Party Games

by Whitney Lyles

  “Um-hmmm.” Sara remained neutral even though she wondered where in the world Dakota had cooked up this idea.

  She could see the wedding gown swishing from the corner of her eye, and she wondered if Cute Guitar Guy was listening to her end of the conversation. “Anyway, are you ready to hear the rest?”

  “I am.”

  “I want the diamonds from Jennifer Aniston’s engagement ring in my tiara. I want Nicole Kidman’s diamonds that she shared with Tom in my tiara. And there’s plenty more. My little sister’s making a list right now of other dumped celebrities.”

  She may as well have asked for King Tut’s tomb to be displayed at the head table. Sara really wished she was capable of obtaining the jewels of celebrities. But she was willing to bet there wasn’t an event planner in the universe who had this capability.

  “Hello? Sara are you there? Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Yes.” Don’t be a party pooper. “I’ll do my best. Listen, I really want to hear all about your tiara, but I’m right in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”

  They’d reached the elevator by the time she hung up with Dakota. “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “No problem. Sounds like you’re really busy,” he said.

  She slipped her phone into her jacket pocket. “Always.”

  With his free hand, he pointed to the elevator buttons. “Going up?”

  She nodded as she took the dress from his other hand.

  He glanced at his watch. “I have to run. But let’s catch up later for sure.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Yeah, I have to talk to you about some stuff!” he called as he hurried off.

  What did he need to talk about? She indulged in fantasies that he wanted to take her out for her birthday, or that he was writing a song dedicated to her. Chances were it was something really boring, but it didn’t hurt to dream.

  She still needed to make sure the dress fit Laurel. Just because she had a gown didn’t mean it was going to fit. If it was too big, they could always pin it in such a way that no one would ever be able to tell. But if the dress was too small, that would be another story. She also needed to have her mother meet her in Laurel’s room with their steamer. They took the machine with them to all weddings, debutante balls, quinceañeras, and sweet sixteens. They’d have the gown looking as good as new in no time.

  As she waited for the elevator, Rose Jane Kendall came rushing toward her. Sara worried the woman might freak out right there on the hotel carpet. When she saw the dress in Sara’s hands, her eyes nearly popped from her face. “Oh, my word,” she said in her Southern drawl. “This gown is perfect for Laurel! I can’t believe you did it! I really thought we had the worst debutante tragedy I would ever see on my hands.” Her wide eyes wandered over the gown. “How’d you do it?”

  “Does it really matter?” Sara smiled playfully.

  Rose Jane hooted. “I guess not.” She reached inside a large Louis Vuitton bag and pulled out a pair of elbow-length white gloves. “I always carry an extra pair.” She gave them to Sara.

  “I’ll take these up there,” Sara said.

  Rose Jane touched Sara’s elbow just before Sara turned to leave. “Miss Sara?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. You’re the best.”

  Sara felt like she was supposed to curtsy or something. Instead, she smiled. “Just doing my job.”

  Sara found Laurel, still in her robe. The police had left and both her parents were missing in action. In the time that Sara had been gone, Laurel’s hair had been pulled into a sweeping French twist. A fresh coat of makeup had been applied, and she already looked better. Her red-rimmed eyes lit up when she saw her. “Where’d you get it?” she asked.

  “An old friend of mine.” Sara hung the dress on the back of a door for Laurel to admire.

  Eyes wide, she raced over to the gown and ran her fingers over the satin. The gown had a delicate lace bodice with tiny little cap sleeves that dropped elegantly over the shoulders. Aside from the wrinkles, it looked brand new.

  “Try it on,” Sara said. “I have a steamer on the way. But let’s make sure it fits before we steam out the wrinkles.”

  “You are unbelievable.” Laurel danced around the gown as Sara took it from the hanger. “I can’t believe you found this.”

  Sara helped her climb into the dress. Then she pulled a button hook from her backpack and carefully began to loop each tiny button up Laurel’s back. There must’ve been a hundred fine little satin-covered buttons. Laurel gasped as soon as they were finished. “Oh my God! It’s perfect. When you told me you were going to get a dress, I didn’t know what to imagine. But this is gorgeous!” She threw her arms around Sara. “You’re like a superhero. You’ve saved the day!”

  Sara was going through a checklist from her mother when she spotted Dakota London’s parents heading down the receiving line. She hadn’t forgotten that Dakota’s older sister, Katelyn, was making her debut tonight. Sara noticed that Dakota had her father’s wide blue eyes and angular chin. Her mother was petite and had perfectly coiffed, poofy blond hair. She had arms that looked as though they spent a lot of time backhanding tennis balls. The massive topaz that sparkled above her sage-colored evening gown looked capable of breaking a windshield.

  As Sara watched the Londons fake-smile their way through the receiving line, she made a mental note to herself that she would never have a receiving line at any party she ever threw for herself. The whole process appeared draining. Every single person had to shake one hand after another, mostly those of people they didn’t know.

  They said things like “How do you do?” which just sounded so silly and awkward. Sara had even tried to say it once, and it had felt funny coming from her mouth. What was wrong with “How are you?” Or even “Hey, what’s up? I heard you got a new Bentley.”

  The atmosphere in the room was regal. Massive crystal chandeliers cast a warm, flattering glow over Gene’s beautiful floral arrangements. Long, firm white lilies popped from bushels of white roses. The lights from the chandeliers cast sparkles off all the jeweled necks in the receiving line. Strapless gowns and tuxes were rampant. Sara watched Dakota’s mom release the last handshake in the receiving line. The moment she noticed Sara, she motioned for her.

  She had thin lips and a slight overbite. “Sara Sullivan?” Her mouth didn’t seem to move much when she spoke, and her eyes looked bewildered. Sara noticed the same expression in the receiving line and wondered if she just always looked this way.

  “Yes. Hi, Mrs. London. How are you?”

  “Lovely, thank you. And how do you do?”

  It actually sounded pretty natural when it came from Mrs. London.

  “Great, thanks.”

  “I wanted to talk to you for a moment about Dakota’s party. I’ve been meaning to call you, but I never have a chance to do it when Dakota is around, and what I would like to discuss is very confidential.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean, very confidential.” Her eyes were fixed on Sara.

  “All right. I promise I won’t say anything.” Sara wondered how she had suddenly become the party-planning confidante. Was her mother that inaccessible to everyone?

  The buzz of conversation from the receiving line was loud, and Sara had to lean in to hear her.

  “I know you and Dakota are probably becoming close, well, with all the time you spend on the phone and everything, and I just want you to realize how private what I’m about to say is. You mustn’t tell anyone.”

  Sara’s mind raced. Dakota was going to jail? They were shipping her off to boarding school and the party was canceled?

  “We’d like to present Dakota with her gift at the party and I’m leaving it up to you to come up with a creative way to make sure the Mercedes convertible that she’s had her eye on arrives without her noticing.”

  “Ohhh.” She should’ve known better. “That won’t be a problem, Mrs. London.”

  “Good.
Because Dakota is so sneaky, and we wouldn’t want her finding out about this before the event.”

  “Of course not.”

  Sara caught a whiff of perfume.

  “The only stipulation is that report cards haven’t come yet. And her father has told her that she must have a three point five to get a car. So if the grades aren’t there, there won’t be a car.”

  A three point five? Well, Dakota wasn’t as spoiled as Sara thought. If Sara had to guess, the Mercedes convertible wouldn’t be arriving at the party.

  When Mrs. London chuckled, her lips didn’t move. A weird sight, the woman was as stiff as a corpse. It was the same look the lady who handled tablecloths always wore. Sara’s mom said the tablecloth lady had been Botoxed to the point of no return. “We’ve also told her that we’re giving her the maid’s minivan. Of course, I would never let her drive something like that, but I really want to shock her. I want her to be blown away when the Mercedes shows up.” She squeezed Sara’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.” She waved to one of her socialite buddies on the other side of the room. “Oh that’s Victoria Madsen. I better go say hi.” Sara heard the satin in her gown crinkling as she headed for her friend.

  An hour later Sara stood in the back of the ballroom, quietly watching as each girl was introduced like a horse inside a paddock right before it raced. Katelyn London was currently parading around the dance floor. Every few steps, she stopped to curtsy for the crowd. She was a pretty girl, but not as striking as her sister. Just like all the other debutantes, her smile looked frozen. In the party-planning business, fake smiles were abundant. There were so many photo opportunities. Cameras clicked from every corner, so it was important to have a smile plastered to one’s face every single second.

  She was thinking how happy she was that her parents would never make her be a debutante, when she caught a whiff of alcohol. The odor was followed by an elbow to her ribs. She turned to her right and faced Blake. His hair was so moussed it looked like a pool slide, and she imagined action figures sliding from the top of his head and into the little glasses that he held.

  “Hey there. I brought you a little something to loosen up.” He held two shots of alcohol. She wasn’t sure what it was.

  She shook her head. “No thanks.”

  “Worried you’re going to choke again?”

  “No. I’m working. And this isn’t the kind of event where we can sneak shots.”

  “Don’t be such a prude. Take one.”

  “Really, I don’t want it.” She turned her attention back to the dance floor. The girls continued to fake-smile and curtsy their way around the room.

  “The only thing that could make this event any better would be if they were all wearing bikinis.” He laughed at his own remark. Sara pretended that she hadn’t heard him. “Imagine that. Debuting to society in their bikinis. I’d come to every single one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “C’mon, Sara you should know by now that I’m kidding. Why do you always take me so seriously?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He elbowed her again. “So how’s your love life, shorty?”

  She shrugged. “Same old story.”

  “You need to get out and have some fun, girl.” He eyed the latest debutante.

  “I do. I have lots of fun.” She felt a little defensive.

  “You? Every time I see you, you’re always working. My dad tells me you come to every single event with your mother.”

  Her whisper came out loud. “It’s my job.”

  He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that you’re missing the prime years of your life.”

  What did he know? As Allie would say, he was just a horny pretty boy.

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, I should get back to work. One of these weekends we should go have some fun though.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.” She’d never have time anyway.

  As he walked away she still felt a flicker of annoyance about what Blake had said about her missing out. Or maybe it was disappointment. She didn’t want Blake to be right.

  Eight

  Exactly one week later, Sara was perched in the back of the same reception hall. Instead of young women in white curtsying around the ballroom floor, she watched as the Kenny Street Band pounded out the Beastie Boys’ “Fight for Your Right” while two hundred people went wild. The event was the Strausses’ sixty-fifth wedding anniversary, and the eighty-three-year-old couple had personally requested the song. Sara was pleasantly surprised they could still hear, much less request a song like that!

  Most of the Strausses’ friends and family members joined them on the dance floor while they shouted out the words to the classic party hit. Those who were dance-floor phobic fell under heavy encouragement from Mr. Strauss to get out there and shake it up. She watched as sweat beads popped from the old man’s forehead and he bumped his wife in the tush with his hip. If only they could have a crowd with his kind of energy at every event they’d planned. She even felt a small desire to hit the dance floor.

  Under normal circumstances an anniversary would’ve been a recipe for sheer boredom. However, these were not normal circumstances. The Strausses were the coolest grandparents Sara had ever met in her life. She knew the moment they’d requested open bar and insisted that all drinks for their guests were on them, that these people weren’t your everyday average geriatric folks. They were in the mood to party. Throughout all the party planning, Mr. Strauss had insisted that Sara call him Papa.

  “Every youth under the age of twenty-five calls me Papa,” he’d said in his German accent. And every time he’d seen Sara, he’d greeted her with a kiss on each cheek before announcing that she got more and more beautiful with each meeting.

  The second aspect that had brightened the party was that Cute Guitar Guy was on stage. Though she hadn’t had much time to think about running away to Hawaii with him, she hadn’t forgotten those piercing blue eyes and that dark hair—and his dimples. Just the sight of them made her heart race. Even with sweaty bangs he looked cute.

  Sara tapped her feet to the beat of the music as she looked at the list on her clipboard.

  Make sure bar and patio area are clean. Check.

  Check the appetizer buffet for wilted and limp-looking food. She penciled in a check mark. Her mother had a real eye for details, and she wanted everything at her events to look fresh and clean.

  Ben Strauss’s toast following dancing. They still had a few more songs before the toast.

  Dinner following toast. Make sure the Strausses are seated right away.

  She looked at Cute Guitar Guy, whose name she still didn’t even know. The band was wearing black slacks and short-sleeved black shirts with skinny white ties. The outfit looked a little forced on him, but he still looked so cute.

  Blake walked past her, a tray balanced on each hand. He winked when he noticed her. She was still a tiny bit annoyed with what Blake had said, and she wasn’t sure why. She knew he hadn’t meant any harm. In fact, in a strange way he’d probably thought he was helping her.

  The crowd went wild for several more songs before the band took a break. Sara watched as the Strausses’ grandson headed for the microphone. The Strausses had seven kids in total, and close to twenty grandchildren. This particular boy, Ben, looked a little nervous as Kenny helped him adjust the mouthpiece to his level.

  “Ah-hem.” He cleared his throat, and it sounded loud and crackly through the mic. “Most of you know me as Ben Strauss.” He flashed his braces, then looked down at the note cards he held in his shaky hands. “I am Bubby and Papa, or shall I say, Ruth and Eli Strauss’s grandson. We all know that my grandparents have been married for sixty-five years.” The crowd erupted in applause. “And I am going to tell you their story. Because this is no simple boy-meets-girl story. This is a love story, and I bet that most of you have never heard it. I guarantee you it’s one that you’ll never forget. It started when Papa was a couple of years old
er than me.” He glanced up from his cards. Sara could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was starting to relax.

  “Papa was living a normal, everyday life when his family was thrust into the nightmare of Nazi Germany. His three younger brothers and his parents were ripped from their house and sent to live in the restricted ghettos. Eventually they were split up and sent to concentration camps. As Papa watched his mother and three younger brothers sent away, all he could do was lift his hand and wave good-bye. He later learned that they were killed in the gas chambers.” Sara heard a few gasps of horror in the room. “Papa and his father were taken to a hard labor camp. Five months after being at the camp, his father fell ill. His name was Oscar Strauss, and he died of pneumonia at the camp. Papa had no one left.” Sara watched as the old man wiped tears from his eyes and his wife rested her head on his shoulder.

  Sara felt her own eyes welling with tears. She looked around the room. There wasn’t a dry eye in the audience. The thought of being split up from her parents and sent to a concentration camp was unbearable. It was unthinkable, what Papa Strauss had been through. To see him so lively and strong now was amazing.

  Ben continued. “My grandfather was forced to work in hard labor for three years before the war ended. And when he left he had little more than the tattered, filthy clothes on his back. He was hungry, cold, and sick. He wanted to get to Austria, where he hoped to find some relatives, but he had no money and no transportation. He literally had nothing—not even a friend. After two days of walking he stumbled across a sixteen-year-old girl with freckles and a long braid down her back. The girl, feeling sorry for him, took him home, where she lent him some of her father’s clothes and prepared a meal of potato soup and bread. Two years later, my grandfather married this girl. Since then, Papa and Bubby have raised seven children and traveled most of the globe. Their trips have included Africa, Singapore, Russia, and China. They have built a successful nursing college, where they have trained many gifted people to nurture and guide those who are ill. With much of the proceeds from their school, they have been able to provide scholarship funds for aspiring young nurses who couldn’t afford to go to school otherwise. My grandfather could’ve chosen to be sad the rest of his life, but he chose to be happy. Every time he hears someone complain about wrinkles or gray hair, or gaining another year on their age, he always reminds them that they’re lucky to be here. He is always celebrating life, and as we sit here today, I ask you to celebrate the sixty-five years that my grandparents have shared with all of us.” The crowd stood—their applause descended over the room like a hailstorm. Sara wiped a tear from her cheek.