“Well, at least she was able to make it,” Jack said, sounding like a man who often has to cancel his own weekend plans.
“That’s true,” I said, remembering a few canceled weekends of my own.
The singer continued on and Jack pulled me closer.
“What do you think your wedding will look like?” Jack asked me.
“Oh, you mean if I ever get married?” I said laughing.
“If you ever get married,” he said, spinning me around, completely ignoring the self-pity. The dance floor was beginning to fill up with wedding guests.
“I don’t really know. I never really thought about it.”
“What do you mean you never thought about it?” he asked. “I thought that you wanted to marry Douglas?”
“I did,” I said. “I mean, I do. I just never thought about what our wedding would be like.”
“I thought that little girls always dreamt about what their weddings would be like?” he asked, dipping me down. We were face-to-face, Jack’s arm behind my back being the only thing holding me up.
“Not me,” I said as he brought me back up. “I never did. Now, don’t get me wrong, I always dreamt about what the guy would be like, but not the wedding so much.”
“So, what would the guy be like?” he asked, pulling me closer for a spin.
“Oh, I don’t know — smart, funny, kind — wears pants, you know, the usual stuff,” I said as I spun around.
“And Douglas was all of those things?” Jack asked, pulling me back to him.
“Well, as you know, the man was not a big fan of pants.”
“No, seriously, the other stuff. Was he kind? Funny?”
“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t any of those things at all,” I said, suddenly realizing it for the first time.
“Oh,” Jack said, looking down at me as if he wanted to say more. Our eyes were locked, but neither one of us said a word.
The singer murmured something about being in heaven and I couldn’t help but agree.
I was sure that he was going to lean down to kiss me, but in an instant, the song was over and we found ourselves standing apart, applauding the band.
“Well, okay then,” Jack said, “I’m going to go and get a drink. Would you like anything?”
“No, thank you,” I said. I was beginning to think that I’d had enough champagne — I was tipsy and confused over what had just happened. Or what had just not happened. “I’m fine. I guess I’ll go check up on Vanessa now.” I stumbled back to our table.
“I didn’t want to leave you here all by yourself,” I said to Vanessa as I sat down next to her.
“I wanted you to go. You looked like you were having fun out there. Were you?” Vanessa asked me.
“Was I what?” I asked, tearing apart a dinner roll and taking a sip of my water.
“Having fun with Jack out there?”
“I don’t know,” I quickly answered. “I probably would have had more fun sitting at the table by myself, like you were, but knowing that I had someone in my life, rather than just having someone to dance with at that moment.”
“Oh,” Vanessa said.
“You’re so lucky to be married. If I had married Douglas, none of this would have happened. Everything would be perfect. My life would be so much easier.”
“Just because you get married, it doesn’t mean that your life gets any easier, Brooke.”
“Easy for you to say,” I cried out, “you’ve been married for forever! You have no idea how hard it is to be single.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to be married,” she said quietly.
“Every wedding invitation is a torture test,” I persisted. “You’re either invited without a date and thus banished to the pathetic singles table, or you’re invited with a date and it’s a nightmare to find someone who will go with you. I should have just married Douglas.”
“He didn’t ask,” Vanessa said, looking to me.
“Then I should have married Trip. Or at the very least, tried coming out to L.A. with him.”
“Things with Trip weren’t perfect, though.”
“Then I should have married Danny, my high-school boyfriend. You don’t know him, so you can’t say anything nasty about him, can you?” I took a swig of champagne.
“You think that you would be happy if you had married Danny?” she asked, eyes still on me.
“Well, not even necessarily married to Danny, but just married in general. I should have just gotten married, period. If only I had gotten married already, my life would be so much easier.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” Vanessa said as she started to cry. “Would you excuse me for just one moment? I need to use the ladies’ room,” she said and bolted from her seat.
Dumbfounded, I followed her into the ladies’ room, struck by the irony that we were at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding, yet somehow, Vanessa was the one who was crying. I burst inside and she was nowhere to be found. Remembering how I used to hide out in the bathroom to avoid the mean girls one very long summer at sleep-away camp, I began checking the stalls. When I came upon the one that had six-hundred-fifty-dollar gold Manolo Blahnik strappy stilettos peeking out of the bottom, I knocked on the door.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“No,” I replied.
“Please, Brooke,” she said, “I want to be alone.”
“I think that being alone might just be your problem,” I said and gave the door a gentle push. “What happened just now?”
“What are you doing?” she said from inside.
“I figure if you’re not coming out, I’m coming in.”
“Back away from the door, Brooke,” she said.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting right here.”
A minute or two later, she walked out of the stall, feet dragging as if they carried the weight of the world on them. I had never seen Vanessa break down like that before in the entire eight years that I’d known her. She was always the strong one, the tough one, but here she was, all dressed up in her dressiest black-tie dress, with big fat tears falling down her perfectly made-up cheeks.
“Vanessa,” I said, gathering her to me for a hug. She pulled away and I watched her as she went to sit in front of the dressing-room mirror.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, carefully dabbing away a tear from the side of her eye. I sat down on one of the other chairs in front of the mirror. She continued to cry as she fixed her makeup even though her face remained strangely composed. She dabbed at each one before it fell down her cheeks. I didn’t know what to say. Seeing her cry like that, pretending that she wasn’t, was making me want to cry myself.
“Honey, what is it?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Vanessa,” I said, handing her a tissue.
“I just get very emotional at weddings is all,” she said, taking out her engraved Tiffany & Co. compact and powdering her nose.
“Emotional is using a handkerchief to dab your tears of joy. You’re about halfway into a box of Kleenex.”
“Is it that bad?” Vanessa asked, checking her reflection in the mirror.
“Kind of, but you could never really look bad. So what is it?” I asked.
“No, this is your thing, Brooke. Your night. I’m totally fine,” she said.
“Actually, it’s Ava’s night, not mine. And you’re my best friend, so even it was my very own wedding, I’d still want you to tell me what was wrong,” I said.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really. You’re my best friend in the world. You know that. You can tell me anything,” I said, handing her another tissue.
“Marcus isn’t really working this weekend,” she said.
“He’s not?”
“He’s not. I’ve asked Marcus for a trial separation,” she said softly, looking down intently at her tissue. It was covered in her perfectly applied mascara.
“What?” I said. I couldn’t believe my ears. Vanessa and Marcus were supposed to
be the perfect couple. The beautiful lawyer and the handsome doctor living happily ever after. I grabbed a monogrammed guest towel off the counter and started tearing it in halves.
“It’s been a long time coming,” she said. “About a year ago, he had an affair and we just haven’t recovered from it.”
“I had no idea,” I said, and was stunned that I hadn’t. I can barely keep a particularly bad order of chicken parmesan to myself much less something that would affect my whole life like the breakup of my marriage. “I’m so sorry.”
“I haven’t recovered from it, I should say.” Leave it to Vanessa to think of a detailed analysis on why she was still upset that her husband had cheated on her.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, handing her another tissue. It felt as if that were the only thing I could say. “I can’t believe you were holding all of this inside.”
“It’s not exactly the type of thing that I want to talk about. I thought that everything was fine,” she said and started to cry again. She had her head down and her shoulders were shaking. I leaned over and gave her a hug. Not one of those hugs that women give each other when they sort of grip each other’s shoulders and delicately pat each other on the back. I gave her a real hug. One of those big bear hugs where you hold on so tight that you can barely breathe. I grabbed her and pressed her to me and didn’t let her go. I could feel her entire body heaving and I could practically hear her heart beating. I didn’t want to let her go until I could figure out how to make it all better for her.
“It’s okay,” I whispered into the back of her head. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you. Anything you need. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. Or, if you just want to cry, we’ll cry. You know how good I am at crying.”
Vanessa broke away and started to laugh. “How about this — we focus on me now and we cry about how your life is falling apart over dessert.”
“Deal,” I said.
“Actually, that’s why I thought it would be a good idea to come here. Just put a little space between us and see what happens.”
“And?” I asked. I noticed that she had barely called Marcus, but at the time I thought it was just because he was on call.
“I’m more confused than ever,” she said.
I nodded.
“Do you think that you’d be able to forgive someone?” she asked me, and I honestly didn’t know. I told her so. “Well, if given the chance, would you have forgiven Douglas?” she asked.
“Probably,” I said. “But then I bet he would have done it to me again. In hindsight, I think that that’s just the sort of guy that he is, you know?”
Vanessa nodded back to me, but I could tell that she didn’t know. Of course Vanessa didn’t know. She would never be stupid enough to be with someone for that long who wasn’t a stand-up guy. To be with someone who you knew would do you wrong, but to be insecure enough to wait until it happened. To think that that’s what you deserve, that you can’t do any better, and then to not even have the luxury of being shocked when it does happen to you.
“Let’s just put it this way,” I explained to her, “when Douglas told me about it, I was angry, upset, and everything else you could imagine. But I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t surprised that he’d done it. And there’s something wrong with that.”
And there was. Only I was just realizing it now. “With Marcus,” I continued, “I’m pretty shocked. It just seems so out of character for him. Like a response to something, as opposed to a regular behavior. Like a little kid acting out almost. Not like I’m making excuses, though.”
“I know, I know you’re not. And I kind of agree,” she said. “That’s what makes it so hard. I feel like I can’t turn my back on him, but I’m just so hurt. It’s just so hard to get past. And the fact of the matter is that I can’t decide whether I want to get past it or not. So, that’s where I’m at. Don’t tell Jack, okay?”
“Not a problem. Where is Jack?”
“Jack? I thought that your boyfriend’s name was Douglas?” Ava said, looking decidedly unbridal, emerging from one of the bathroom stalls. She was pulling her dress back down with one hand, while balancing a martini glass and a cigarette in the other. She stumbled a bit on the way out in a way that made me think that this was not her first drink of the night. Nothing says class like a bride with a drink and a cigarette. Classy with a capital K. The only thing that would have looked better would have been if she were holding a beer bottle instead of the martini.
“It is! It is,” I assured her. “I just sometimes like to call him Jack.”
“Oh,” she said, apparently unfazed. Or too drunk to actually be fazed. “Well, Vanessa, I’m so sorry that your husband wasn’t able to make it.”
Vanessa didn’t say a word, apparently trying to decide whether or not Ava had heard our conversation. I couldn’t tell, either, but I could smell the alcohol on Ava’s breath from where I was standing.
“There you are!” a tiny little blond girl in a nondescript black strapless cocktail dress cried out, rushing into the powder room. She began alternately puffing up and then patting down Ava’s dress, and then did the same with Ava’s hair. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she said, laughing nervously in our direction. “These brides, I tell you,” she said, still with the nervous laughter, “you take your eye off of them for one little teensy tiny minute and look at what happens!” She was trying so hard to act as if all this was normal that it reminded me of the summer that my parents almost got divorced. The more my mother manically assured me that everything was okay, the more I got the feeling that I’d be spending weekends with Dad and weekdays with Mom.
Ava broke from the blonde’s grasp and took a long drag from her cigarette, like a heroin addict getting her fix. The ashes were coming dangerously close to her gown. The tiny blonde held her hands out to catch them.
“Oh, my God,” the blonde said in a panic, “Bev is going to kill me!” Beverly Lawrence — the name explained it all. I actually began to feel sorry for this little lackey of hers. Beverly Lawrence was the ultimate Hollywood public relations power player. She was as famous as her A-list clients in her own right. She even taught a class on it at UCLA. Beverly’s reputation for being tough on her minions was the stuff of urban legends. Rumor has it that the last assistant who let her down couldn’t even get a job selling (gasp!) retail once Beverly was done spreading the word about her in New York.
“Ava’s really shy and gets panic attacks from too many people,” the blonde said. “Please don’t tell anyone that you saw this. It would really hurt her image with the kids,” she said, with her eyes pleading and her arms lifting Ava up.
“Our lips are sealed,” I said as the blonde began to spray Evian water on Ava’s face. It seemed to do the trick because Ava was able to walk out of the ladies’ room almost completely on her own.
“Alas,” Vanessa said as they left, turning to me, “the emperor is wearing no clothes.”
“She’s an emp-ress,” I corrected, reapplying the lipstick Damian had given me.
“No, I’m talking about the children’s story, The Emperor’s New Clothes.”
“You know, I never really understood that story. What kind of story are they telling to kids that ends with some pedophile running around town naked?”
“I think that you’re missing the point of the story, Brooke.”
21
Maybe Vanessa is right. Maybe nothing is perfect. Maybe nothing is what it seems. Relationships certainly aren’t perfect. They’re never even close.
Douglas wasn’t perfect. Everything had to be his way or the highway, and even that wasn’t good enough for him in the end. So, why was I still chasing him? Why was I spending all this time trying to get him back?
Trip certainly wasn’t perfect. He had been so busy constantly trying to outdo me that he never really took the time to get to know me.
And Danny’s idea of a fun night at home was torturing small animals. Not to mention the major mother issues goin
g on there that it still hurts my brain to think about.
So, then, I suppose marriage can’t be perfect. I mean, marriage is just one big relationship, so how can it possibly be perfect?
Jack grabbed my hand and took me out onto the dance floor the second I got back to the table. We danced and he was dangerously close. I could smell his aftershave and felt it go down my spine. I didn’t pull away. The band played an old song that I didn’t know and Jack sang along to it in my ear. My arms wrapped around him, I turned my faux engagement ring around my finger.
This time, I was determined not to spoil the mood. I just took it all in. The couples danced around the dance floor like tiny little tops, perfectly aligned, spinning around but never bumping into one another. The men, all dapper in black tuxedos and white dinner jackets, the women, splashes of vibrant color in reds and pinks and yellows and golds. As we spun around, the sweet smell of the lilies and roses hit me.
The moment was perfect. Maybe Jack was a little perfect, too.
“I’m having such a good time with you,” I whispered into his ear.
“So, does that mean that I’m doing a good job trying to be more good-looking?”
“Wow,” I said, taken aback. “How long have you been waiting to throw that one back in my face?”
“A long time,” he said with a smirk.
“Yeah?” I said, trying to sound sexy.
“Yeah, most of the reception, I’d say,” he said, pinching my waist. I giggled like a little girl. “And, don’t think that it was easy to work that into conversation.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I said. “I happen to think that you are very good-looking.”
“Is this the part where you say ‘in a platonic way?’” he asked and my mouth fell to the floor. “That one I’ve been waiting to use since Barneys,” he said. I laughed. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s just that I’m not really accustomed to a man listening all that closely to anything that I say,” I said, looking out onto the dance floor.
“I listen to everything that you say,” he said, turning my face to his with his finger, suddenly very close to me again.
Scot on the Rocks bm-1 Page 17
