Eternity Skye

by Liz Newman

  At dinner, Darlene and Bobby Simon looked over the menu worriedly, while Tabitha dabbed her eyes with her napkin.

  “Are you all right?” Skye asked.

  “Just something in my eye.” She leaned closer to Skye and whispered furiously. “We can’t afford to eat here. I’m going to make an excuse and leave.”

  Darlene extracted a calculator from her purse as Bobby pointed at the menu and whispered to her as she tallied up the cost.

  “Mom,” Skye said as she rose and put her napkin on the table. “Tabby and I don’t care for the food here. Would anyone like to join us for some Chinese?”

  Bobby and Darlene Simon nearly tripped over themselves gathering their belongings. Carolyn’s lips pursed tightly. Her man friend remained a statue, seated and waiting for her command. “You’ve always liked the cuisine here,” Carolyn challenged. “Please, everyone, sit down. It will be my pleasure to pick up the check. In honor of my daughter.” She patted her jewel-encrusted evening clutch as if that settled everything.

  “There is more than one daughter to honor here.” The words blurted out of Bobby Simon’s mouth, and he looked around as if he sought to find who spoke them.

  “Of course,” Carolyn purred, her voice smooth. “Please, sit down.”

  Bobby’s level of gusto was exhausted for the evening with that one small statement, and moved to take a chair, but Darlene remained standing, clutching her fake leather shoulder bag. “Ms. Chase, much as we’d like to accept your hospitality, on this day, we prefer to be able to take our daughter out. And…much as we’d like to…we just can’t do it here.”

  “May I remind you that it will be very difficult to find an open table in the city tonight. Skye and I hoped you would join us. Always a pleasure to see you.” She opened her menu dismissively. “Have a good night,” she said as her eyes scanned the offerings.

  “We’re going, too,” Skye said. Carolyn stayed seated and didn’t move, except to put her elbow on the table, tapping a long red nail against her cheek as she gazed at her daughter.

  Tabitha interceded. “This whole thing is a mess. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?” She pulled Skye closer to her and whispered in her ear. “It’s not your fault.” When she pulled back her eyes filled with tears. Her shoulders stiffened as she followed her parents, and they weaved through waiters and stark white-clothed tables toward the exit.

  Skye shot her mother a look of reproach. “Darling,” said Carolyn, “it’s time you made friends with people of your class and stopped wasting time with the bourgeoisie. You have a career to focus on now. People of lower status will simply bring you down.” She flipped open a menu. “Let’s order dinner, shall we?” Stoker promptly ordered the most expensive item on the menu.

  “Mom, you don’t even know them. You don’t even want to try and get to know them.”

  “What’s there to know, besides that Darlene’s outfit is tacky and the father, what’s his name, has all the personality, and shape if I may, of an empty barrel. This is your night to celebrate, Skye. My night to honor you.” She placed her beautiful, slim white hand on Skye’s. “Please allow me to do so and think about what I said. Talent requires sacrifice, and spending time with low class people is another sacrifice you will have to make. You want to be a great journalist, don’t you?”

  Skye bristled as she ordered her entree, and every bite of it seemed to turn to ash in her throat as she thought of how Tabitha felt, at some seedy restaurant, without the company of her best friend.

  ***

  At the dry cleaner in Montreal, Skye watched the industrial conveyer belt churn in a circle at a twenty-four-hour shop a few miles away from the restaurant where Tabitha’s rehearsal dinner was being held. The woman behind the counter had jet black hair that hugged her face. She handed a bundle of shirts on hangers to a waiting customer, continuing her chatter with Skye. “Very stinky items you bring in,” she said. Her smile was wide. “Don’t worry, he will only take a few more minutes.” She gestured to man, presumably her husband, who ran a steam cleaning wand over the delicate satin pillbox hats.

  Glancing down at her watch, Skye imagined the rehearsal would be in its final stages, where the groom would be expected to kiss the bride. Tabitha and Nadine would both be standing near each other, with a space between them where Skye should have stood. From what Skye knew of Nadine, she would likely be giving Tabitha a look that said I told you so, and Tabitha would nod her head and silently simmer. Skye checked the time again, groaning. She hated being late but was notorious for showing up tardy for social functions. Perhaps that is why I avoided them all together, after a while.

  ***

  “A work thing!” Tabitha exclaimed as she met Skye at the door of the restaurant. “You missed the rehearsal. And you’re ditching the bridal luncheon for a work thing! Can you even imagine how embarrassed I was, without my maid of honor there! Give me a hug. You look a complete mess.” Her embrace crushed her so tightly Skye felt she intended to choke her.

  “I’m really sorry…” Skye began.

  “Stop!” Tabitha said loudly, her hand raised in front of Skye’s face. She chugged down a raspberry cosmopolitan. A look of serenity relaxed her grim facade as the alcohol took effect. “There’s nothing to say. I understand.”

  “How are you feeling?” Skye asked.

  Tabitha looked around and, seeing her rehearsal dinner guests occupied, shoved Skye into the ladies’ restroom. She threw her clutch on the marble vanity and extracted a lipstick and liner.

  “I’m painting a clown mask on, see?” She drew a thick, heavy line around her lips and filled it in with bright red color.

  Skye never felt the stirrings of sexuality while gazing at a woman, but Tabitha’s dazzling smile made anyone forget who and where they were, if only for a millisecond. When she styled her hair and applied her cosmetics, she reigned as a breathtaking beauty. Tabitha stretched her mouth into a wide grin.

  “Big smiles. All day and night. But I’m a freaking wreck!” Her grin disappeared into a grimace. “This entire process is unbearable. I mean, what the heck is all this for except for, some damn photographs that we’ll regret not having if we elope in Atlantic City?”

  “It’s a passage of life. I wish I was in your shoes. In love with someone accomplished, with nothing to do but celebrate. If I get laid off on Monday—”

  “What!” Tabitha screamed. “They’re canning you?” The hint of glee in her drunken voice rang out.

  “Probably not. I was trying to make you feel better.” The double implication was noticed. Tabitha’s eyes narrowed.

  “Oh,” said Tabitha as she returned to the mirror. “When we go back into the dining room you will have to get a load of Jonas’ mother. She’s wearing the peacock.” Skye laughed. “She really is. She’s wearing a peacock. With an eyeball and a beak and everything. Draped over her shoulder. I’m ready to call PETA.”

  “I’ve got a direct line to the Animal Avengers,” Skye said, thinking wistfully of Blaine. “Is Blaine coming?”

  “No. He’s working on a huge case in L.A. The Starke-Rosenberg trial.”

  “Impressive.”

  “He’s a friend of Jonas’, isn’t he? What did you expect?” Tabitha went on. “Ever since Jonas asked me to marry him, his mother gives me the evil eye. Maybe that’s the reason for the peacock. A surrogate to glare at me while she’s busy being fake to those Hollywood starlets Jonas’ friends brought as their dates. Trying to pimp one out to him before it’s too late, praying that he’ll fall in love with one of them at the last minute and get rid of me.”

  She dipped a brush in powder and ran it over her face. “Jonas won’t tell me anything, but I know there’s major friction between them. As the wedding’s gotten closer, his calls with her have become more and more brief. And when he hangs up the phone, he goes silent. I know she thinks I’m some low rent cooz who squeaked into an Ivy League school somehow.”

  Skye chose her words carefully. “Maybe she’s the quiet type. Introv
ert slash extrovert in public. Now that she’s used to you, maybe she doesn’t say much.”

  “She says a lot, just not to me,” Tabitha grumbled.

  “You’re marrying him, not his mom.”

  “Good point. I worry, though, that whatever he sees in me will fade, and he will see me as they all do.” She motioned toward the door. “Just a silly girl who lucked into a good marriage.”

  “He knows who you truly are,” Skye consoled. “That’s why he fell in love with you.” The words made Skye nervous, as if after living with Tabitha for over four years, she could confidently say that she knew the real Tabitha. Or the Tabitha of the undergraduate years. Diabolical. Angel and demon. Goddess and witch. Like all women were, only Tabitha never learned to temper her evil side. It surfaced quickly and without warning, like a great white shark lurking beneath the water.

  The heavy mahogany door pushed open and Nadine walked in with a group of starstruck bridesmaids. Tabitha launched into introductions, her anxiety pushed gracefully aside like a distasteful dessert.

  “This is Skye Evans, from the show. My dearest friend. Skye, this is my cousin Aurora and my cousin Barb, and Jackie from the writer’s club, and Karen…”

  The introductions went on and on until Skye had met all sixty guests, as they milled about a long table in a private room set up for the rehearsal dinner.

  “Since you’re dateless, you’re sitting next to him.” Tabitha pointed to a handsome looking fellow sitting at the crowded bar, conversing with a group of Hollywood types. “He’s a trust fund baby. Loaded. Overseas money.”

  Suddenly Tabitha squealed in Skye’s ear. “Zoe! You made it! Everyone, I want you to meet my dearest friend Zoe…”

  Skye’s ear rang as Tabitha pushed her aside and enveloped Zoe in her arms.

  Skye walked up to the bar and Jonas touched her arm, bringing her closer to him in a stiff yet warm embrace. “Hi, Skye. This is Rocco Carteris. Rocco, this is Skye Evans.”

  Rocco shook her hand with a firm grip. “What are you drinking?”

  “Sparkling water,” Skye said to the bartender. “So, what do you do?”

  “I run a record label,” Rocco said, clearly unenthused. “Knotty Boy records. Eleventh highest grossing label of all time. Excuse me for a moment.”

  He picked up his drink and left Skye sitting alone. He disappeared into the crowd, the top of his head barely visible from her vantage point.

  Waiters passed by balancing trays of cocktails over their heads and a five-piece band struck up the tune to a jazzy Gershwin melody. Darlene Simon, her hair done up in a gravity defying coiffure, approached Skye.

  “So glad to see you here,” Darlene said. “Tabitha misses you so much. I imagine you have quite a busy schedule, with that show of yours. Bobby and I watch it every night.” Darlene straightened the ruched pouf on the shoulder of her ostentatious evening dress.

  Jonas’ mother passed by and nodded at her, giving a tight smile to Darlene’s forehead. Darlene’s mammoth chest heaved upward in response. The jeweled eye of the peacock accessory draped over Mrs. Laurenti’s shoulder flashed at Skye. Tabitha walked out of earshot behind Mrs. Laurenti, and leaned toward Skye, softly baying, “Eee-yow, eee-yow,” like a donkey singing soprano. Despite the dull throbbing pain in her abdomen, Skye giggled.

  As the first course was served, Skye dialed Charlie’s number again in the hallway between the restrooms. His voicemail picked up.

  “I assume you’re on a plane,” said Skye. “You’ll need to do a lot to make this up to me.”

  She flipped her cell phone shut, opened a glass door to the private room and sat down at the table.

  Martini glasses filled with gigantic prawns were placed before each guest. Rocco leaned toward her, his jeweled rings flashing under the light of a crystal chandelier.

  “I signed my first band, Crazy Eights, when I was nineteen years old. Their first single hit the top one hundred in the first week of release. Made it up to number five in Billboard sales. Have you heard the song?”

  Skye shrugged her shoulders in half-hearted apology. “I’m not much of a pop culture fan.”

  “You’ve heard of El Dog, right?”

  Skye shook her head as Rocco rattled off a half dozen more bands. “All nominated for Grammys. You’ve got to get hip, girl. How did you and Jonas meet?” He sucked on a boiled shrimp tail.

  “At a club a few weeks ago.”

  “Must’ve made an impression since he invited you to his wedding,” Rocco joked. “Tell me, really, how you know him.”

  “Through Tabitha. We shared an apartment near Columbia University.”

  “Really? I never would’ve taken you for friends. She is…of a more penurious background. An interesting lady. I can tell already. To Tabitha.”

  “To Tabitha.” Their glasses clinked.

  “A tad histrionic, though. And how about you?” Rocco inquired.

  “How about me,” Skye said dryly.

  “Why alone at a wedding?”

  “Why are you alone?” Skye bristled with irritation.

  “I’m gay. I don’t flaunt it. My partner is six-foot-four and won’t go anywhere except in drag, so he’s not easily missed. She, I should say. Oh, he’d be so mad at me for that! Back to you.”

  “Stood up. So far.”

  “A woman who looks like she has it all. Now this is something I don’t hear of often enough.”

  “What’s with the misogyny?”

  “I’m gay, remember? I thought we cleared that up already.”

  A handsome man sitting to the left of Jonas tapped lightly on a crystal glass with his fork. “Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who don’t know me or cannot remember my name as I cannot remember yours, even though I just met you—these extraordinary cocktails are to blame…”

  The guests laughed heartily.

  “My name is Caldwell Fisher. Karen and I are so honored to be here, amongst the presence of Jonas’ family and dearest friends. I’ve known Jonas since elementary school, and when he went on to study at Harvard and I at Brown we never lost touch. Many of you are aware of Jonas’ success as a writer and producer of some of our decade’s finest works in literature and film, so it is no surprise to you that he has also been just as successful in finding a very beautiful and charming woman to spend the rest of his life with. When he first told me he was marrying Tabitha Simon, the first thought that ran through my mind was ‘Who is she?’ The second thought that ran through my mind was ‘she is the woman who will make my best friend happy for the rest of his life. I didn’t need to know anything else about her from that point on…”

  Caldwell went on about his days growing up with Jonas as childhood friends, as they attended high school dances and double dates and got into trouble together. Skye leaned in toward Rocco.

  “I didn’t prepare a toast,” she whispered in panic.

  “You’re a television journalist. Make something up,” he whispered back.

  “She called me three months ago asking me to be in her wedding.”

  “You’re a lousy friend,” he said in a hushed tone.

  Skye wiped cocktail sauce from her lips and threw her napkin in his lap. He shoved it onto the floor stealthily.

  “Since you hate me anyway, you might as well know I’ve barely seen her in four years,” Skye whispered. “Last I knew she was a hapless drunk boning a different guy every night while I worked my ass off. Now she’s going to sit on her duff the rest of her life while he feeds her caviar, and I’m going to be a damn spinster reading the news until I fall headfirst into a cup of coffee!”

  “Women are so catty. Flaky,” Rocco whispered back. “Crappy friend.”

  “I present a woman never at loss for words, as most of you have viewed her on her award-winning show. Another beautiful accomplished person in this room of renowned and accomplished guests, with special talents all her own.” Caldwell went on. “Tabitha’s best friend and Maid of Honor, Skye Evans.”

  The entire table
applauded as Rocco watched her with his elbow crooked on the table and his head resting on his hand. “Good luck.” He smirked.

  Skye stood up and raised her glass. “To Tabitha and Jonas!” The guests toasted, and then looked over at Skye to find her sitting down and gasping.

  “Excuse me.” She threw open the glass door and lurched out.

  The waiters clumsily moved into action and set down the entrees.

  In the ladies’ room, Skye lay down on a plush sitting bench with high curved sides as Darlene Simon and Nadine walked in.

  Nadine lit into her. “She chose you. I don’t know why, but she chose you as her maid of honor. And you let her down. Like you always do. If you can’t be there for her tomorrow, do her the favor…no, the justice, of letting her know now. I’ll be happy to take your place.”

  “I’ll be there for her,” Skye gasped. “I just can’t… I can’t breathe.”

  Nadine glared at her, flouncing out of the lounge. Darlene lay Skye’s head on her lap. “You poor, poor dear.” She reached into her purse. “I’ve got some prescription strength ibuprofen. Here, take two. You’ll be fine, honey. Just fine.” She stroked Skye’s hair. “Maybe you should stop by the emergency room. Bobby and I’ll drive ya.”

  Skye washed the pills down with some ice water. The minutes passed, the medicine took effect and the intense pain slowly subsided. “The emergency room will be packed with kids needing stitches, broken arms, bullet wounds,” Skye said. “I’m feeling much better now. The terrorists are going to target hospitals next. Smallpox, anthrax, toxic gas through the ventilation systems.”

  Darlene draped Skye’s arm over her shoulders as they walked from the ladies’ room to the maître d’s podium.

  “Call her a cab.” To Skye she said, “Go back to the hotel and rest, sweetheart. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  She disappeared back into the private room, and a moment later Rocco and Caldwell emerged to help her into the taxi. As the door shut behind them, Skye heard Tabitha’s golden peal of laughter and her voice saying, “She always finds some way to steal the spotlight.”