by Liza Palmer
“Are you wearing false eyelashes?” Kate asks.
“Aren’t they fabulous?” Olivia cries.
Kate and I are silent. She looks like a drag queen.
“I bought out the makeup counter this morning. I got a free tutorial, they taught me how to do everything. I wanted to use my own products when I meet with the makeup artist back in LA,” Olivia says.
“This morning?” Kate asks.
“We flew in first thing,” Olivia says as she removes her purse from her shoulder and begins hugging Hannah.
I don’t know what to do with this information. It makes sense on the page, but in my head it gets all mucked up. Olivia has been in Las Vegas since early this morning and has not returned one phone call. Has sipped nary a martini with yours truly. And now she arrives late to my high tea bridal shower looking like a two-bit whore? How does this add up? I look to Kate, and her face is just as puzzled as mine. We are both still standing. Everyone else has seated themselves, smoothing their napkins on their laps. There is a moment of awkwardness as Kate and I slowly sit. I lock eyes with Gwen.
“You look great,” I say over Kate and Shawna. Gwen has seated herself in the farthest chair from me.
“Thanks. We’ve just had a spa,” Gwen says, rising and giving me an air kiss. Being from the Los Angeles area, I understand this odd ceremony.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Well, Olivia had a gift certificate and I decided I would partake of some services, too.” A gift certificate? My gift certificate. Olivia’s birthday present from me, thank you very much.
“I know how you hate the spa, Mags.” Olivia fluffs her hair across the table.
Callie comes back and attempts to present Olivia with the WORLD’S BEST BRIDE tiara. Shawna fumbles for her camera. Olivia dismisses the tiara, instead asking Callie if she has mineral water. She sets the tiara underneath her chair. Olivia turns to Kate and grills her for the next thirty minutes about basic wedding etiquette. Kate is getting more and more liquored up. At one point, she tries to convince Olivia that the bride stands at the altar from the beginning of the wedding and that the wedding march plays as the bride and groom exit the ceremony. I am lost in thoughts of Olivia and Gwen chatting on the phone. Olivia returning a call. Olivia doing a favor for someone. Olivia being on time for someone.
“Well,” Olivia says. Her eyelashes brush my face as she inches her chair toward Kate. I want to rip them off and stomp on them. “It’s going to be beautiful,” she continues.
“What do your centerpieces look like?” Even drunk, Kate knows all the right questions to ask. The conversation at the table falls into a hushed silence. Shawna missed the WORLD’S BEST BRIDE photo op, but she can capture Olivia telling Kate about her centerpieces.
“The centerpieces are perfect. Patrona is setting up topiaries with ivy and tuberoses at every table. They’re set just high enough so you can still talk to people across the table. There will be small candles at every table. I wanted the lighting in the garden to be natural yet intimate. Let’s face it, we all look better in that type of lighting.” Was there a study done that I wasn’t aware of? Is that what these girls talk about—proper lighting?
“What about the rehearsal dinner?” Shawna asks. Why? I want to say. You won’t be eating any of it.
“I am holding it in the courtyard of The Athenaeum on the Caltech campus. It has vaulted ceilings with Italian frescoes and these amazing gardens. I don’t know which event is going to be more beautiful.” The crowd gasps. Olivia continues. “Patrona has everything planned right down to the slide show of the history of Adam and me. You know . . . all those embarrassing little lovey-dovey shots of us.” Olivia blushes as the crowd sighs in unison. Kate holds her wineglass up to Callie; tapping it with her perfectly manicured nails, she mouths, Another. Shawna squeals. Olivia smiles and continues, “It’s going to be just perfect.” The crowd oohs and ahhs. Shawna’s flash goes off in her purse as she tries to put the camera away. Hannah shakes her head at Shawna’s waste of a shot.
“Is it just going to be you and Adam at the head table?” Kate asks.
“It’s going to be just you and me, right, Olivia?” I blurt.
“Well, Adam’s brother wants to sit with his parents, and we have the other groomsmen and bridesmaids to think about. But yeah, the maid of honor does traditionally sit at the head table,” Olivia says. Gwen sniffs at the end of the table.
“For everyone to see, huh?” I say. Where’s the overdramatic twirling?
“It’s usually a focal point—anyway, let’s get some menus, huh?” Olivia snaps her fingers at Callie.
High tea drags on through retellings of the marriage proposal, the engagement announcement, and how Dr. Adam Farrell told Olivia she could have any kind of wedding she wanted. Considering Mr. Hobbs Morten is footing the entire bill, I’d say Adam was being a bit generous with his offer.
Our dinner reservations at Prime, the Bellagio steak house, are for seven thirty. The high tea crowd begins to disperse. Panchali and Hannah are going to go to some of the other casinos. Shawna wants to start getting ready for dinner and the Ghostbar now, so she quickly retreats to her room.
“I’ve got to go to the restroom before we settle up here,” I say, needing a moment to myself. Kate is counting the money left by the other girls and working out the tip that Callie will get. Olivia is checking her messages from her cell phone. She is punching in such a long series of numbers she looks like a small child with a play phone.
“I’ll join you,” Gwen says. I panic. How can I take back having to go to the bathroom? Can I say I’ll just go in our room instead? I drop my shoulders and push my chair out from the table. Gwen knocks Kate’s head with her huge Tod’s bag as she comes around the table. Kate stops counting and glares up at Gwen. I assure Kate I’ll hurry.
Gwen and I make our way through the babbling casino. Bells and whistles are going off and little eruptions of joy detonate from random craps tables throughout the casino. Gwen methodically walks behind me, never attempting to catch up.
I push open the bathroom door and walk through to an open stall. I quietly go to the bathroom. I come up to the sinks first and begin washing my hands. Gwen flushes and approaches the sink, straightening her waistband.
“So dinner and then this bar?” I talk to Gwen through the mirror like she’s a hairstylist cutting my hair.
“Sounds great,” Gwen says.
I look down at my hands and wash them as if my life depended on it.
“Thanks for planning this whole high tea thing. It was charming,” Gwen says.
“You’re welcome. I hope Olivia liked it,” I say, wondering why Gwen is thanking me.
“I feel bad that we were so late. We just got caught up, you know?” Gwen pulls out some paper towels.
“Caught up?” I ask.
“You know, with the makeup and then with the whole spa day.” Gwen is rummaging through her purse and finds a tube of lipstick.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” You fucking bitch. I want to throttle this woman. But it’s not Gwen’s fault. I should be getting angry with Olivia.
“I know we missed your martini thing, but the tea really was darling,” Gwen adds.
“No problem. We should be getting back,” I bite out.
“Wouldn’t want to be late again.” Gwen pats my shoulder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It Is a Big Hat, Kate
Who is the person that these women have come to know? What anecdotes does Olivia tell as she sits with friends? When she gets upset about something, does she make up a history to show that this has happened before? Or is this the same fantasy she and I used to play out driving around in that Chevy Chevette all those years ago? Except now, instead of fantasizing about our future—she looks back and creates her perfect history out of whole cloth. A history that doesn’t include gastric bypass surgeries and crushes on starting quarterbacks who knew you only as Orca. When we were little girls, we’d invent scenarios where p
erfect men toasted us with perfect flutes of champagne. But most girls begin to see these fantasies as silly and unrealistic when they get older. Where does that leave Olivia? Is she still a little girl locked in her pink room playing with Barbies, unable to come out and play in the real world? And, if so where does that leave me?
We plan to meet at Prime at seven thirty and then move to the Ghostbar in The Palms resort hotel. Gwen has put our names on the VIP list and assures us it will be a great time.
I have two and a half hours to think about Gwen and Olivia shopping, giggling, sitting in baths of rose petals, waving off our martini date and the bridal shower, while they run around trying on tiny clothing and changing in the same dressing room showing off their equally tiny bodies. The only part that gives me some sense of satisfaction is knowing that Olivia felt threatened enough by Shawna Moss and her Gossip Brigade to lie about her past. Olivia has not only never had a boyfriend—she wouldn’t know “The One” if it bit her on the ass. And biting her on the ass is certainly not something I imagine the good Dr. Adam Farrell would be up for. I feel a sense of power and don’t even care if it’s a slippery slope. Olivia lied to Shawna. Who else has she lied to?
Dinner at Prime is amazing. The food is fresh and cooked perfectly. I’ve decided to wear something a little flashy: a low-cut chiffon tank top with a vintage brown corduroy coat paired with black pants and a pair of 1940s-style heels. Both items fit better than they did when I tried them on at the department store. With my heels on, I stand a head taller than any woman in our party. I put my long brown hair in two braids that extend down my back. I brought a cowboy hat for later. A real Stetson. I bought it one year as a New Year’s resolution, but I’ve never really worn it out in public. It seemed like too much, somehow. And yet something about that hat makes me confident. Maybe it’s the height. I don’t know. But whatever it does for me, I need it now more than ever for the Ghostbar outing.
After dinner, we stand in the queue waiting for the next cab. Gwen is at the front of the group with Panchali. They are commiserating on how many cabs we will need. They keep looking back at Kate and me. Shawna is reapplying her lipstick as Hannah tries to put in her two cents. Olivia, Kate, and I stand at the back of the group. Olivia is getting more and more drunk as the night proceeds. I begin to question why I don’t join her. It would be so much easier if I was just flat-out drunk through all of this. Gwen summons us to the cab. Olivia stumbles over to her, giggling something about “Prime Meat.” This has been a constant joke of the night. Gwen puts Olivia in the cab and shoves Panchali in next to her. She waves us to the cab behind them as she shuts the door behind her. The three of them drive off. Kate, Hannah, Shawna, and I pile into the SUV cab that approaches. I feel like we’ve just boarded the short bus on our way to the “special school.”
Olivia, Gwen, and Panchali are waiting in front of The Palms. It was a long drive, and the cab ride was not cheap. This weekend is getting more and more expensive. I’m cutting into next month’s budget. I decide I won’t drink tonight as much as I ache for oblivion. We walk through the hotel lobby, and the familiar bells and whistles of a Las Vegas casino ring out. Hannah finds the elevator and presses the button repeatedly as we wait for its instant arrival. I’m the last in the elevator. I am holding my cowboy hat in my hands. I’ll put it on once I enter the bar. I’ll need the confidence then. I look to Kate. She is drunker than she was this afternoon. I begin to envy her. She has the right idea. Survival, not temperance. The elevator doors open, and we’re hit with the silver-blue haze of the Ghostbar.
Even with my experience in Los Angeles bars, the people here are unnervingly good-looking. My cowboy hat seems silly now. I hold it tighter as we ease into the crowd. Kate has her hand on my back, and we both eye the same empty table. Gwen makes a beeline to the bar. She is magnetic. Everyone watches as she passes. I see at least one man follow her to the bar and ask if he can buy her a drink. Kate and I sit and wait for the cocktail waitress to get to us. Panchali, Shawna, and Hannah follow our lead and start pulling chairs over.
“Where’s Gwen?” Olivia slurs.
“At the bar,” Panchali answers.
“Do you want something?” Shawna asks.
“I don’t think she needs another drink,” Hannah says.
“It’s her party,” Shawna snaps.
“I’m just saying she seems a little—” Hannah stops and mouths drunk.
“Let her live it up a little,” Shawna whispers back.
“Where’s Gwen?” Olivia is teetering but not sitting.
“She’s at the bar, Olivia,” I say in my strongest voice.
“At the bar? Go get her,” she says.
“Go get her?” I say.
“Go get her.” Olivia points.
“She’s coming over here, I’m not going to go get her.” I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler in a toy store.
“Where do I sit?” Olivia focuses back on the table.
“Pull up a chair,” Kate yells over the music.
“What?” Olivia asks.
“Pull up a chair and sit down.” Kate is the perennial troop leader.
Olivia stands, gazing around at the empty chairs. One hand is on her chest; in the other, she holds her purse like an old Victorian woman.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hannah says, dragging a chair over from an adjacent table.
“Get one for Gwen.” Olivia points at Hannah.
“What?” Hannah asks.
“Get another chair for Gwen.” Olivia is hooking her purse over the arm of her chair and staring at the bar in search of her beloved Gwen.
Hannah doesn’t say anything. She quietly gets up and asks a group of people a few tables over if an empty chair is taken. The crowd says it is. Hannah goes to three more tables until she finally finds an unused chair that has been vacated by a now fully enthralled couple. She drags the chair back over to our table and sits. She checks her watch and stares at the bar. I feel dirty. I should have gotten the chair. No, I should have told Olivia to fuck off about innumerable things this evening, Gwen’s chair being the least of my problems. But I didn’t. I just sat there.
“I need a drink,” Kate says.
“Get me one,” Olivia blurts.
“Get it yourself.” Kate walks away.
“What’s her problem?” Olivia turns to me.
I get up and walk to the bar with Kate, the cowboy hat hot in my hands.
Kate is at the bar trying to get the bartender’s attention. Gwen stands next to her where two of her drinks are congregating. She seems to be waiting for more.
“You okay?” I yell over the music.
“I’ve had enough. Barking orders. Dragging chairs. This is ridiculous.” Kate waves the bartender down.
“I know. I know,” I say.
“Do you need something?” Gwen turns to me.
“No, we’re fine,” Kate interrupts.
“More room, maybe?” Gwen balances the new third drink with the other two, smirks at Kate and me, and walks toward the table.
“That’s it. That’s just . . . that’s enough.” Kate turns and follows Gwen.
Gwen is angling for the chair with my purse over the arm; the chair Hannah worked so hard to get is sitting vacant. She is staring at it.
“What did you just say to her?” Kate says, turning Gwen around with the anger in her voice.
“I’m sorry?” Gwen is setting drinks down for Panchali and Olivia. Olivia swirls her tongue around until she finds the little red straw and sips.
“What did you say to her? At the bar? You said something and I am asking you to repeat it,” Kate demands.
“I didn’t say anything to you,” Gwen specifies as she sits and crosses her legs. Kate is standing over her. The table of people who refused Hannah’s chair request are now staring. At her full height, Kate stands about five feet tall. Now she has her hands on her hips and looks a bit like Tinkerbell.
“What?” Kate is flustered.
“I was asking
Ms. Maggie if she needed more room at the bar. You know, with that hat and all.” Gwen cradles her martini glass and looks at Panchali. Panchali sniffs. Shawna is now looking so feverishly in her purse for something that she has caused most of the contents to spill on the floor. Hannah stares at the vacant chair as Olivia looks on and sips.
“The hat?” I ask.
“You know, it is a big hat. You’ll probably need extra room for it. You need to factor that in,” Gwen says, smirking. I stare at her. Kate is still in the same position: hands on her hips, face crimson red, and standing over Gwen. I quickly glance at Olivia. Is she watching? Is she seeing this? The bride is sipping her drink and looking into the ice cubes.
“I just never put it on. I shouldn’t have brought it,” I say, looking from face to face to face. Everyone is staring at me. They know she’s not talking about the fucking hat. Is this where she passes me the gordita’s soda? How much weight do you fucking have to lose before you’re no longer considered overweight? Should I even bother with Gabriel and five cardios a week? Or has Gwen just zeroed in on every woman’s Achilles’ heel? How can Olivia not say something? How can I fucking not say something? I shouldn’t have brought it—what kind of goddamn comeback is that?
“Probably not.” Gwen sips.
Kate looks Olivia straight in the face. “You’re going to sit there and not say anything?” Kate yells. I swear she is going to rip the straw right out of Olivia’s overly made-up mouth.
“Hm?” Olivia looks up at Kate.
“Hm? Did you just say hm?” Kate is now openly spitting.
“Look, I think we’ve all kind of gotten a little tipsy and . . .” Shawna finally comes up from her purse. I am paralyzed. I am in control. I was in control. There were going to be no surprises this weekend. This weekend was about a resurrection. This weekend was about Olivia and me making things right. This was supposed to be my show. How is this happening? I’m writing my food down now. I’m working out and I’m up to forty-five minutes on the StairMaster. I’m a size smaller! I’m a fucking size smaller!
