by Gigi Blume
By this time, Georgia was growing impatient. She jumped off the bed where she had been tapping away at her phone and said, “So, are you ready for your dress yet?”
Ah yes, my Pirates of Penzance costume. I looked around the room. Where was it?
“Sure,” I said. “Did Ari bring the costume yet?”
“Costume?” Her brows shot up. “Why would you be wearing a costume?”
“Um… for the show?”
She and Stella shared a laugh. What was so funny? Was I supposed to wear my stained dress? That poor scrap of cloth was currently in the bathroom sink. Stella stood behind me, fixed her eyes on my reflection, and smiled warmly.
“You can call it a costume if you like,” she said with a wink. “But you should probably try it on before you decide.”
She grinned with a twinkle that hinted she had a special kind of secret—a secret Georgia was evidently in on because she wore the same grin as Stella and skipped to the closet, emerging with a magnificent gold gown in her arms. She could hardly contain her excitement when she brought it to me. Fluffy socks covered her feet as they danced on the floor. She looked like a little girl who had to pee really bad, except I knew the bouncing she was doing had nothing to do with the state of her bladder. It was cute, how thrilled she was to see my reaction. I was sure not to disappoint her. My eyes went wide, and I couldn’t speak for a full minute while they swept over the golden offering. The dress was breathtakingly elegant.
It was made from a light chiffon, the torso a ruched V-neck with gathered straps and a tulle, floor-length skirt draping from a high waist. The entire dress was covered in golden lace appliqués. On closer inspection, I noticed a sprinkling of Swarovski crystals and a small tag on the interior by Ivonne D Mon Cheri. In other words, that dress didn’t come from Target.
“Well…” chirped Georgia. “What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous.” I didn’t have a more creative reaction than that. I was too busy being tongue tied. “Are you sure you want to let me borrow this? I’m good at bumping into people with dark liquids. Obviously.”
It was meant as a joke, but there was some truth to my words. I didn’t want to be responsible for Georgia’s beautiful gown. I’d be afraid to eat without a bib—or drink red wine. Or stand next to anyone else drinking red wine. I could think of a whole lot of things that could go horribly wrong. At least I’d ruled out the possibility of barbecue sauce being on the menu. I hoped.
Georgia scrunched her nose in an adorable chipmunk-with-a-donut sort of way. “I’m not letting you borrow anything,” she said. “Not like I wouldn’t—you can borrow anything you want—but this is yours. Stella got it for you.”
She beamed with her whole face to deliver that little piece of news. She must have expected it to be welcome intelligence, but I couldn’t process it that way. It was too much. I looked to Stella, whose proud expression confirmed it.
“You did this for me?”
“And shoes,” added Georgia while Stella retrieved a shoe box from beneath the bed. “And a clutch to match.”
“We got your size from Ari,” said Stella. “Six and a half?”
I was gobsmacked. How did they get all this in a matter of hours? Was it a rental?
I could only stutter. “How… when?”
“Never mind that,” replied Stella. “Put it on before we miss cocktail hour. The seared ahi is always the first to go.”
26
Stay
Will
I gave Lady one last scratch of the snout and thanked Ephraim for staying late. He’d been up at the crack of dawn, not to mention a week of instructing vendors where and how to set up. He singlehandedly was responsible for any troubleshooting that arose with the facility. He liked to call my house the facility. It made it seem official. So here he was, fourteen hours in, taking care of Lady. I suggested he take her to his home, so he could relax and most likely spoil her with his famous carne asada, but he insisted on staying close, just in case a problem arose in the facility. I told him the screening room would be the best place to stay low, but I wanted him to put his feet up, maybe stream a movie. He’d be set up quite nicely with the leather recliners and fully stocked snack bar. I made a mental note to have some of the roast sent down to him later.
The formal living room in our house, which we used primarily for absolutely nothing except to showcase Georgia’s new piano, was filled with the most interesting hodgepodge of weirdos. Most of them were moneymakers in the entertainment industry, but there were some politicians and Silicone Valley types who made a fortune in the dot-com era. Every single one of them were sickeningly wealthy and were primarily interested in being seen throwing their money at a good cause. Stella was an incredibly savvy woman and knew how to use this to her advantage. She didn’t care (for the most part) where the funds came from, she just wanted arts education for the underprivileged. So, she made sure to stroke the egos of those with the deepest pockets.
I mingled with those folks for longer than I would have liked before Stella and Georgia finally came down to rescue me. The whole business made me feel like Captain Von Trapp forced to make small talk with Vienna’s high society. The only things missing were Nazi sympathizers (although one can never be certain) and singing children requesting champagne. My Maria was somewhere getting ready, and I hoped she wouldn’t change her mind and run off to the Abbey.
“Where’s Beth?” I tried not to sound too anxious by keeping my voice low, but it ended up more like a sad Barry White impression. Georgia shot me a what the what face and scrunched her nose.
“Twitterpated,” was all she said.
As I rounded the bend towards the grand staircase, a vision in gold almost blinded me, and my heart stopped. Beth descended with tentative steps from the top of the stairs as radiant as the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.
Her hair was gathered atop her head and held there by some sort of magic. A few loose strands cascaded down her elegant neck, the column of which could boast of smooth buttermilk skin and graceful lines to the bare shoulder.
Each step down the stair was the blessing of the heavens come to take me from the misery of the intolerable guests drinking expensive wine and exchanging pleasantries with people they could hardly stand. All the world fell away, and her sublime face was fixed solely on me.
I never knew until that moment how your future could flash before your eyes. But that’s exactly what happened. I’d once seen an episode of Doctor Who where John Smith and his love interest could look into their possible future through the aid of a fob watch. In an instant, they saw a vision of a happy marriage, having children, and John on his death bed. Seeing Beth with her hand on the same banister I slid down as a child was something like that, sans the death bed part. All of it was in her eyes. Did she see it too? Her smile was only a hint. I wanted to ask somehow.
But even if I were the real William Shakespeare and not some idiot who portrayed him in a musical, any words I could have said couldn’t have done justice to that moment suspended in time. Beth at the end of my stairs—maybe seeing the future. But if I didn’t open my mouth to speak, I might have carried her off and groveled at her feet for all eternity. So, like a novice screenwriter regurgitating every cliché in dialogue, I said, “You look beautiful.”
No, I wasn’t about to win an Oscar for that brilliant one-liner, but Beth only blushed and bit at her bottom lip.
“I feel kind of silly,” she said.
“Why?”
“This dress costs more than my car.”
I wanted to reply with something witty and charming, but my tongue felt like it had been injected with Novocain.
“Um…” was all I could manage.
I took her hand to escort her into the party and as her little fingers settled into my palm, I was acutely aware of every ridge, every pore, every skin cell where her touch seared into mine. I held on for as long as I could without becoming awkward, but even as I let go, her bran
d remained etched on my fingertips.
I had to soberly remind myself that she wasn’t my date. She wasn’t interested. She’d made that perfectly clear.
Stella appeared at my side, accompanied by a pretty Latina young woman in black sequins.
“I see you’ve found our stunning princess,” she said with a wink.
A princess indeed. The Beauty to my Beast.
She caught Beth’s arm before she was lost in the crowd.
“My dear, don’t go running away just yet.”
“Oh, I didn’t see you,” said Beth, rolling her eyes at a rather large man next to her. “Short people problems.”
“I hear ya.” The girl in black held her hand out to Beth. “I’m Francesca.”
“Francesca Precio is the graduate from NYU I was telling you about,” said Stella as the two girls shook hands. Awareness lit Beth’s expression, and she shook her hand with more enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “You’re presenting tonight. Such an honor to meet you.”
Beth and her new B.F.F. Francesca seemed to hit it off immediately. There was so much girl power in the air, I felt invisible. But Stella, ever the diplomat, gave me the proper introduction to her young Latina friend, then linked arms with both ladies.
“I’m afraid I have to steal Beth from you, Will,” she said, already turning away from me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I guessed that wasn’t the kind of question she expected an answer to since she was gone before she finished her sentence, taking my date that wasn’t really a date with her.
I was suddenly so incredibly alone in this crowd. Where the heck was my sister?
“I expect a little more hospitality from you.”
An icy voice from behind pierced into the last of my warmth. As I turned toward the owner, I took every one of those seconds to shrug on the Hollywood schmooze face.
“Catherine.” I feigned a smile. “So glad you could make it.”
“We’ve been here a half hour, and you haven’t so much as brought a glass of champagne to Anne.”
Aaaand there went my last drop of joy.
“Oh, is Anne here?” I replied. “I hadn’t realized.”
She scowled. “Oh, please. There’s a guest list at the door.”
I shrugged. “I have no control over those things. I just live here. Where is Anne?”
I actually got along well with Anne. Her grandmother was a pain, but she was pretty cool.
“She was looking for you,” she clipped. “Now I’ve lost her.”
“Leave it to me,” I said. “I got this.”
I gave her hand a squeeze because that’s what a gentleman does, and I left her to harass some other poor soul.
I kind of felt sorry for her though. Clearly, she had designs to set her granddaughter up with me, but Anne was just as interested in me romantically as a peanut butter sandwich. And since she had a severe peanut allergy, I was off the menu. Catherine would be so salty once she found out.
After a few polite interactions in the crowd, I finally found Anne way too interested in the contents of her beverage.
“All the food is allergy friendly tonight, well, except the Yorkshire pudding,” I said with a smirk. “No nuts, no gluten, no soy, no shellfish… and some other dietary restriction I forgot. It’s a mystery why we bother to serve food at all.”
Her face lit up at the sight of a friendly face, and she threw her arms around my neck.
“I’m glad I found you before my grandmother did,” she said. “She’s got the Evil Queen theme song following her around.”
“I know. Apparently, I have to get you a glass of champagne, or she’ll cut out my heart.”
She lifted her beverage. “I’m good.”
“What is that?” I asked. “Looks terrible.”
“It’s a Bloody Richard.”
“Such a delightful name.”
“It’s named after King Richard. War of the Roses?”
“Okay.”
“It’s like a Bloody Mary, but with bacon instead of celery.”
“I take back my earlier comment. It’s vile.”
“Oh, man,” she said. “Don’t look now. My grandmother spotted us.”
“Do you think she’ll come over?”
“What else does she have to do? We’re her favorite victims.”
“Well, it was kind of her to donate to the charity.”
She laughed. “Ha. Don’t you know Rosings cuts a profit from these things? It’s an Arts Fellowship. The money goes to art schools. And Rosings is a top school on that list.”
Whoa. That woman really did have her fingers in dozens of different pies. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran her own ballerina mafia ring.
I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t think the Evil Queen theme song is right for her.”
“No?” Her eyebrows arched curiously. “What’s her theme song, then?”
“I’m thinking more Don Corleone.”
She laughed a bright, flittery laugh like a finch. I wondered if she really loved dancing or if it was her grandmother’s influence. I’d seen how hard she worked, rehearsing until her feet bled. And she was so thin. Did she dance because it was her passion? Or did she not have a choice? Sort of how young Michael Corleone didn’t want to have anything to do with the family business but ended up becoming the mob boss. Anne was a free spirit. I didn’t see her as a future mob boss.
The ambient music ceased, and the crowd hushed as Stella made a few sound check noises into a microphone. I could see the silver of her hair beyond the heads of the people in front of me. She was standing next to my sister’s new piano.
“Thank you all for coming,” she announced. “I’d say something cheeky like you’re only here for the hosted bar, but we all know that isn’t true. Your very generous donations are what made this happen.”
There were some scattered applauses and she smiled, nodding she’d like to continue.
“But don’t worry. You’ll find your tax write-off receipts in your goody bags along with Chipotle coupons and a shirt that says I donated to the Gardiner Arts Foundation and all I got was this dumb t-shirt.”
Soft laughter waved through the room. She was joking about the Chipotle coupons of course, but the t-shirts were a real thing. And the goody bags were filled with sponsored items like Bluetooth headphones and designer golf balls. My dining room table had been an assembly line of gift bags and tissue paper the week before.
“We will all convene for dinner in a few minutes, but first, I wanted to acknowledge the Darcy family for opening up their home and letting us ruin their grass with the carnival rides.”
She was spot on with that.
“Where’s Will?”
I raised my hand, and a few heads turned my way. When Stella spotted me, she raised her glass and said, “We promise to have your lawn fixed in time to ruin it again next year.”
A few chuckles ensued, and I bellowed across the room, “Not on your life.”
The energy was light and breezy, and everyone smiled, which was exactly what Stella wanted. She planned one last pitch for higher levels of sponsorship. She wanted the guests relaxed and tipsy before she made her plea. It would come after dinner but before dessert. She told me she planned to hold the poached pears ransom until she raised a few extra million dollars.
“You heard the man, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “It looks like we’ve already worn out our welcome, so enjoy the Darcy house while you can and steal whatever ashtrays you find.”
That was a little inside joke. I was one of the few people alive that knew Stella was a bit of a kleptomaniac. Before California banned smoking in public places, it was ashtrays. Now, she liked to nab ramekins from restaurants.
“Our staff will escort you out into the grand tent and help you find your tables. Meanwhile, the lovely Georgia Darcy will play for us while we transition out of cocktail hour.”
As my sister began a melody, I ushered Anne to the side of the room away
from migrating guests, but most importantly from view of her grandmother. It was for purely selfish reasons, though. I wanted to find Beth, and as much as I was looking forward to singing the duet with her, all I wanted was some more alone time, so we could converse freely as we’d done earlier in the day.
When we found her, she was chatting with Francesca by the piano. She and Anne hit it off like I knew they would, but there was something in her eyes I couldn’t put my finger on when I introduced them. What was it? Could it be a hint of jealousy? God, I hoped so. I’d be ugly jealous if Beth hung around some dude. I didn’t even have the right, but that didn’t stop my inner caveman.
Woman. Mine. Ug.
Eventually, we migrated to the dining tent, and Anne joined her grandmother. It didn’t take long before Catherine found us to complain she didn’t have a seat at the head table with Stella and me. She was particularly salty when the “entertainment,” as she put it, had better seats than she. Then she scowled at Beth and Francesca as she returned to her table, which was situated as far away from ours as Stella could have planned.
“I know you can’t exactly separate the two,” said Georgia, “but I wouldn’t have minded Anne’s company at our table if we could exclude the grandmother.”
“Oh, indeed,” replied Stella, wagging her brows. “But I have my reasons.”
I chuckled softly to myself because I knew exactly what kind of reasons Stella had. She loved playing matchmaker any chance she got. She couldn’t help herself, really. I had to love her for it; she was responsible for mine and Georgia’s existence. Dad probably wouldn’t have had a chance with my mother if Stella didn’t have her hand in the whole business.
“Who’s the lucky fellow?” I asked.
She was super glad I asked because her face lit up and put her whole body into it as she pointed with her chin.
“See that bloke sitting next to Anne?”
I glanced over, trying not to appear obvious. “I’m taking a chance here by assuming you don’t mean the older gentleman to her left.”
