by Gigi Blume
“Nice to meet you,” I said, taking her hand. “My name’s Beth.”
“Oh, I know.” She wiggled her brows and winked at Will. Stella laughed again.
“One and a half?” Will asked incredulously. “Cups or gallons?”
Georgia shrugged. “She’s a lightweight.”
“Good heavens!” cried Stella, openly assessing my appearance. “What happened to you?”
“She got caught in the line of fire,” Will said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Saved my life.”
Stella volleyed her eyes between us. “Indeed.”
Will’s arm on my shoulder gave me heart palpitations. Couldn’t he feel it pounding out of my chest? Trying to conceal it was akin to holding in gas. I think I made one of those vein-popping squishy faces that accompanies extreme discomfort. Whether he noticed it, I couldn’t tell, but his arm dropped from my shoulder, and he stepped away awkwardly. He crossed his arms, then put his hands in his pockets, then crossed his arms again. My shoulder already missed his touch.
“I best be going,” I said, gesturing to the stain on my dress. If this were a regular carnival, I wouldn’t care so much, but I knew it was an important affair for Stella, and she didn’t need a ragamuffin like me hanging around.
“Nonsense,” she cried. “We need you at dinner. Who will sing the duet with Will?”
“What duet?”
Will shifted on his feet. “I haven’t told her yet.”
Haven’t told me what exactly?
“You haven't told her?” Stella bleated. “What have you two been doing all this time?”
Well… should we start with getting caught in his bedroom or jump to sparks flying in our orbit?
“Eating,” said Will.
Yeah, that too.
“Can we back up here?” I said. “What duet?”
The two women exchanged a conspiring glance. Will sighed with resignation.
“Stella wants us to sing Mabel and Frederic’s duet from the second act,” he said with a shifty sideways glance. “For tonight’s gala.”
My jaw dropped just enough for sound to escape in a squeak. “Me? I thought you were looking for a replacement for Bing.”
Stella grinned, and her eyes sparkled. I wasn’t sure if that was the effect of the alcohol or the ideas going off in her head.
“Will is the replacement for Bing,” she said, nodding her head at Will. “But that means we can’t do the Pair of Ducks song, and we have to do at least two numbers.”
Will bristled. “For the last time, It’s Paradox. Not Pair of Ducks.”
“Well…” I had to find a way out of this. Anything to spare me the pressure of singing in front of some of the most influential people in the business. “I don’t think I could do that. I don’t know the song, and I—”
“Don’t play coy with me.” Stella’s eyes suddenly became steely. Also, I’m sure she was far more sober than she let on. “You know the song. You were Mabel in college.”
How did she know that? I left that credit off my resume when it started getting too fat. Which was a good problem to have as far as resumes go.
“Well… um…” I looked at Will. Did he know the song? If I were honest, singing with him made me more nervous than singing in front of Hollywood’s powerhouses. Performing was what I lived for. That was the kind of opportunity one didn’t pass up. He turned his head towards me, silently asking the same questions. A week ago, I loathed the man. Could I pull this off? Could he? Would he want to?
Stella snapped us out of our little moment by the clapping of her palms. “It’s settled then,” she said with finality. “Let’s get to work.”
Get to work, indeed. We had a few short hours to rehearse the music, learn the blocking, and commit to memory the songs we were to perform for the gala. Will’s load was double my own because he was in two numbers. It was fascinating to watch his process. He relied on the sheet music for only the first couple of run-throughs, and from then on out, strode through the rest of rehearsal with confidence, dedicating his focus on technique. He was an incredible scene partner, and I was somewhat bristled by the fact I’d only reluctantly admitted he was a good Pirate King, when in fact he could play any role. This, I thought to myself, was a true professional. I momentarily relapsed into imposter syndrome, and then reminded myself that I was the girl with the lanyard. My presence was requested at this thing—even if that meant they were temporarily insane in bestowing me the honor.
We were in a sweeping, glorious tent situated on the back lawn of the house. A baby grand piano sat on a rented stage, and we rehearsed while the event coordinators made quality checks on the round banquet tables. Colored lights lined the draped tent walls and trellis held the stage lighting in place. Georgia played the accompanying score until Fitz arrived. She was an astounding pianist. She apologized a few times when she missed a note or two, but I didn’t even notice. She explained she wasn’t used to accompanying singers. She was a concert soloist, trained at Juilliard, and far surpassed the piano teacher of her youth. Fitz was the first to admit it. Of course, when you get to that level of excellence, the difference between magnificent and outstanding is a difference with blurred lines. Especially for the untrained ear.
Fitz was all hugs and air kisses. It was good to see him. When he saw my stained dress, he said, “Darling, is this what kids are wearing these days?”
I giggled. “Apparently, a teenager with a slushy thought it would be a good look for me.”
I didn’t care my dress was ruined. Once it dried off, the red splotch was hardly noticeable. Still, I couldn’t perform like that. Stella assured me not to worry. I figured she probably had my maiden costume sent over from the theatre.
When evening came and there was no more we could do to perfect our scenes, Stella and Georgia ushered me into the house to get ready. I was given the use of a guest bedroom down the hall from the bathroom I’d used earlier and was encouraged to enjoy a bubble bath. When I saw the Roman tub and jacuzzi jets, I didn’t need much convincing.
It felt sublime to wash off the craziness of the day. Many parts of it would stay with me, but the dust from the carnival, the sticky syrup on my skin, and my rattling nerves could just melt away with the body soap, thank you very much.
When I emerged from the bath wearing the provided terry cloth robe and slippers, four people were waiting for me in my room. Stella, half ready with a fresh face of makeup and curlers in her hair, Georgia, looking very much the same as earlier, and two other women introduced to me as Julie the makeup artist, and Sierra who would be doing my hair.
Makeup and hair! Wow. We didn’t even get that kind of treatment at the theatre.
Julie and Sierra turned out to be two of the funniest ladies ever. Any sentence one would begin, the other would finish, and usually, it was more of a punchline than anything else. Then they’d giggle and do a little shimmy while they set about their work. They were hilarious. At one point, Julie had to force a frown on her face to stop me from laughing just so she could apply my lip stain.
“It’s color-stay,” she said. “For all the kissing.”
Then she and Sierra burst in peals of laughter and didn't come down from it the rest of the evening.
They did a fabulous job. I never really liked having my makeup done by other people. In my opinion, professional was a term loosely given to the mall employees whom I’d previously entrusted. This was a whole other ballgame.
“It helps to have a beautiful face to work on,” said Julie, deflecting the compliment I paid her.
By this time, Georgia was growing impatient. She jumped off the bed where she had been tapping away at her phone and said, “So, are you ready for your dress yet?”
Ah yes, my Pirates of Penzance costume. I looked around the room. Where was it?
“Sure,” I said. “Did Ari bring the costume yet?”
“Costume?” Her brows shot up. “Why would you be wearing a costume?”
“Um… for the show?”
She and Stella shared a laugh. What was so funny? Was I supposed to wear my stained dress? That poor scrap of cloth was currently in the bathroom sink. Stella stood behind me, fixed her eyes on my reflection, and smiled warmly.
“You can call it a costume if you like,” she said with a wink. “But you should probably try it on before you decide.”
She grinned with a twinkle that hinted she had a special kind of secret—a secret Georgia was evidently in on because she wore the same grin as Stella and skipped to the closet, emerging with a magnificent gold gown in her arms. She could hardly contain her excitement when she brought it to me. Fluffy socks covered her feet as they danced on the floor. She looked like a little girl who had to pee really bad, except I knew the bouncing she was doing had nothing to do with the state of her bladder. It was cute, how thrilled she was to see my reaction. I was sure not to disappoint her. My eyes went wide, and I couldn’t speak for a full minute while they swept over the golden offering. The dress was breathtakingly elegant.
It was made from a light chiffon, the torso a ruched V-neck with gathered straps and a tulle, floor-length skirt draping from a high waist. The entire dress was covered in golden lace appliqués. On closer inspection, I noticed a sprinkling of Swarovski crystals and a small tag on the interior by Ivonne D Mon Cheri. In other words, that dress didn’t come from Target.
“Well…” chirped Georgia. “What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous.” I didn’t have a more creative reaction than that. I was too busy being tongue tied. “Are you sure you want to let me borrow this? I’m good at bumping into people with dark liquids. Obviously.”
It was meant as a joke, but there was some truth to my words. I didn’t want to be responsible for Georgia’s beautiful gown. I’d be afraid to eat without a bib—or drink red wine. Or stand next to anyone else drinking red wine. I could think of a whole lot of things that could go horribly wrong. At least I’d ruled out the possibility of barbecue sauce being on the menu. I hoped.
Georgia scrunched her nose in an adorable chipmunk-with-a-donut sort of way. “I’m not letting you borrow anything,” she said. “Not like I wouldn’t—you can borrow anything you want—but this is yours. Stella got it for you.”
She beamed with her whole face to deliver that little piece of news. She must have expected it to be a welcome intelligence, but I couldn’t process it that way. It was too much. I looked to Stella, whose proud expression confirmed it.
“You did this for me?”
“And shoes,” added Georgia while Stella retrieved a shoe box from beneath the bed. “And a clutch to match.”
“We got your size from Ari,” said Stella. “Six and a half?”
I was gobsmacked. How did they get all this in a matter of hours? Was it a rental?
I could only stutter. “How… when?”
“Never mind that,” replied Stella. “Put it on before we miss cocktail hour. The seared ahi is always the first to go.”
26
Stay
Will
I gave Lady one last scratch of the snout and thanked Ephraim for staying late. He’d been up at the crack of dawn, not to mention a week of instructing vendors where and how to set up. He single handedly was responsible for any troubleshooting that arose with the facility. He liked to call my house the facility. It made it seem official. So here he was, fourteen hours in, taking care of Lady. I suggested he take her to his home, so he could relax and most likely spoil her with his famous carne asada, but he insisted on staying close, just in case a problem arose in the facility. I told him the screening room would be the best place to stay low, but I wanted him to put his feet up, maybe stream a movie. He’d be set up quite nicely with the leather recliners and fully stocked snack bar. I made a mental note to have some of the roast sent down to him later.
The formal living room in our house, which we used primarily for absolutely nothing except to showcase Georgia’s new piano, was filled with the most interesting hodgepodge of weirdos. Most of them were moneymakers in the entertainment industry, but there were some politicians and Silicon Valley types who made a fortune in the dot-com era. Every single one of them were sickeningly wealthy and were primarily interested in being seen throwing their money at a good cause. Stella was an incredibly savvy woman and knew how to use this to her advantage. She didn’t care (for the most part) where the funds came from, she just wanted arts education for the underprivileged. So, she made sure to stroke the egos of those with the deepest pockets.
I mingled with those folks for longer than I would have liked before Stella and Georgia finally came down to rescue me. The whole business made me feel like Captain Von Trapp forced to make small talk with Vienna’s high society. The only things missing were Nazi sympathizers (although one can never be certain) and singing children requesting champagne. My Maria was somewhere getting ready, and I hoped she wouldn’t change her mind and run off to the Abbey.
“Where’s Beth?” I tried not to sound too anxious by keeping my voice low, but it ended up more like a sad Barry White impression. Georgia shot me a what the what face and scrunched her nose.
“Twitterpated,” was all she said.
As I rounded the bend towards the grand staircase, a vision in gold almost blinded me, and my heart stopped. Beth descended with tentative steps from the top of the stairs as radiant as the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.
Her hair was gathered atop her head and held there by some sort of magic. A few loose strands cascaded down her elegant neck, the column of which could boast of smooth buttermilk skin and graceful lines to the bare shoulder.
Each of her steps down the staircase was the blessing of the heavens come to take me from the misery of the intolerable guests drinking expensive wine and exchanging pleasantries with people they could hardly stand. All the world fell away, and her sublime face was fixed solely on me.
I never knew until that moment how your future could flash before your eyes. But that’s exactly what happened. I’d once seen an episode of Doctor Who where John Smith and his love interest could look into their possible future through the aid of a fob watch. In an instant, they saw a vision of a happy marriage, having children, and John on his deathbed. Seeing Beth with her hand on the same banister I slid down as a child was something like that, sans the death bed part. All of it was in her eyes. Did she see it too? Her smile was only a hint. I wanted to ask somehow.
But even if I were the real William Shakespeare and not some idiot who portrayed him in a musical, any words I could have said couldn’t have done justice to that moment suspended in time. Beth at the end of my stairs—maybe seeing the future. But if I didn’t open my mouth to speak, I might have carried her off and groveled at her feet for all eternity. So, like a novice screenwriter regurgitating every cliché in dialogue, I said, “You look beautiful.”
No, I wasn’t about to win an Oscar for that brilliant one-liner, but Beth only blushed and bit at her bottom lip.
“I feel kind of silly,” she said.
“Why?”
“This dress costs more than my car.”
I wanted to reply with something witty and charming, but my tongue felt like it had been injected with Novocain.
“Um…” was all I could manage.
I took her hand to escort her into the party and as her little fingers settled into my palm, I was acutely aware of every ridge, every pore, every skin cell where her touch seared into mine. I held on for as long as I could without becoming awkward, but even as I let go, her brand remained etched on my fingertips.
I had to soberly remind myself that she wasn’t my date. She wasn’t interested. She’d made that perfectly clear.
Stella appeared at my side, accompanied by a pretty Latina young woman in black sequins.
“I see you’ve found our stunning princess,” she said with a wink.
A princess indeed. The Beauty to my Beast.
She caught Beth’s arm before she was lo
st in the crowd.
“My dear, don’t go running away just yet.”
“Oh, I didn’t see you,” said Beth, rolling her eyes at a rather large man next to her. “Short people problems.”
“I hear ya.” The girl in black held her hand out to Beth. “I’m Francesca.”
“Francesca Precio is the graduate from NYU I was telling you about,” said Stella as the two girls shook hands. Awareness lit Beth’s expression, and she shook her hand with more enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “You’re presenting tonight. Such an honor to meet you.”
Beth and her new B.F.F. Francesca seemed to hit it off immediately. There was so much girl power in the air, I felt invisible. But Stella, ever the diplomat, gave me the proper introduction to her young Latina friend, then linked arms with both ladies.
“I’m afraid I have to steal Beth from you, Will,” she said, already turning away from me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I guessed that wasn’t the kind of question she expected an answer to since she was gone before she finished her sentence, taking my date that wasn’t really a date with her.
I was suddenly so incredibly alone in this crowd. Where the heck was my sister?
“I expect a little more hospitality from you.”
An icy voice from behind pierced into the last of my warmth. As I turned toward the owner, I took every one of those seconds to shrug on the Hollywood schmooze face.
“Catherine.” I feigned a smile. “So glad you could make it.”
“We’ve been here a half hour, and you haven’t so much as brought a glass of champagne to Anne.”
Aaaand there went my last drop of joy.
“Oh, is Anne here?” I replied. “I hadn’t realized.”
She scowled. “Oh, please. There’s a guest list at the door.”
I shrugged. “I have no control over those things. I just live here. Where is Anne?”
I actually got along well with Anne. Her grandmother was a pain, but she was pretty cool.
