Party Games

by Whitney Lyles

  Then she saw them, arms wrapped around each other, kissing right next to two empty wineglasses. All she could think to keep from panicking was that her mother was a few inches taller than Gene. How weird was that? Then she thought maybe she should turn and run for her life. Her mother and Gene? She was about to run for it when they noticed her.

  Caught red-handed, Leah and Gene exchanged glances. It was probably only a matter of seconds, but what seemed like an hour of sheer awkwardness passed. “Hi, honey,” her mom said. Then she smiled. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag!” She forced a laugh. “Yes, Gene and I…we’ve been…well, spending a lot of time together.”

  She pointed at him. “You?”

  “Sara!” To say her mother looked mortified was an understatement. What? Had her mother expected her to run across the kitchen and embrace them both? Her mother may as well have brought home Clay Aiken and said they were getting married.

  There were so many things weird about this that she didn’t know where to begin. All she could do was say, “Oh. Sorry for barging in.” Then she turned on her heels and attempted to bustle out of the room as fast as she could. Instead of making a clean getaway, she tripped over the afghan and fell forehead-first into an antique table her mother had clung to during the divorce. Her jaw snapped as her face hit the table leg. A throbbing sensation immediately took over, but instead of crying out in pain, she tried to pop back up and announce that she was okay. However, she was too tangled in the blanket to stand up, and she ended up on her rear end on the floor.

  Gene was there first. His hands gently reached for hers. “You okay, dear? What a nasty spill!”

  Her mother was right behind him. “Sara! Oh my God, are you all right? Let Gene give you a hand.”

  She took Gene’s hand and straightened up. The blanket remained in a pile at her feet. “My forehead,” she said, running her hand over throbbing pain. “Am I bleeding?”

  “No, but it looks painful. It’s already a little swollen,” her mom said.

  “I make a wonderful ice pack!” Gene announced. “Any frozen peas in this house?” He scurried back to the kitchen.

  Leah helped Sara to the couch where her mother confirmed that her forehead was turning purple. She sat in her dorky pajamas while her mother fretted over her face.

  Gene’s ice pack was the sort of thing that would’ve popped from the pages of Martha Stewart Living. He’d thoughtfully dipped several paper towels in a mixture of tepid water and lavender-scented hand soap. He’d wrapped the fragrant towels around a bag of frozen peas as precisely as if it were a gift he were offering.

  He gently held the ice pack to her forehead. “This way, you don’t have to have that rough texture of the paper towel rubbing against your face, and I always like to smell something nice when I’ve been injured,” he said.

  “Especially lavender,” her mother agreed. “It has such soothing capabilities.”

  As they discussed the benefits of lavender, Sara sat in shock. Her mother and Gene? Gene and her mother? Leah Sullivan and Gene the florist? She liked Gene and everything. Guys didn’t come any nicer than him, and she was sure he’d treat her mom well, but it was still Gene. Sara just knew he had a pair of tap shoes hidden somewhere. It was too weird. She didn’t even want to think about it. She’d been perfectly happy being in the dark. Fine if her mother wanted to date him, but she didn’t want to know anything.

  She stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

  They both stared at her and she felt like she should say something else.

  “Thanks for the ice pack, Gene. See you tomorrow.” She figured that if she acted as casual as possible, she might make a clean getaway. She held the pack to her face as she turned around.

  “Are you okay?” Her mother’s voice sounded concerned.

  “Great!” She practically ran from the room.

  Her bedroom felt like a safe haven, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her. This might go down as the most bizarre day of her life. Conga lining with Mickey Piper, Cute Guitar Guy, plans to pick out male models with Dakota London, and now her mother…and Gene. It would’ve been shocking enough to know that her mother had a boyfriend, but Gene? It was going to be a crazy summer.

  Three

  It was Sunday and the sun had barely hit the San Diego shores before the phone began ringing off the hook. Her mom’s cell phone sounded like a lawn mower as it vibrated on the kitchen countertop. Wasn’t peace and quiet the point of putting the phone on vibrate? Cell-phone makers had really screwed up on that one. The office line began to blare and then Sara’s cell phone, next to her bed, erupted into song. It was a bad chorus of rings. The only person she was in the mood to chat with was Allie. She glanced at the screen. It was Dakota. For some reason, the sight of her name put a knot in Sara’s stomach.

  “This is Sara.” The greeting wasn’t her choice, but her mother had said that if she was going to have her own cell phone, she had to be willing to take business calls. Answering the phone like a normal person and simply saying “hello” wouldn’t suffice.

  A sharp, condescending snicker filled her ear. “Well, I’m glad I have the right number.” Sara immediately recognized the low voice of Dakota. After spending a semester in the same speech class, she’d recognize Dakota’s voice in twenty different languages.

  Another snicker before Dakota proceeded to imitate Sara. “This is Sara! That’s funny. Why do you answer the phone like that?”

  Sara didn’t understand what was so funny. Maybe Dakota thought it was humorous because she’d never worked.

  “It’s just because my mom and I sound so much alike that people were getting us confused all the time. It’s less complicated this way.”

  “How cute.” After a brief pause Dakota continued. “So, your mom said you’d be available to meet with me today. We can’t meet at my house because my little sister is having her entire dance class over. I told all the models to go to Starbucks on La Jolla Boulevard.” At least Sara could walk there.

  They made plans to meet in two hours. She was snapping her phone shut when there was a knock at her door. Obviously, her mother didn’t plan on waiting for an answer as she let herself in. Leah made herself comfortable at the end of Sara’s bed. An early riser, Leah was already sweating in her workout gear. A five-mile walk every morning—rain or shine—was part of her routine. Her fingers were wrapped around the cap of a frosty bottle of water.

  “What? Is it that bad?” Sara asked when she noticed that her mother’s gaze was aimed directly at her forehead.

  “Nothing you can’t fix with a little foundation. I’ll help you. We’ll get you all polished up.” Leah slid her palm over the ruffle of Sara’s comforter. An awkward silence followed. Things still felt strange from the night before, and Sara decided she would just leave the talking to her mother.

  She watched as her mother’s eyes darted over the AFI poster above her bed. “Those people scare me,” Leah finally said. “I still can’t understand how you can find them attractive,” she said. She pointed to the lead singer. “That one looks like a woman. He wears more eye makeup than I do. I mean, is he supposed to look like a transvestite?”

  Um, hello? Didn’t she notice that she was dating a man who collected quiche recipes? If only she knew how ironic she sounded. Instead Sara said, “I don’t think they’re cute, Mom. I just like their music.”

  “So, Gene’s invited me to go to Palm Springs next week to meet his parents. You too, actually. The three of us.”

  “No way.”

  “I understand. One day at a time here. I just want you to be happy, and I’m so sorry that you found out in such a…such a surprising way. We were waiting to tell you…Gene just thinks the world of you. And he really wants us all to get along.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Look, I’m new at this. I haven’t dated anyone in over eighteen years. I was twenty when I married your father. And I didn’t know how you were going to take it.”


  Sara also felt like asking her if she had noticed how feminine he is but decided not to. Her mother must’ve had some idea because Sara distinctly remembered Leah wondering aloud if Gene was gay. However, now that Sara thought about it, her mother had said, “I wonder if he’s gay” in such a way that could’ve meant, Wow! I wonder if he’s available.

  She’d rather solve equations than think about any parental relations with the opposite sex. As far as she was concerned, a stork had brought her into the world. She’d even been telling herself that her father and his new girlfriend had never set foot in either one’s bedroom.

  They chatted for a few minutes about Dakota’s party. “And listen, I’m sorry that I told you that we had to do this party. I thought about it last night after I went to bed, and it’s not fair. If you want me to handle everything, I will. I just thought it would be good experience for you.”

  Part of her was tempted to accept the offer. Rather than hanging out with Dakota on her day off, she could go to the beach and work on her tan. Come September, she was going to look like she’d spent her summer in Greenland if she didn’t go to the beach. She had a way out. However, she’d already gotten involved and she wasn’t a quitter. This would be good experience for her. Not to mention that the beach would always be there, but meeting with cute male models came around only once in a lifetime. She threw the covers over the side of her bed. “I may as well go.”

  Sara’s grandfather had always encouraged her to go into figure skating because she was just the right size for all the guys to toss around in the pairs’ competitions. Never mind that she was a terrible ice-skater. As she stood next to Dakota’s long, willowy frame now, she didn’t feel anything like Sasha Cohen. She felt like a hobbit.

  She felt squat, and looking at Dakota’s long, blond, angel-fine hair made Sara suddenly feel like her layered hairdo was thick and wiry. Sara had spent most of her life trying to describe the bizarre palette of colors that had come from her gene pool. Her unspecified hair color wasn’t exactly red, but it wasn’t exactly brown, either. In the summer it looked like Sugar Babies. Then in the winter, it looked more like dirty pennies. She’d actually lost sleep over what she was going to tell the DMV when she got her license. Did they have a place to check for caramel or copper? As far as Sara knew, blond, brown, black, and red were the only four options. The same applied for her eyes. Her mother said they were an obscure shade of blue. Her father said they were gray, and her grandmother insisted they were sea green.

  She’d always thought her bangs looked edgy and stylish. Her shoulder-length choppy bob was supposed to be cutting edge, but next to Dakota’s, her hair must look poofy. She imagined that Dakota rolled out of bed looking ready to star in a shampoo commercial. Sara couldn’t exit the house without spending a half hour with her flat iron. For as phony as Dakota was on the inside, everything on the outside seemed real. Dakota had been blessed with naturally tan, zit-free skin, whereas Sara had accepted the fact that she’d live the rest of her life behind a mask of foundation. If she left the house without blush and lipstick, everyone would think she had the flu.

  Dakota revealed two perfect little dimples when she looked at Sara. “What? Did you steal someone’s boyfriend?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story,” she said.

  “I had a black eye once.” She thought for a moment. “That dork, Wendy Pich, threw her bag at my face when I kissed her boyfriend at the fall dance. I mean, it would’ve been worth it if the bag had been a real Prada, but it was some cheesy knockoff that I’m sure she picked up at the border checkpoint in Tijuana. Try explaining to everyone that you got a shiner from a fake Prada. It was the worst day of my life.”

  At least you didn’t have to explain that you’d walked in on your mom kissing her new metrosexual boyfriend. Her stomach turned at the memory.

  The coffee shop was packed, and they were three people deep in line. The models were due to arrive in ten minutes. “What are you getting?” Dakota asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Sara scanned the menu board. “Maybe just an iced mocha.”

  “An iced mocha? That’s so navy-blue polo shirt.”

  “What?”

  “It’s so boring. Like a polo shirt. You should do what I do and just tell the people to surprise you. I do it every time, and it’s like buying leopard-print stilettos. You won’t regret it.”

  Sara wouldn’t know what it was like to buy leopard-print stilettos. However, Dakota’s suggestion actually sounded like a fun idea, and Sara was always up for a surprise. “Sure, okay.”

  “My friend owns a club in the Gaslamp and he lets us come in and do the same thing with the bartender there. The only difference is that you have to drink whatever he makes you. It’s a little game we play. We did it last weekend and I was so hungover the next day from Buttery Nipples and Cosmos.”

  Sara knew what these drinks were because she’d seen plenty of people staggering around dance floors after drinking them. However, she’d never actually tried them. She’d never even been close to a hangover. The closest she’d ever come to one was when Blake snuck her a shot of tequila at a wedding they’d both helped out at earlier this year. The overpowering taste had made her gag. It had taken ten minutes just to stop the watering in her eyes. Then she’d had to fill her mouth with breath mints for fear her mother would find out.

  The guy at the counter seemed to know Dakota because when he looked at her, he said, “You want a little magic?”

  Was he going to pull a rabbit from his espresso machine?

  Dakota nodded, then elbowed Sara. “She does too.” Sara was fumbling for her wallet when Dakota pushed her hand down. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Oh, thanks. But that’s okay. I don’t expect you to get my coffee.”

  “I’m not. They never charge me here.”

  Sara felt her cheeks grow warm. She should’ve known Dakota would get the drinks for free. It was amazing how the world was enamored with her. A tiny part of Sara wanted to walk into coffee shops and get free drinks. Who wouldn’t? It must be kind of nice feeling like you’re special and important everywhere you go.

  After they got their coffee, they headed to a table. She thought it would be best to conduct their interviews in an isolated corner of the store. A private, quiet setting seemed best. But Dakota insisted on a round table in the busiest spot of Starbucks. Sara unzipped her backpack and pulled out the gigantic binder she used for taking down information for events. Her mother carried one too, only her binder was twice as big and she toted hers in an expensive leather briefcase. They both tried to take as many notes as possible. Each client had their own section in the binder, and Sara had labeled Dakota’s with her name and the date of the party. Sara’s mother had briefed her on most of the details for Dakota’s party. First she’d wanted an Egyptian theme, then it had been a fairy-tale princess theme, and now it was Hawaiian, with an island castaway theme. The party was going to be a complete luau, pig roast and all. Dakota’s parents had already put down a small fortune toward flying in hula dancers from Maui, including a man who breathed fire. Each guest was supposed to arrive in weathered-looking, torn clothes as if they’d been stranded on a desert island. The party was scheduled to begin at an aquatics center in San Diego, where Dakota would make her grand entrance on the noses of two dolphins. Luxury buses were scheduled to transport her five hundred guests to an outdoor, beachside reception hall where a massive ice sculpture of Dakota, a full sushi bar, and a host of exotic tropical birds would be waiting.

  Sara took a sip of the mystery concoction and immediately sensed something with a subtle hint of cinnamon—vanilla cream, too. Pretty tasty. At least Dakota had good coffee games. Maybe working with her wouldn’t be so hard. It seemed easier to hang out with her in a professional situation. They’d probably never be friends at school. Sara wanted to get along with her, considering they’d probably be spending a lot of time together this summer. She asked Dakota how she thought she’d done in speech.

&nbs
p; “Since I missed the final, probably horrible.” She sighed. “I really don’t want to have to take that class over again.”

  Sara remembered that Dakota hadn’t shown up to give her final speech. Her absence had been surprising. She would’ve figured Dakota for the type of person who jumped at any opportunity to bask in the spotlight of her peers. “Well, you never know. Maybe you passed.” She tried to be optimistic.

  “I’m sure you did,” Dakota said. “I wasn’t in class much, but every time I saw one of your speeches, it was really good. That one on how to throw the perfect party was really inspiring. I mean, you’re so professional. If I was left to plan anything, it would probably fall apart.”

  Dakota’s compliment felt nice. Report cards came in a few weeks, and Sara had been hoping for an A. Speech class had given her anxiety like she’d never experienced. However, in spite of nervous indigestion and near panic attacks, she’d still mustered enough courage to stand up in front of thirty of her classmates every other week so she could maintain her stellar grade-point average, which she was proud of. Math was always a deal breaker for straight A’s, so she knew she was going to have to put extra work into classes she didn’t like, such as PE and speech.

  Hearing all this from Dakota made her understand why people liked her. Aside from being catty and sort of an airhead, she knew how to work it when she wanted to. She knew how to make people feel good. Plus, she had a spontaneous side that made even coffee seem interesting.

  They talked about Dakota’s party for a while. She wanted to know how they were going to get tropical birds to the reception site, and Sara explained that there were special companies that actually rented out animals for television, movies, and certain parties. “A year ago we rented two white tigers and an elephant for someone else’s sweet sixteen,” Sara said. “That was an extremely rare situation though. Usually animals like that aren’t allowed at most venues because of the liability. But this party was at someone’s private estate.”