Instead of opening all the miniature Pandora’s boxes, I said, “I don’t hate it, you know.”
“What?”
“Dancing. I don’t hate it. I actually really enjoy dancing, just not in a nightclub with all those bodies pressing in. I think it’s because I live in a half-dark world. I never know what’s coming at me from that darkness. And my depth perception isn’t great, so I’m afraid of flinging an arm too far one way or another and accidentally hitting someone in the face.”
“But this is okay?”
So okay. What I said was, “This is you being my eyes, my guide, through the dance. I’m not likely to stumble over something I didn’t see or have anything come from my blind side to surprise me, because you’re watching for both of us. Traditional dancing is this half-blind woman’s best friend.”
“You’re good at it,” he observed.
“I took several ballroom dance classes in college. They counted as fitness credits. You’re good at it, too.”
“High school ballroom dance team.” He extended his arm and twirled me under it. I might have been out of practice, but I managed the maneuver without too much difficulty.
Dressed in a gown that made me feel empowered and beautiful, and dancing in the arms of a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of any of my favorite romantic classics, I felt an inner sigh of satisfaction swelling inside me. This was what happy endings were made of. I gave my head a shake to pull me back to reality. Ben wasn’t my Prince Charming. There could be no happy ending when you were dancing with someone else’s date. Only a terrible human forgot details like that. “So your date . . .” I said.
“Alison.” He said it almost as if he meant to correct me.
“Yes. Alison. You said she wanted to talk with me?”
He guided us to the side in a move meant to allow another couple to pass. Though they were on my right, I felt the air change as they passed and felt grateful I was in the arms of a capable lead. If they had run into me, I likely would have left the floor and stayed off it.
“She’s been dying to talk to you ever since the press junket. Since you’ve worked on a movie that is the rage and talk of our industry, she’s hoping you might be able to help her get her name out there and recognized. She does good work. You know—if there are any positions open at Portal for underling work . . . She’s happy to take anything and work her way up.”
“So you’d like me to give her an endorsement? And employment if I can?” I didn’t ask why he wasn’t getting her a job at Mid-Scene. The company no-dating-coworkers policy was reason enough.
“Yes. If you’re willing. I can show you her work. You’d be impressed.”
I nodded. “Sure. I’ll take a look at her work if you want me to.”
Ben pulled back so I could see his face. “I’d think you’d do it because you want to. Another woman in the field is good for the whole industry, right?”
His response surprised me, as if he was doing this thing for Alison as a favor to me. “Right. Sure.”
We danced the rest of the song in silence.
“You okay?” he asked as we moved back to the table.
“Of course.” Total lie. I hated how much I liked how Ben looked, how much I liked how he danced, how much I liked him.
Alison was already back at the table and looking rosy. Her conversation with the editor from Sony must have gone well. She jumped up and gave me a hug when she saw me like we were long-lost sisters, parted at birth.
Ben and I both sat, and I spent a great deal of time fielding questions, talking shop, and shooting glances at Ben, who seemed to hang onto my every word. I almost felt grateful when Ben asked Alison to dance because it was weird that they were here together but acting as intimately acquainted as two strangers in a checkout line.
Rather than watch them dance, I went back to the Audrey Hepburn pictures. I thought of My Fair Lady and the song about how she could’ve danced all night. No matter how hard I tried not to, my head turned to look at Ben dancing with Alison. I could have danced all night, indeed.
Except Ben’s dance card was full.
“Because I don’t love him, and he doesn’t love me.”
—Reggie Lampert, played by Audrey Hepburn in Charade
They danced two more dances, but as I watched, Ben kept Alison at a distance farther than he’d kept me while we’d been dancing. Shouldn’t he have held her closer? They laughed a little, but it seemed like Alison did most of the talking, and he only seemed to be half-listening, like his attention was somewhere else. The crease in his forehead appeared several times while they danced. The crease was Ben’s biggest tell for confusion. Why would he be confused? Was it something she said?
I sat back at the table and hated myself for staring at them. Toward the end of their last dance, Ben’s eyes fell on me and stayed on me. When the song ended, he pulled away from his date and moved in the direction of the table, even though Alison tugged on his hand and smiled as if to say, “Done already?”
He apparently was, because he didn’t hesitate in claiming the chair between me and one of Grandma’s friends from her new assisted-living villa, which meant Alison had no choice except to sit next to me on the other side—my blind side.
“Ben tells me you’re willing to have lunch with me and view my work sometime,” she said.
I had to turn my whole body to face her so I could actually see her. “Sure. We can do that sometime.”
Sometime, however, was not good enough. Alison seized the elusive and noncommittal sometime and was determined to pin me down for an exact date. I finally tugged my phone from my handbag, checked my calendar, and gave her a few dates to choose from. I shot a scowl in Ben’s direction, but with me turned away from him so completely, who knew if he saw or not, or what his response was if he did see.
Once Alison had my promise to meet her for lunch and an actual time and meeting place picked out, she turned her attentions entirely to Ben, directing the conversation to things they did in college, professors they had, crazy antics they got into trouble over. She mentioned things I knew Ben had mortality statistics on, but he never once said, “Your chances of dying from . . .”
For my part, I stayed silent. The conversation didn’t have anything to do with me and was awkward, considering that I sat between them but couldn’t see her at all. It was my own fault. I’d sat in a chair different from the one I’d occupied during dinner.
Grandma and Walt finished dancing and finally found their way back to the table. Ben turned his attention to Walt. They both had an apparent love of baseball, and Walt boasted owning a whole collection of signed balls from various famous ballplayers. He suggested that Ben come over to see his collection. Ben happily accepted the invit
ation.
Walt. Grandma’s boyfriend. I shook my head. Grandma’s boyfriend? Would that ever seem normal to say?
Alison engaged me in conversation again, since Ben was occupied with Walt, which meant I was stuck with small talk regarding movies and directors, and where Alison grew up, and how her sister always stole her clothes. Small talk was hard for me because I always felt like I had to dilute my personality to participate. If I became overly passionate about a topic—as I usually did—people usually took offense or decided I was a little too forceful and opinionated.
At the end of the evening, the emcee announced the close of the auctions and thanked the guests for their generosity. It was time to leave. I passed the portrait of Audrey on my way out and sent a silent apology for holding myself at arm’s length for so long. I would do better. I would be one more voice to bring attention to a good cause. If nothing else came from the evening, my commitment to helping had been solidified into something useful.
Alison hugged me good night. She hugged Ben longer. I knew because I counted the seconds. Her hug with me was only a one-one thousand. Her hug with Ben was a count of nine-one-thousand, long enough to be awkward. At least she didn’t kiss him.
Grandma and Walt kept the ride home blessedly noisy, commenting on costuming, on the charity itself, on the food, and on Ben and me, and how we looked perfect on the dance floor.
“Some people are made to dance together,” Walt said. “Fred Astaire and, well, . . . everybody. That man could make a monkey look like a graceful dancer.”
“That’s what you did for me tonight,” Grandma said. I was turned in my seat so I could see both of them and Ben, depending on who was talking. Being turned in my seat allowed me to see my grandma bestow Walt with a look of such approval and admiration, it made me smile. Their chatter filled me with gratitude; inconvenient silence would have meant I’d have to try to figure out how to feel about tonight.
As it was, I couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with the mask I’d left in the car and only just managed to keep from sitting on when I got back in for the return trip to Grandma’s house. When Ben shot a look to my hands that were rolling the mask over and over, I opened my purse and put the mask inside. Since we were close to my grandmother’s house, I pulled out my keys.
