“I should have known better,” she said. “I’m just going to take it all off and improvise. Can I use your makeup? I don’t have mine with me.”
Scarlett silently passed the bag over from her dresser.
“How are you?” Lola asked, working at her cheek in slow, careful circles.
Scarlett shrugged.
“Your phone was ringing while you were in the shower.”
Scarlett picked it up and read the display. One new call. She had removed Eric’s name from her contact list, but she still knew the number as soon as she saw it. One voice mail. She turned away from Lola as she listened.
“Hey…” Eric began. “It’s me. I was just wondering if we could talk, so if you get this, could you give me a call back?”
Scarlett almost laughed. So this was when he had chosen to call and tell her the news about Chelsea. The timing was impeccable. She shoved the phone under her covers and watched Lola get into her dress. For herself, Lola had chosen a cream-colored gown with a deep V-neck, with very fine light blue detailing. It draped her frame and brushed the floor in a kind of Greek-goddess way. It looked like a wedding dress. Now Scarlett had seen it. Now the truth was in front of her.
“Come on,” Lola said. “Let me help you.”
Scarlett allowed herself to be dressed, allowed Lola to fuss with her hair and makeup.
“Look,” Lola said, her eyes glistening. “Just look at yourself.”
She turned Scarlett to their slightly warped, silvering mirror. The blue had been so carefully picked for her—it made her hair look golden. And she had curves in this dress that she didn’t seem to have in her other clothes. The material hugged them. In this moment, with the dust-filled light coming in through the window, on what was otherwise the strangest and emptiest of afternoons, she felt good. She wished Eric could see her now. He would be sorry.
“We should get going,” Lola said.
Scarlett reached for the silver purse. She didn’t know what to put in it. She didn’t need money or keys. She shoved in a lipstick and reached for her phone, then stopped. She left it on her bed. Its services would not be required.
A stretch limo had been sent for the six Martins.
“Tacky,” Spencer said as it pulled up. The suit Lola had chosen for him was a perfect fit. Lola really did have the eye for these things.
“Says the TV star,” his dad replied.
“Hey, I like tacky,” he replied. “I’m just surprised they sent something like this. Guess this was the only thing big enough to fit Lola’s hillbilly family.”
“They could have sent a van,” Scarlett said. “Or a little bus.”
The ride was short, less than five minutes. The building was right over by Rockefeller Center, and almost as tall and equally as imposing. In the lobby, they were greeted by a line of extremely cranky-looking people in front of a roped-off section of elevators, shaking guests down for their coats and checking them off a list. Scarlett vaguely recognized a few of the people being checked in. They were all dressed a bit like Chip…well, except for the girls. But you could practically see the price tags.
Lola stepped ahead to lead the Martin party. With a word from her, the velvet rope was moved aside and they were allowed into the private elevator bank where Chip’s friends still stood waiting. The elevator attendant ushered Lola, Scarlett, and Spencer in, but there wasn’t quite enough room for anyone else.
“We’ll take the next one,” her dad said. “You go up first.”
The doors closed, and a soothing but overly loud recorded voice welcomed them to the elevator ride up to Point Manhattan. The main light in the elevator went dim, and greenish light came on overhead. Scarlett looked up to see that the ceiling of the elevator was entirely made of glass, so they could watch as they shot up the endless, dark channel into the air, cables and floors flying past. The voice continued to tell them about all of the wonderful things they would be able to see when they reached the top. Scarlett looked into the pinstripes of Spencer’s jacket and concentrated on not being sick. This was a little too much elevator for her, even though it was probably safer than the one they had at home.
“Hey, Lola…” someone said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “Nice dress.”
“Thanks, Boonz,” Lola replied coolly.
Boonz, Lola’s archenemy, was somewhere in this elevator with them. Scarlett wanted to look for her, but that would require turning away from her study of the jacket fabric.
“Can’t believe you guys actually got married,” Boonz went on.
“Well, believe it,” Lola replied.
One of the guys started to snicker. Why, Scarlett had no idea. She saw Spencer turn to look to see what was going on behind him. It messed up her calming view.
“Hey,” another girl said, her voice thick with sarcasm, “aren’t you the guy from…”
“Yes,” Spencer said flatly.
“Married,” Boonz said again. “I’m going to have to get you guys a really nice present.”
“Just having you here is enough,” Lola said sweetly.
“Oh, I know. And I guess you won’t need anything now, right? You’re set.”
It was a good thing that the elevator slowed and jerked to a soft halt at that moment, giving Scarlett the quick dizzy spell that reminded her that they were dangling from a cable hundreds and hundreds of feet above the ground. She wanted to get off as quickly as possible, but she was behind Lola, who was moving at a dignified, leisurely pace. Lola stepped off to the side to make some adjustment to her dress, and Boonz and her party drifted past, barely containing their laughter.
“I’m going to take a wild guess,” Spencer said in a low voice. “I’m going to say those are Chip’s friends.”
Scarlett was clinging to his sleeve for balance as her head caught up with her altitude.
“It could have been worse,” she managed to reply. “Lola could have married one of them.”
Lola finished her imaginary alterations and pasted a serene smile on her face.
“Let’s just wait for Mom, Dad, and Marlene,” she said. Scarlett could tell that she was nervous, that the encounter on the elevator had rattled her a bit, but she was doing everything she could to hide the fact.
One of the other elevator doors opened a moment later, and Marlene and Scarlett’s parents were deposited. All six Martins made their way down the hall. In front of them, there was a wall made entirely of crystal, illuminated by the rosy glow of untold numbers of candles just beyond it. The room it guarded stretched out and around the building, so its size couldn’t really be determined except to say that it was Very Large. There were dozens and dozens of tables topped with what looked like thousands of candles and creamy white flowers. The windows were floor to ceiling, with views directly out to the tops of other skyscrapers. On one side, there was a glass wall that led to a rooftop garden…but not like the one Naked Rooftop Lady had next door to their house. This was a mini Versailles-worthy affair. Next to that, there was a stage where a swing band was poised and ready to play, and a massive dance floor. An army of waiters and waitresses buzzed around with pastel-colored cocktails and ornate snacks that Scarlett couldn’t even identify. Only a handful of people had arrived.
“Lola!”
A couple approached them. Even though she had never met the Sutcliffes before, Scarlett could have easily picked them out of a lineup. Mrs. Sutcliffe had smoky-brown hair cut into a severe midlength bob and a surprisingly friendly face, even though her skin didn’t look like it quite fit her skull. It was like a too-small piece was stretched over her features and maybe attached by a piece of elastic in the back. She wore a beautifully cut, very simple black dress and a large necklace of white beads, each one the size of a gum ball. Mr. Sutcliffe was a bit of a silver fox in a gray suit with deeply tan skin that looked as hard as shoe leather. Neither of them actually looked at all like Chip.
“My goodness, you are stunning!” Mrs. Sutcliffe said, examining her new daughter-in-law like she was loo
king over a horse she was considering buying. If you were just looking for good genes and someone to take to parties, you could do far worse than Lola, and her expression reflected that. Also, her voice was deep. If Scarlett had heard her over the phone, she would have mistaken her for a man. A man with a beard.
“Chip is in the smoking lounge waiting for you so you can make your entrance,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. He also sounded manly. And a little drunk. Not a lot drunk, but a slow, easy, expensive whiskey or two drunk. He probably wasn’t. He was just so rich that Scarlett expected he always sounded like that. He offered Lola an arm, and she was taken away.
“Come see the cake,” Mrs. Sutcliffe said in her manly way.
In the middle of the room, right on the edge of the dance floor, was what appeared to be a large model boat. It was long and black, perfect in every detail, right down to the life preservers. And it was deeply, repulsively ugly.
Spencer ran his tongue over his teeth, but made no comment.
“It’s a boat,” Scarlett’s mom said. “How unique.”
“Yes. It’s our boat. We know how much it means to them.”
Scarlett’s parents no doubt recognized the boat. They quickly clasped their hands together for support. They were always doing lovey-dovey things like that. It was usually gross, but today it spoke of frustration.
“Your table is right over here,” Mrs. Sutcliffe added, guiding them to a table that couldn’t really be defined as central. It was sort of off in the corner, near the sushi station. They were deposited there and left alone. They watched as more suited and stiffly dressed people drifted in and right over to the Sutcliffes.
“Everyone here is old,” Marlene said.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Amberson appeared in a stunning floor-length gold dress and sashayed over to them. Scarlett’s mom made a polite, approving remark about it. It was nice to have another member of their tiny team.
“Do you like it?” she said, smoothing her hands over her hips. “I wasn’t sure if it made me look like an Oscar, but Billy said it was divine, and he doesn’t offer compliments lightly. It’s important to have a few truly honest friends, not just ones who tell you what you want to hear. Oh, speaking of friends…O’Hara, I found one of your friends downstairs being hassled by the staff about an invitation. I brought him up with me.”
“One of my…?”
He was walking across the room with the same expression he wore every day in Bio. He hadn’t attempted to tame his wavy curls, and they floated around his head with a kind of rock-star-halo effect. Max. In a suit and poorly tied tie and sneakers. He strode right up to the Martin table.
“Here I am,” he said, stating the obvious.
Scarlett couldn’t blurt out “Why are you here?” in front of everyone, so she just attempted to smile. Max, however, was prepared to do the explaining.
“She invited me after detention yesterday,” he added.
What? What? She’d done no such thing. She’d sort of made a friendly joke as she was leaving. A sort of friendly joke is not an actual invitation to an actual wedding party.
On the word detention, all the other Martins gave her a look. But since Lola had trumped them all for surprises, the matter was let go, to be discussed at some future point.
“Are you going to introduce us?” Scarlett’s mom asked.
“This is Max,” she said. “Max Biggs.”
“That girl’s brother?” Spencer asked. “The other client…”
“Chelsea.” Mrs. Amberson stepped in. “Yes, indeed.”
“Marlene,” her dad said, “move over so Max can sit next to Scarlett.”
Normally, Marlene would have balked at a request like that, but Max fascinated her, showing up out of nowhere with tales of Scarlett in detention. Sensing a kindred spirit, she quickly shuffled over and fixed an unblinking gaze on him. A quick round of introductions was made.
“So,” her mom began, “you go to school with Scarlett?”
“I’m her lab partner,” Max said, taking the napkin from his place and dropping it on his lap. “We do science together.”
“What were you in detention for?” Marlene asked. “Cheating?”
“No,” Max said. “Physical violence.”
Mrs. Amberson laughed. Spencer gave Max a quick sideways examination, and looked uneasy with his findings.
“You’re going to explain that later, right?” Scarlett’s mom asked, trying to remain calm. Her nerves were already so tattered.
“I can explain it now,” Max said, leaning back to make way for the appetizer, which the waiter said was some kind of salad with “ash-rolled” goat cheese. “She knocked me off my chair.”
“Shut up,” Marlene said.
Scarlett’s dad put a hand over his forehead. It sort of looked like he was trying to wipe his eyebrows off.
“It was an accident,” Scarlett said.
“Yeah,” Max said, grabbing his fork and tucking in. “It was. But it was really loud, so we both got detention.”
Once again, he was letting her off the hook. Her parents seemed to believe this, or at least pretended to…but Spencer and Marlene clearly did not. They were all capable of knocking people over. They knew their own blood.
“I understand from your mother that you’re also in the performing arts?” Mrs. Amberson said. “You’re a musician?”
“Nope,” he said plainly, eating away.
And that was it from Max for a while. Mrs. Amberson took the cue to start talking and never stop.
There was a dinner of seven perfect, tiny courses, with lots of glass-switching and wine-pairing and utensil-updating. The food was intimidating: roasted pigeon with braised lettuce, halibut with poached quail eggs, baffling combinations of violet artichokes and lardons and foie gras and pickled shallots…every dish containing a velouté, confit, or foam of some kind or other. Two dedicated servers hovered around them, moving things whenever Scarlett least expected it. It almost seemed like their entire function was to confuse, making the diners doubt their every move and keep them on edge. The band droned on in the background, running through low-key standards and old Sinatra songs.
“This sucks,” Marlene said.
“Language,” her mom said, halfheartedly.
Under the table, Max’s leg casually bumped Scarlett’s. It looked like an accident, something he just did while he was shifting, but Scarlett felt it was intentional. Especially when it happened a second time. Had he come just to exact revenge for the stool-tipping by starting a leg war with her at Lola’s party? Because she would win that. She slipped a fork under the table in her napkin and had it ready for the next time he moved. Max showed no signs of the impact in his expression, but from the way he pulled back quickly, she knew she had gotten him well. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to get the message.
Spencer picked up on the fact that something strange was going on and gave her a “What are you doing?” look. She just shook her head.
The band started to slip into a faster dancing mood by playing a weird swing version of “Cabaret.”
“Actually,” Mrs. Amberson was saying, “this reminds me of one night at Studio 54. Liza Minnelli had just taken off her…”
The Martins were a lonely little island in a sea of strangers. They were guests at this party, surrounded by socialites, bankers, politicians…all important people who had things to say to one another. Across the room, in full view of everyone, Chip and Lola sat at a table of their own. Chip’s friends kept coming over to talk. Lola stared over the room, landing most of her looks on her family’s table, catching Scarlett’s eye and trying to smile.
“…and I said that yes, I was pretty sure we could get the horse in there. Not in the bathroom stalls, but certainly over by the sinks and…”
The waiters came over to threaten them one last time with oversize pineapple ravioli with mint au jus. The band changed gears, signaling that the time for dancing had begun. Scarlett saw one of the servers grab another by the sleeve, point
at Spencer, and whisper. There was quiet talk, nodding, surreptitious glances.
“You’ve got fans,” Max said to Spencer in a low voice, while prodding his ravioli with a fork.
Spencer looked over. The servers looked panicked, then busied themselves with stacking some plates on a tray.
“It’s not just them,” Max went on. “Those people behind you have been staring at you the whole time and taking pictures of the back of your head with their phones. Price of fame, huh?”
“I have to go…somewhere,” Spencer said, getting up. People must have been talking about the fact that David Frieze had been sitting in their midst, because Scarlett saw many heads turn as Spencer passed through the room and out into the lobby.
“Sorry,” Max said when he was gone.
“Not your fault,” Scarlett’s mom said.
“I think I know that man over there,” Mrs. Amberson said, pointing to some random older guy in a suit, one of many random older guys in suits. “It’s going to bother me if I don’t find out from where. Excuse me.”
The Sutcliffes came over as they began their post-dinner circuit of the room and asked Scarlett’s parents to accompany them.
“You guys all right here for a minute?” Scarlett’s dad asked.
“Sure,” Scarlett said, speaking as the remaining senior Martin child.
“It totally wasn’t an accident,” Marlene said when they were gone. “When she hit you, right?”
“No,” Max admitted, sitting back in his chair like he owned the place. “She knocked me down.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“He’s lying,” Scarlett said.
“I had cancer,” Marlene said.
“What kind?”
“Leukemia.”
“Still have it?” he replied.
“No,” she said, playing with her mint leaves. “Were you lying about the thing about performing, too?”
“Yep,” Max said.
“Do you guys want some privacy?” Scarlett asked. This was mostly to Max, and was intended as a slight, but Marlene nodded.
Scarlett Fever Page 12
