by Hope Lyda
I turned around from the mirror to take in the full view of Hudson after his exhilarating shower and without the ridiculous blond acrylic hair. His dark, wet hair draped over his forehead in a very unkempt, attractive way. He wore a black V-neck sweater and dark, loose-fitting jeans. He didn’t look like a rock star—he looked like a model.
“What are we going to do with you looking like this?” I waved my hands up and down.
He looked down at his clothes a bit remiss. “I thought I was dressing up to escort a kind, pretty lady to her birthday dinner.” He said this without coming across like a complete liar. “Should I change?”
I felt my face flush. “No, you look great. Really great. But you also look like Jude. We can’t go back to the straw hair…”
“But the hat could work, ma’am.” Hudson tried out an accent. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good, either.
“Don’t try to fake the accent. Let’s say you were born elsewhere and relocated to Texas in middle school.”
He dipped the hat lower to cover his forehead and the famous thick eyebrows that set off his brilliant eyes. “So just the hat and the sheep story?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping that we could both pull this off long enough for Cecilia to return with a plan and for everything to get back on track.
Twenty-Five
The singer Sade’s smooth and seductive voice filled the narrow hallway outside Ariel’s apartment. I rang the doorbell and racked my brain to consider any last-minute instructions for Hudson. His time around Pan was my main concern. With her documentary project in the works, music and musicians would be on her mind.
We waited and waited. Finally the door opened. Ferris stepped out of our way and ushered us in with the wave of his hand. He wore a false greeter’s grin on his flushed and sweaty face. Either he had just left a heated argument or a one-on-one basketball tournament. I looked him in the eyes, but he would tell me nothing.
“Ferris, this is Hudson. He’s my cousin from Texas…which explains the hat.”
“Though originally from Illinois. Me, not the hat,” Hudson added. We sounded sadly rehearsed, but Ferris seemed unfazed by my guest’s presence.
“Where’s Ariel?” I asked.
“Freshening up, I guess.” Our greeter mumbled his ambivalent response.
“Well, cousin Hudson, I’ll leave you in Ferris’ care while I go search for the newly freshened Ariel. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“Drinks are over this way.” Ferris pointed to his right at the small dining room where a makeshift bar was formed out of a bookshelf topped with a large rectangular mirror. It was loaded with an ice bucket, sodas, mineral water, champagne, and Oliver’s favorite Irish beer. As Ferris turned toward the beverages, I gave Hudson a look of concern. The guy is out of a detox center for a day, and I’m parading alcohol in front of him. This wasn’t good. Hudson leaned in as far as his hat would allow him and whispered, “Don’t worry. Those sodas have my name on them.”
Loud enough for Ferris to hear, I added, “Hudson, remember you promised to be my fellow Coke drinker tonight.”
“I did indeed. Got any lime, Ferris?” Hudson followed my friend. My friend and now Ariel’s…what? Psychic buddy? Boyfriend?
“Libby?” Ariel’s faltering voice emanated from her bedroom down the hall.
“Coming,” I answered. My mind went straight to a prayer for Ariel and for our friendship. Let me be a friend she can confide in. Help us be honest with one another.
I ventured into the living room, where the gentle glow of candlelight cast cartoonlike shadows of the furniture against the pale yellow walls. Lit tapers and votives were placed on the mantel, side tables, and bookshelves. Mirrors recast the glow to more mirrors. Tea lights in small, translucent purple bags lined the perimeter of the room and continued into the hallway.
“Beautiful,” I sighed. “Ariel?”
“Hey, birthday girl!” Ariel cheered from the bathroom. I sensed an undercurrent of unhappiness in her voice. Her throat always got raspy when she cried. I knew this well from years of phone call recaps following many bad dates. Ariel opened the door slowly and turned off the light quickly. Even as she did this, I saw her red nose and her eyes. The girl with the creamiest skin tone was also the biggest blotcher.
“Ariel, what is it?” I grabbed the hem of her shimmery maroon shirt as she tried to make her escape to the kitchen. She wouldn’t look at me. It did not take a genius to figure out what was going on. My best friend—the person who took me in like family when I moved here, the woman who talked me through my emotions when I signed my apartment lease—was hiding her relationship with Ferris from me. And the two had obviously had a quarrel.
Had they fought over whether to tell me?
We stood in the hallway, a cloud of silence covering us for several moments. My fingers nervously twisted the cross at my neck while her fingers, delicate and ringed, slipped into the back pockets of her cuffed jeans. Ariel finally looked at me and softly said, “This night is about you, Libby. I don’t want to…”
“Ariel, I hate that there is this big secret between us. You have your reasons for not talking to me about it, but enough is enough. You had to know that sooner or later the rest of the group would figure out that you and Ferris…”
“Some things are too personal, ya know? I’m sorry, Libby.” She turned yet another shade of pale and reached out to grab the blue-and-green striped wall behind her for stability, but she continued. “I thought you’d freak out. You and I agree on a lot of things, but let’s face it, you are strong in your values and worldview. I mean, other than dating Angus, you’ve stuck to a pretty straight road map for life.”
My heart leapt in my chest and I laughed nervously…not because Ariel was about to tell me the obvious truth, but because Ariel spoke a truth about me that I had not yet embraced. I was a person of faith. I had never confessed to standing outside the church every Sunday to her, yet she knew me this well.
She looked at me, baffled by my laughter.
“I’m surprised you see me that way,” I explained.
My friend’s face softened. “Honestly, it was out of respect that I kept quiet.”
It was too fast to sift through all the emotions, but now that we were on the edge of outing Ariel and Ferris as a subgroup, I felt much more comfortable about it. I didn’t see them as a couple, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good match.
“Ariel, I must admit that the first time my radar even picked up on your relationship, I was upset and felt left out and hurt. And I was more than a little afraid of losing you as my best friend.” I shrugged. “But you know how neurotic I can be.”
“Relationship?”
The sound of the doorbell rang out from a small speaker box above our heads. Ariel turned and walked toward the main room. I began to follow her when she stopped suddenly. My face was inches away from the back of her neck. Without turning to look at me, she whispered, “Relationship? There is no relationship and that is the problem.” With that confusing pronouncement, she continued on to greet Oliver and Pan, who were already being introduced to Hudson.
So Ariel liked Ferris but he did not like her? Is that what she was saying? Ferris would be lucky to be with Ariel. My protective nature kicked in.
Pan looked away as Ariel entered the dining area. Her line of vision seemed a bit fixated on Hudson. The reality of my situation returned to me. I would need to intervene before any of my secrets could be uncovered. I half-skipped over to Hudson’s side so that I could help play out our charade.
Oliver, who does not miss anything, gave me a stare. “That was a peppy trot.”
I was about to respond with a “ha, ha” when Hudson spoke. “She reminds me of the fillies in Texas.”
“Fillies in Texas?” Pan and Oliver responded in unison. They also shared a look of borderline mockery but were still in their polite social behavior mode, so the look didn’t turn into sarcastic commentary. Not yet, anyway.
“Hudso
n, my cousin, is from Texas. He’s just a farm boy.”
“Born and raised.” Hudson said, standing tall on his heels, looking proud of establishing the lie so early in the evening.
“You don’t have an accent,” Pan stated.
I waved my hand in a dismissive manner. “Hudson exaggerates. He was actually born in the Midwest and then moved to Texas as a teenager.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Hudson reinforced, returning to his humble, flat-footed position.
Pan was scrutinizing the two of us. I chewed the inside of my cheek nervously.
“Welcome, Hudson. I’m glad you could join us for Libby’s birthday night. I’m Ariel. Sorry that I didn’t greet you.” Ariel seemed more than ready to play the role of hostess for the stranger in the room.
Hudson extended his hand and the two shook slowly and several times. Ferris and I both cleared our throats, and Hudson dropped Ariel’s hand so quickly he actually flung it down.
“What takes you away from the farm?” Pan asked, slightly amused by the scene and, it seemed, slightly interested in Hudson.
“It’s my birthday!” I said and clapped my palms together in a prayer position. My effort at distraction was met by looks of disapproval from everyone except Hudson. His slight smile made me laugh. My friends all assumed the laugh was part of my self-celebratory mood.
Ariel patted me on the shoulder as though I were a slightly dangerous but mostly pathetic character. “Yes, Libby’s right. This is her birthday. I’ll go check on dinner.” She glanced at her watch. “Lasagna should be done soon.” She turned and headed to the kitchen. “Ferris, help me?”
“Lasagna!” Oliver clapped his hands together, mocking my move from seconds before. I couldn’t help but laugh. We all did except for Ferris, who followed Ariel with a look of determination on his face. Pan gave a parade princess wave in their direction and then shrugged in my direction. She pointed discreetly to the hallway.
I took the cue. “Can we get refills here? Pan and I need to talk about something important.”
While Pan and I added ice to our drinks, Oliver opened his ale and extended one to Hudson. “Secretive bunch. You get used to it. And after some time and counseling you can believe that they don’t go off and talk about what a daft loser you are.”
“Good thing I’ve just finished extensive, advanced counseling then. No thanks on the ale. That’s sort of a been there, done that thing for me.”
“Sorry, man. AA is sort of retro…back in style.”
Pan shook her head, still negating Oliver’s earlier comment. “We don’t really go and talk about one another. I just want to ask Libby for advice on my documentary submission for the Experience Music Project.”
Hudson raised his eyebrows with interest at Pan’s words.
“Hudson, Oliver is into photography. Maybe you can ask him about that,” I said, encouraging their interaction.
“And what are you into?” Oliver asked of Hudson as Pan and I walked away.
“Um…sheep,” I heard Hudson reply a bit apologetically.
“Sheep?”
I giggled as Pan and I disappeared to the little library Ariel had made out of a walk-in closet. Gold paint on the walls, deep red shelves loaded with great books, a border of mirrors between the walls and the ceiling for added light and a cozier feel, and two estate sale treasures—chaise lounge chairs facing each other. One a royal red and the other ochre yellow. I would never leave this room if I were Ariel.
“Don’t even,” Pan said before I sat down on the red one.
“What?”
“You two talked,” she accused more than stated as she plopped down on the yellow chair, exhausted.
“And?”
“I cannot believe that you of all people can back this choice.”
I sat back on the red chaise and stretched my legs out before me. My head rested against the velvet fabric. My thoughts sifted through images of Blaine for some reason. I blinked myself back to the present conversation. “Maybe my view of what love looks like has changed. Why would I be opposed to Ariel finding the one? I might be a tad cynical, as you are, but since when are we against love?”
“Love!” she bellowed. “What does love have to do with it?”
“Well, if Ferris can work through his issues, maybe love is where this will lead?”
I scanned the row of books just above my shoulder. Ariel’s alternative, contemporary taste in furniture and clothing did not translate into her choice of reading material. The first three rows were all Victorian romance novels. I reached for one with a peach-and-black spine and an elaborate script title: Tender May Desire.
“Neither of them uses the word love. It’s about convenience fear,” Pan insisted.
“Can I let you in on a little secret?” I leaned in toward Pan.
“What?”
“I don’t think they’re too sure about the relationship.”
“Relationship?”
“That’s exactly how Ariel said it.”
Pan pursed her lips for a moment, rolled her eyes to the top, sighed, and said, “Why do you think that?”
“I saw them head into an office for a psychic. I was a bit surprised. I don’t see Ferris agreeing to that sort of guidance. I’m kind of disappointed.”
“Where did you see them?”
“Down by the Nordstrom Rack. Rachel and I were on an extended break, and while Rachel spotted an interesting outfit in the display window, I saw them head to the psychic office.”
Pan laid flat on her back and stared at the ceiling. She closed her eyes for a moment. I thought I had bored her to sleep. Then her eyes flew open, but she stayed in the same physical position. I wanted to tell her she looked as though she were in a coffin, but thought better of it. She raised her knees to settle into the cushion of the chaise. Her hand went to her temple and her eyebrows scrunched together. She looked like Oscar the grouch, but I kept this to myself too.
“Green awning?”
My mouth dropped. Now she was psychic. “How…”
Pan turned on her side and looked me straight in the eye. “They weren’t there to see Viola Light, if that is what you think.”
“But I swear they went in.”
“I’m sure they did go into the other office housed there: Dr. Sheila Winters, MD. Fertility specialist. Pregnancy consultant.”
“Who?”
“CIA meetings are canceled until further notice.” Oliver’s voice bellowed down the hall as though he spoke through a megaphone. “It’s lasagna-for-Libby time.”
Pan sat up. I couldn’t move. She said, “I was just clarifying what you saw. Talk to Ariel.”
“But?” My unspecific question faded as really bad singing became louder.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Libby.”
Pan and I stood up simultaneously, nearly bumping knees, and walked the short distance to the closet door. Pan stepped behind me so that I could face the choir first.
Gathered in a cluster, clogging the hallway, were my very secretive friends and my secret rock star…all singing to me. It seemed that as the secrets shared space and oxygen, they somehow canceled one another out. This belief was short-term, but long enough for me to enjoy a moment of being celebrated by people I cared about.
“Hey, Hudson. You have a nice singing voice,” Pan said when they were finished.
“He sings to his sheep,” I joked and gave Hudson a stern look. He shrugged and smiled. I wondered if he even wanted to be kept undercover.
Twenty-Six
Friends seated around a table sharing a meal always feels more like family than family ever could. Usually. Tonight I sat with the same sense of emotional distance that family dinner had evoked. Did I know anyone here? My thoughts narrowed and went deep while candlelight flickered and my fork shoveled delicious lasagna to my otherwise closed mouth.
Words flitted about me. Topics changed as though someone with a well-timed sense of dialogue controlled the conversa
tion via a remote from a nearby corner. Pan and Ariel exchanged a few words about the food. Pan politely complimented Ariel’s garlic bread, and Ariel complimented Pan’s salad. And, like most exchanges this evening, talk went back to Hudson for one reason or another.
“Isn’t Feta from sheep, Hudson? Or goats? Isn’t it better for you than cow cheese? Does cheese raise cholesterol?” Ariel inquired, as though asking a panel of scientists.
“Cow cheese. That’s a lovely phrase,” Ferris muttered. I looked over at him and could see he was disturbed about Ariel’s interest in my guest.
“Oh my gosh!” Pan yelled suddenly. We all looked at our friend, who proceeded to slap her hand down on the table several times while her eyes darted back and forth as one does when scanning their mind for forgotten or repressed information.
“Stevie Wonder? We are playing celebrity charades, right?” Oliver joked.
We all groaned. Pan snapped her fingers and pointed to Hudson. “You…”
I stopped chewing and braced myself for Hudson’s outing and the dissolution of my career.
“You should meet my friend Max!” She looked around the table at all of us, waiting for affirmation. When she only received blank stares, she said, “That guy I featured in my alternative art documentary short a couple years ago. Remember? You remember,” she whined to jar our memories. “I came back to Washington to film the story. And then I made the huge decision to return to Seattle. Does anyone pay attention to my life?” She lead her pathetic life witnesses back to these significant facts.
“Ah, yes. Max,” Oliver spoke first. “You two dated, right? That didn’t last long.”
“Beside the point,” Pan said, blushing.
The name Max was familiar. An image emerged of a guy in black silk overalls with a coil of barbed wire for a necklace and a tattoo on his chin.
Hudson looked around at everyone and then at Pan with focused attention. “Why should we meet?”
“He’s an artist.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about art,” Hudson said with actual disappointment.
“Don’t worry,” Oliver commented. “Max doesn’t do real art.” With that snide remark he and Ferris both broke out in laughter.
