For three minutes, no one arrived. Then a few people showed up. Then the trickle of people became a flood. Teens alone, teens with other teens, teens with parents, teens with grandparents. At least four other churches sent contingents of a dozen or more people, including a black church in South Central and a mostly Latino Catholic parish in east L.A.
Lots of people recognized me from the newspaper. I shook hand after hand. So many hands, in fact, that they became a blur and I wasn’t always making good eye contact.
I shook a girl’s hand. “Hi.”
“Hi,” the owner said back.
Oh my God.
Alex Samuels. She’d come.
I embraced her happily. “You’re back!”
“Just got in from Arizona,” she said after we’d disentangled. She and Mia shared a quick, warm hug, too; then Mia took over as solo greeter so Alex and I could talk. “Straight from the airport.”
“I never thought I’d see you in this building,” I said, marveling.
Alex smiled. She looked calm and healthy, suntanned from her time in the desert and wearing white shorts and a black button-down top. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. Very un–party girl. “I didn’t either. But when Shep said he was coming here, I figured, why not?”
“I’m glad you’re here.” That was the understatement of the century.
Alex made a face. “We’ll make that assessment in an hour. You busy later?”
“Kinda. I’m hanging with Brett.”
“Brunch tomorrow?” she asked. “I know a great spot in Malibu. Geoffrey’s. It’s right on the ocean.”
“I’d love to … if you let me pay!” So much for a new bag. But a brunch with a friend would beat out some silly purse anytime.
Alex laughed. “Deal.”
I looked past her; the line to get into the social hall stretched around the corner. She noticed, too. I wanted to tell her about what had happened to me at Whitehall, but realized this wasn’t the time. I could do it the next day. “Sit with my dad and sister if you want,” I told her. “I’ll find you afterward.”
I hugged her again. Alex Samuels. In my church. And some said there weren’t any such things as miracles. I had no illusions that she was thinking about joining Wait/Great or the church, but maybe this was the proverbial crack in the doorway.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that if miracles existed, there also had to be anti-miracles. One shook my right hand a few minutes later.
“Surprise!”
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Sean. From Minnesota. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—whatever-you-wanted-to-call-him-boyfriend. The guy with whom there’d been radio silence for days. The guy who’d said he had to mind the store while his parents were in North Dakota. The guy with whom I’d done it before telling the Los Angeles Times I hadn’t.
He wore baggy jeans and a Mankato State T-shirt and had the goofiest grin on his face.
I didn’t hug him. I didn’t kiss him. He didn’t mind. In fact, he was enjoying my shock.
“Sean! What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.
He laughed with glee. “It was a total setup from the start. No one knew. Not even your sister. I punk’d you! Did it work? Did it work?”
“You … you totally fooled me, Sean.”
That was truthful. I was fooled. I was also shocked.
What to do now? What was I going to say to him? To everyone?
I saw Mia looking on quizzically, since there’d been a brief break in the human traffic flow. One of the untidy things about hiding a secret is that it’s impossible to remember whom you told what to and when you said it. I tried to remember what I’d said to Mia about Sean. I knew we’d talked about him. I knew I’d told her we hadn’t slept together. Other than that, I was stumped.
Crap.
I introduced them. Mia did not say, “Sean! I’ve heard so much about you!” Bless her for that.
Then Sean asked if he could have a word with me in private.
“I guess, if it’s quick. We’re starting in like four minutes.”
I did an instant assessment of my situation as Mia said she’d greet the lastminute arrivals, and Sean and I moved to the church vestibule. Alex was here. I’d have to introduce them. Thank God that Brett wasn’t coming. That would have been mondo-awkward. But what about Sean? How long was he planning to stay? Where was he planning to stay? Should I ask my parents if he could stay with us? He probably expected that.
As we sat on one of the stone benches, I could hear the recorded music we’d chosen—instrumental Brazilian jazz—playing in the social hall, along with the rumble of hundreds of conversations as people waited for the program to begin.
“Well, this is a big surprise!” I tried to sound enthusiastic.
“That was the whole idea.” He took me by the shoulders. “I thought it was kind of symbolic, in a good way, that I’d see you again for the first time here. We agree we made a mistake. At least no one got pregnant and no one got sick.”
“Thank God,” I muttered.
“Thank God is right. I think we should keep what happened between us and God. No one else has to know, and no one else should know.”
What? Was he actually suggesting that we do the same thing I’d been doing for the past few weeks? Was that what he’d been doing? Pretending, like me, to still be a virgin?
He pursed his lips. “I think of Wait/Great as a kind of recommitment after a mistake. We all make mistakes.”
“You can say that again,” I said. I still couldn’t believe he’d just shown up like this.
Sean laughed. “I remember your mom saying that if we didn’t make mistakes, we’d be Jesus. And if Jesus had it to do over again, maybe he wouldn’t have made such a mess of the money changers’ tables.” Impulsively, Sean hugged me. “It’s good to be with you. It’s so good to be with you.”
Suddenly, the lights flashed, as they do at big theaters when the musical is about to start.
“I think we’d better head in,” I told him, glad for the interruption. I needed time to think. “I’m supposed to sit onstage.”
“Great. I’ll see you afterward.”
He touched my cheek in what might have been a tender gesture, and then I headed for the social hall stage, entering through the backstage door near the Sunday school wing. I had to wend past open folding tables and over power cables to reach the red curtain that separated backstage from the stage.
I moved the curtain aside. Wow.
We’d put out five hundred folding chairs, but the social hall was close to standing room only. I saw Alex sitting with her brother and my family. That was good.
Then I was handed another anti-miracle.
Brett Goldstein stepped into the social hall and looked around, a bemused smile on his face.
Brett? What was he doing here? No way could he be here!
He was here, though. He spotted me and gave a little wave. I gave a little wave back. Sean thought I was waving at him, so Sean waved, too.
Then the worst thing in the world happened.
Brett saw one of the few empty seats. It was directly next to Sean. He headed straight for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brett is talking to Sean.
Sean is talking to Brett.
They’re talking to each other. They’re talking to each other. They’re talking to each other.
What are they talking about?
We Wait/Great organizers were seated in a long row on a riser at the back of the stage, close to the red curtain. I was at the end of the row, with Mia to my right. She put a hand on my right arm. “Umm, don’t look now. But your new boyfriend is talking to your old boyfriend.”
“I know. I hope I don’t look too sick.”
She gave me an appraising glance. “Hiding sickness decently if not perfectly. Keep it up.”
“What am I going to say to them?” I could hear the desperation in my voice.
My friend shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Alex. She was still with my family and her brother, reading the short Wait/Great pamphlet we’d placed on every seat. I wished I could talk to her. She knew all about embarrassing situations. She’d know what to do. I tried to guess what she’d tell me.
“Nat, it doesn’t matter that much what you say or do. They’re each going to think what they’re going to think. You can’t control them any more than they can control you.”
God. Help me. Please.
At last, we got under way. Mr. Bienvenu, our junior minister, stepped to the podium. In jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black blazer, with dark hair in a crew cut and kind gray eyes, he looked barely old enough to be out of college, let alone be an ordained religious leader.
“Welcome to the Church of Beverly Hills for the very first organizational meeting of Wait/Great.” He smiled wryly. “Though from the size of the crowd, I’d say this might be more than an organizational meeting.”
The audience tittered appreciatively. Those who were so far away that they couldn’t see him well had a good view on extra-large monitors that had been suspended from the ceiling. One of those monitors faced the podium, so the speaker could be sure that he or she was positioned right for the closed-circuit TV camera. These monitors would also show the PowerPoint presentations and short film that were part of the program.
“It’s a pleasure for me to introduce the leader of our congregation for an opening prayer and a few remarks. Please welcome Minister Marsha Shelton.”
My mom got a big hand as she made her way to the mic. Again she was in one of her ministerial pantsuits that she used to purchase four at a time at the Mall of America. That night’s was gray. Low-heeled black pumps. No jewelry that I could see. So far she’d resisted all attempts to glam up Los Angeles style. I wondered how long she could hold out before some church board member insisted on a field trip to Threads.
“I’m Marsha Shelton,” my mom began. “I may be the minister of this church, and you may think that makes me closer to the Almighty, but the fact is I’m no closer than any of you. If you heard me on the radio yesterday, or read the newspaper this morning, you know I have three children from the ages of thirteen to seventeen. If you look beneath my dye job, I have the same gray hair from my teens that you do.”
The adults laughed. The kids laughed at their parents laughing. It was the perfect opening.
“If you’re a kid? I don’t want you to listen to me tonight. Imagine! A minister telling you not to listen to her. Instead, I want you to listen to the teens you’ll be meeting. What I’m hoping is that the next seventy-three minutes will make sense to you, and you’ll want to join us in this important ministry. At your own churches, and in your own lives.”
Seventy-three minutes. The number hit me like a shock wave.
I had seventy-three minutes to figure out what to say to Sean and Brett.
I thought hard. I came up blank.
My mom finished with a reading from scripture. Not something from the Epistles about the nature of temptation. That would have been the obvious choice. Instead, she quoted from Proverbs, about friendship.
“ ‘As iron sharpens iron,’ ” she declared, “ ‘so one man sharpens another.’ Let us, together as friends, hone and polish each other to an edge that we all can be proud of. Thank you very much.”
More applause. I saw even Alex was clapping.
As I sat onstage, dying inside, what was killing me was how easily I could have avoided this whole mess. Even if I’d had every reason to assume that Sean and I were over, I could have sent Sean the nicest possible email. I could have said kind things about our time together, and how I’d always remember him. If my assumption had been right, great. If not, he would have gotten the message. It would have been—I hate this word, but I’m going to use it anyway—closure.
Instead, I’d wussed out, the same way I’d wussed out by not telling the Wait/Great group about Sean and me.
Mr. Bienvenu returned and introduced Shep, who came out of the audience to ringing applause. He was dressed L.A. casual-formal, in that jacket/T-shirt/jeans thing, though that night his jeans were white.
By the time he’d strapped on an acoustic guitar, he was already connecting with the audience. “I’m Shepard Samuels. Some of you might know me from my headbanging days.”
“Play ‘Bust a Nut’!” someone yelled from the back of the social hall.
The audience tittered. Shep laughed.
“That was one of my hits. It got banned in South Korea,” he explained. “If you don’t know it, ask your parents before you track it down on Spotify. Tonight, I thought I’d start out with a church song everyone knows, with thanks to those great Christians leaders, Rod and Todd from The Simpsons, for making it famous.”
I got the joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart,
Down in my heart, down in my heart.
I got the joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart,
Down in my heart to stay!
The audience roared with laughter, then sang along lustily. The Simpsons had indeed made this song famous. Normally, I would have joined right in the singing. That was what the others onstage were doing, including Mia. Not me. I was too fraught.
I spotted Alex. She wasn’t singing, either. In fact, she seemed bewildered. Neither was Brett. He had that same bemused expression as when he’d stepped into the social hall. Sean? He was singing happily as the song finished to whooping and applause.
Shep segued right into his second number. It was a spiritual that had been popular during the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s. We sang it a lot in Minnesota, whenever we did community service that required more brawn than brains.
Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around
Turn me around, turn me around
Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around
Keep on a walkin’
Keep on a talkin’
Walking on that freedom trail
Shep was a fabulous song leader. He barely used his stool, as he bopped around the stage, exhorting the crowd to sing. Then he was down in the audience, inventing verses that meshed with the theme of the evening.
Ain’t gonna let drugs or alcohol turn me around
Turn me around, turn me around
Ain’t gonna let drugs or alcohol turn me around
Turn me around, turn me around
Keep on walking, keep on talking, walking on that godly trail.
Mia nudged me gently in the ribs. I turned to her with raised eyebrows. She used her chin to indicate. “Look.”
I did. Brett had changed seats. He was now sitting with Alex and my family. That made me feel good.
Shep brought the song to a close.
Suddenly—maybe it was divine inspiration—I knew what to say to Brett and Sean.
I would talk with them separately. First Sean, then Brett. I would apologize for hurting them with any information I’d held back. I’d tell Sean what had to be at least part of the truth—that I hadn’t stopped him the night at Shelby’s cabin because, on some level, I hadn’t wanted to stop him. But I’d also say that a lot had changed.. The best thing would be if he went back to Minnesota the next day. He could stay at the mansion overnight if he wanted.
He’d be hurt, yes. But it was better than hurting him even more.
As for Brett, I’d say I hadn’t told him everything about Sean because things had happened between Sean and me that I wasn’t proud of and wasn’t even comfortable with. Brett was smart. Brett was worldly. Maybe he’d figure out what I meant. If I needed to be explicit, I’d be explicit. Brett had once said that he was a bundle of contradictions. I’d tell him I was a bundle of contradictions myself.
There was one more thing.
I knew Brett might ask me this: “If it had been me on the floor of the cabin instead of that Sean dude, would you feel the same way?”
I would give him an honest answer.
Whew. I felt bett
er. It wouldn’t be easy, but at least I had a plan.
As usual, I’d worried about all the wrong things.
It was time for our keynote speaker. Mr. Bienvenu explained the situation. “Sandra had planned to give the address tonight but unfortunately had to cancel due to a family emergency. Luckily we had no shortage of volunteers ready to step up. Please welcome tonight’s new keynote speaker, one of the founding members of the Church of Beverly Hills Wait/Great group, Courtney Carrington!”
There was more applause as Courtney made her way to the microphone. She wore a simple black shift dress and started by asking for a moment of prayer for Sandra’s aunt. That was thoughtful. Then, as she read Sandra’s prepared remarks with warmth and enthusiasm, a photograph of Sandra was displayed on the monitors for all to see.
“No one says it’s going to be easy,” she told the crowd. “But no one has it easy. Everyone has their crosses to bear. Everyone has their temptations, even me. It isn’t what life throws at you. It’s how you react to what life throws at you. The best way to react, I think, is by acting our age. That means not with sex, not with drugs, not with drinking.”
Again Mia leaned toward me. “Look at Alex.”
I did. She had her eyes closed and her chin in her hands.
“What do you make of that?” Mia whispered.
I smiled. “She’s probably tired.”
Mia chuckled quietly as Courtney continued, this time accompanied by a PowerPoint presentation on the monitors. She laid out a preliminary plan for Wait/Great church chapters, Wait/Great dances, Wait/Great volunteer work, and even a Wait/Great iPhone/Android app that would let you know when other Wait/Greaters were nearby if you needed them. Gisela, from our group, would talk more about all this, she promised.
I loved the idea of the iPhone app. It would have helped a lot in a situation like the party where Alex had gotten so drunk. Not that any Wait/Greaters would have been at one of Brooke’s parties, but still.
Little Lies Page 16
