The Smart One and the Pretty One

by Claire Lazebnik

  “Yes?” He turned back, smiling with polite attentiveness. He wore the white button-down shirt and black pants of the classic server, but his hair was appealingly tousled and his pants had slipped down a bit on his slim hips—no belt. She wondered if he knew that one shirttail had slipped completely out of the waistband in the back. It lent a charmingly roguish look to his standard-issue uniform.

  She held up her newly filled wineglass. “Do I hold on to this during lunch?”

  “Here,” he said and held his hand out. “Give it to me. There are glasses already on the table and the first thing we’re supposed to do is pour the wine.”

  “It sounds risky,” Lauren said, moving her glass out of his reach. “What if no one comes to our table for a long time and I get thirsty?”

  “What table are you at?” he said. “Even if it’s not mine, I’ll come by right away with a bottle. What do you like—red or white?”

  “Both,” she said and surrendered the glass. “What’s our table number, Ava?”

  “Fourteen,” said Ava, who had checked and pocketed the little folded name card with their table assignment when they first arrived.

  “Fourteen,” he repeated. “My name’s Diego, by the way.”

  “I’m Lauren.”

  “See you soon, Lauren.” He moved on, stopping to tell the next group of people that it was time to find their tables, and the sisters followed the mass exodus of guests out of the foyer and into the dining hall.

  Ava introduced Lauren to everyone at their table. Lauren’s place card put her between her sister and a slightly geeky-looking lawyer named Richard who chatted with her about L.A. versus New York for a while, and then the table conversation opened up to a general discussion about which of the last group of summer interns deserved to be offered permanent jobs at the firm. Lauren listened quietly, smothering a yawn or two. She felt a light touch on her shoulder and swiveled around to see Diego the waiter standing behind her, a bottle of wine in each hand. “You’re not my table,” he said. “So I’m breaking the rules for you.”

  “You’re an angel.” She held out her glass.

  “You do a good impression of one yourself.” He had the easy charm of a natural flirt, and Lauren felt like she was finally in the presence of one of her own kind.

  Richard glanced up and tapped his own glass with an index finger. “Red, please.”

  “Sorry,” Diego said. “Your server will be with you in a minute.” He winked at Lauren and walked away.

  “That was weird,” Richard said, frowning at Lauren’s filled glass. “Why’d you get wine and not me?”

  “Diego and I are old friends,” she said. “He was just looking out for me.”

  “Ah.” He seemed satisfied with the explanation and returned his attention to the group discussion. Ava was making a point—something about how a candidate’s individuality had to mesh with the firm’s reputation without being smothered by it—and Lauren was impressed by how all the others were listening to her with real respect. Then she got bored again.

  She sipped some more wine and looked around. The party seemed too sedate to her, like something vital was missing. It occurred to her that none of the kids who’d been fidgeting their way through the service and dashing through the foyer during the reception were anywhere in sight. So where were they?

  She excused herself from the table, then wove her way through the room and back toward the double doors. Before she had even left the hall, she could hear the throb of loud music. She followed the beat of the bass line across the foyer, down a back hallway, and into a room that was smaller than the big hall but big enough to hold five round tables, a dance floor, a DJ, an enormous sound system, and what appeared to be several dozen thirteen-year-olds, every single one in motion, some dancing to the lilting sound of Rihanna’s voice, some filling plates at the long buffet tables that lined one wall and were covered with kid-friendly junk food like chicken nuggets, pizza, and fries, some jostling to get in line at any of the three booths set up in one corner, and some just running back and forth between the different areas, screaming and calling to one another.

  The room was alive with music, smells, screams, raw emotion, and total chaos, the exact opposite of the calm and quiet hall she had just left.

  Lauren spotted the bat mitzvah girl for the first time since the service. She was wearing a white knit beanie hat embroidered with a red devil and the phrase “2 hot 2B 4 real.” She and half a dozen friends were giggling and squealing and pulling at one another, moving around the room like one big, sprawling, very noisy, and potentially dangerous organism.

  Her beanie was fantastic. Lauren wondered if she could get one for herself.

  She spotted the beanie table, which was sandwiched between a T-shirt printing stand and a tattoo booth. She got into line behind an extremely short boy with a huge head of long frizzy blond hair that stood out halolike around his thin face and large dark eyes. He was talking excitedly to a girl who was about a foot taller than he was and who kept shifting from leg to leg, always raising the opposite one, like a stork. Her very adult halter dress, developed figure, and dramatic makeup contrasted oddly and strikingly with the braces she wore and the juvenile quality of her voice.

  “Did you see Oliver last time?” the boy was saying to her when Lauren stepped in place behind him. “Did you see him at Autumn’s party? He was like totally insane. I mean totally. Did you see him?”

  “I heard about it,” the girl said. “But I didn’t see it. I wish I’d seen it, but my mom made me go to Aspen that weekend with my dad and his girlfriend.”

  “You shoulda seen him,” the boy said. “He was totally insane. I think he’s gonna do something like that again today. I bet he is. He is always totally crazy.”

  “Someone should tell him to calm down,” she said. “Did you hear what Dr. Cryer said to his parents? She said she was this close to throwing him out of the school.”

  “They won’t throw him out of school,” the boy said. “His dad is like the head of a studio or something. You know that thing they’re building at school? The—you know—the thing that they’re building upstairs that we can’t use those stairs for because they’re building it and there’s like construction stuff and shit that could fall on us and our parents could sue if it did?”

  “It’s like a student center or something.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Oliver’s parents like gave all the money for it. I mean, it’s going to be named after his parents. I mean, it’s going to have their name on it. They’ll call it like the Lightlinger Center, you know? So they’d never throw him out.”

  The girl tugged hard on her lower lip. “I heard Dr. Cryer said they might.”

  “They won’t,” the boy said. “But he’s so unbelievably insane. Did you hear he threw a book at a teacher?”

  “I heard it was a pencil.”

  “A pencil? Who told you that? It was totally a book.”

  Lauren tapped the boy on the shoulder. “Hey,” she said, straining to be heard over the loud music. “Is Oliver here? Which one is he?”

  The boy turned. “This room is for the kids,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “You guys have all the good stuff,” she said. “The adults don’t get beanies, but I want one.”

  The guy working the table overheard enough to glance over. “They’re only for the kids,” he said.

  “Come on,” Lauren said and gave him her cutest smile. “Please? Just one little beanie? For me?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. The parents only bought enough for the kids.”

  It was like the whole world was conspiring against Lauren Nickerson’s acquiring anything new to wear. “Fine,” she said, a little petulantly. She turned back to the short boy. “So are you going to tell me which one is Oliver or not?”

  “That’s Oliver,” he said, pointing to a kid who stood in the middle of a semicircle of boys on the dance floor, all of them laughing and shoving one another, getting in the way of anyone w
ho was actually trying to dance.

  “The dark-haired one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He doesn’t look so crazy.”

  The kid didn’t reply because it was his turn to order. He seemed mildly outraged when the beanie guy said he wouldn’t put the word “suck” on a hat. “What’s wrong with ‘suck’?” the boy was saying as Lauren left the line. “‘Suck’ is like a totally normal word. My mother says ‘suck.’”

  Lauren stopped to steal a chicken nugget on her way out, cutting through the line to grab one with her fingers, which none of the kids seemed to mind.

  She left disappointed. She hadn’t gotten a cute beanie and Oliver hadn’t done anything while she was there to live up to his crazy reputation.

  When she got back to her table, there were plates of chicken and rice in front of everyone. One of the male lawyers was leaning across the table toward Ava and saying, “I can name five female lawyers in our firm who left within the last three years because they wanted to stay home with their kids. I can’t think of a single man who left for that reason. Why shouldn’t that factor into our hiring decisions?”

  “Because it’s punishing future candidates for choices other people have made,” Ava said. She nodded a greeting to Lauren as she slipped back into her seat. “And I’ve known far more women who haven’t left the firm after having kids than ones who have.”

  “I’m talking odds. If a man and woman are up for the same job, the odds are simply better that the man will stay at the firm.”

  “If men were as willing as women to stay home when their kids got sick, then women wouldn’t feel like they have to choose—”

  “Aha,” he said. “So you admit men and women feel differently about parenting responsibilities?”

  “Of course,” Ava said. “But the solution isn’t to stop hiring women—it’s to get fathers to do as much as mothers.”

  “Good luck with that,” Richard’s wife said, and everyone laughed. Someone else commented on the food and the general discussion devolved into private exchanges.

  “I didn’t know you were such a feminist type,” Lauren said to Ava.

  “It just drives me crazy.” She picked up her knife and fork. “I want to bring more women to the firm, but there’s this general perception that none of us will last past our baby-bearing years. It’s another excuse to keep the old boys’ club intact.”

  “Do you think you’d keep working such long hours if you had kids? Honestly?”

  “I hope so.” Then, sighing, “I don’t know. I’d try to do more work in fewer hours, I guess.”

  “Could you imagine coming home after school and not having Mom there to ask us about our day?”

  “You’re not helping women’s rights,” Ava said. “I mean, it could be a father too, right?”

  “It could be,” Lauren said. “But I could never have told Dad all about how Susie Krasgow went around telling everyone I was wearing a bra in fifth grade when I wasn’t. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, Dad,” Ava said. “But—”

  “Hi, there,” a voice said from behind them. They turned. Diego crouched down between their chairs, and they shifted apart to make room for him. “I brought you something.” He reached for Lauren’s hand, turned it palm up, and dropped a small chocolate heart into it. “They’re for the kids, but I had a feeling you’d want one.”

  “That’s so sweet of you,” Lauren said. “I mean that literally.”

  “I got you one too,” he said to Ava and dropped a heart next to her plate.

  “Thanks,” she said, but he had already turned back to Lauren.

  “You having fun?” he asked her.

  “It’s okay. I won’t mind when it’s over.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “You have big plans for later tonight?” she asked.

  “Nothing I can’t get out of,” he said, tilting his head back a little to study her. “You like to dance?”

  “Love to.”

  “Good. Write your cell phone number down. I’ll come by and get it before you leave.” He stood up. “I got to go now. I’m supposed to be clearing.” He stopped. “You want to come too?” he asked Ava. “I could get a friend—”

  “Sorry,” Ava said. “I can’t. I have plans.”

  “What plans do you have?” Lauren asked Ava after Diego had walked away.

  “The I-don’t-like-to-go-dancing-with-strangers kind of plans. Guess that would be more of a state of mind, come to think of it.”

  “You should join us,” Lauren said. “It’ll be fun.”

  “You don’t even know the guy.”

  “He’s cute. He looks like he’d be a good dancer.”

  “He could be an idiot. Or a jerk. Or a homicidal maniac.”

  “Oh, please. If it’s not fun, I’ll say I have a headache and go home. And if he murders me, you get to have the apartment all to yourself again.”

  “Seriously,” Ava said. “Don’t go anywhere alone with him. Not even his car.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Lauren said. She popped the chocolate heart in her mouth. Someone clinked the side of a glass, and Brian stood up and said it was time for them all to watch a video about Sarah. The kids were ushered in from the other room and seated on the dance floor while a movie screen was set up. The lights were dimmed and the video, an expertly produced collage of photos and home movies, began.

  When it ended a seemingly eternal twelve minutes later, people clapped and the lights came back on and Brian announced that some of Sarah’s friends wanted to say a few words. Two girls got up and squealed for a while about how totally awesome Sarah was.

  Lauren was moving restlessly in her chair and wondering if they could go soon when a tall dark-haired boy rose to his feet and said, “I have something to say about Sarah.” A couple of the girls screamed “NO!” and tried to drag him back into a sitting position, but he shook them off and shouted, “Sarah smells like a dog fart after a rainstorm!” The rest of the boys screamed with laughter while Sarah and her friends just screamed, and Brian hastily shooed the kids off the stage with the announcement that an ice-cream-sundae bar had been set up for them in the back room.

  “What was that about?” Ava said as they turned their chairs back to the table, and the servers started frantically passing out individual crème brulées. “Who was that kid?”

  “That was Oliver,” Lauren said, leaning back in her chair, helpless with laughter and delight. “He’s crazy.”

  That night, genuinely concerned about Lauren’s safety, Ava decided she should stay awake and alert until her sister was home again.

  She kept her vigil in the living room, sipping tea and catching up on TiVoed shows. She accidentally dozed off somewhere around midnight and was woken up by the ringing of the phone. The caller ID showed Lauren’s cell phone number, and Ava’s heart surged with an adrenaline rush of fear. She pounced on the phone.

  “Hi,” Lauren said with a sheepish giggle. “I’m downstairs. I forgot my keys.”

  Torn between annoyance and relief, Ava buzzed her in. She went to the apartment door and opened it, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway as she waited. After a minute or two, the elevator opened and Lauren emerged.

  “Hi,” Lauren said, running up to her. “Sorry about that. Did I wake you up?” They went into the apartment and closed the door.

  “I hadn’t gone to bed yet,” Ava said, which was true since she had fallen asleep in the living room. “How was your date?”

  “Okay.” She scrunched up her nose. “But not good enough to go for a repeat. I was right about him being an actor. He’s a little too into himself. Plus he smokes. I can usually smell it on a guy, but he’s not allowed to smoke on the job, so his work clothes were clean.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “We went dancing first. That was kind of fun—I was also right about him being a good dancer. I was right about everything.” Lauren yawned. “But then we tried to go somewhere
to get a bite to eat and talk and that’s when I got kind of bored—not to mention freezing cold because we had to sit outside so he could smoke the whole time. I’ve got to remember that guys who are too pretty are almost always a mistake.”

  “Yeah,” Ava said, although overly attractive young men had not really been a big problem in her life.

  Lauren spotted the teacup on the coffee table. “Did you go out at all tonight?”

  “No,” Ava said. “I just watched TV.”

  Lauren’s gaze was a mixture of incredulity and pity. “Is this what your Saturday nights are usually like?”

  “No,” Ava said. “I have friends, you know. I do stuff. I just thought the bat mitzvah was enough socializing for one day. And anyway,” she added, “it’s not like you had such a fantastic time going out.”

  “You’re right,” Lauren said. “You’re right. I’d probably have had just as nice a time staying here with you.” But once again there was pity in her voice, and Ava suspected that Lauren was only saying that to make her feel better.

  Chapter 7

  When Ava returned home from work the following Friday evening, she found the apartment door slightly ajar. She kicked it all the way open and entered with an irritable “Why don’t you ever remember to lock the door?”

  And there was Russell Markowitz standing in the living room, looking over his shoulder at her. “Oops,” he said. “That would be my fault.”

  Lauren was nowhere in sight, but there was a half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio on the coffee table (Ava recognized it as one given to her several months earlier by Brian Braverman after they had successfully completed a project together), along with two used glasses. So Russell had been there long enough to sit and have a glass of wine. Lauren might at least have put out three glasses, Ava thought: she knew Ava would be home soon.

  Ava dropped her briefcase on the floor. “That’s okay—guests are allowed to leave the door open. But Lauren always forgets to lock it.” Lauren also had forgotten to mention that Russell was coming to their apartment that evening. “Oh, and hi.”