“Your long lost love, huh?” Melinda, the fashionista, had whispered to me during our office Christmas party.
“Did Corrine say something?” I had asked Melinda, embarrassed and delighted at the same time.
“She didn’t have to,” Melinda had replied. “You’ve been floating around the office for weeks.”
By now the Lean Cuisine had run out. Talk about your portion control, I grumbled in my head as I scraped up the last grains of rice and sauce to have a final bite, before slipping the empty food tray back into its cardboard box. Corrine was doing the same with the remnants of her lasagna meal.
“You decide what you’re gonna do about shoes yet?” asked Corrine tossing her box into the trash can.
What was this fixation about shoes with her?
“No,” I replied immediately getting up to retrieve Corrine’s trash. I hated post-lunch smells in the office and I figured clients did too. “It’s kind of a cocktail party affair, so they have to be something I can stand around in.”
“Beauty over comfort for once in your life, Rae,” advised Corrine. “You can do it for what, a couple of hours?”
“It’s not like I’m trying to make a good first impression. It’s too late for that. I’ll just wear the ones I bought for the museum.”
“Remember, it’s Prince Charming’s Queen Mother. Until the deal is sealed, you can’t ignore her.”
Even though Luke said that I could. And as for sealing the deal, a new swarm of anxious butterflies were fluttering around the chicken and rice in my stomach, so I wasn’t hungry anymore. Luke and I were sleeping together, and even pop-overs were okay, but that didn’t mean that mine was the only offer on the table; even though quite honestly he couldn’t possibly have time to be seeing anybody else—could he?
“It’s not a business transaction, Corrine,” I said haughtily to evade her point.
“Whatever,” replied Corrine dismissively. “Don’t give ol’ Mother Sterling anything to work with. Be your cutest self. If you’re gonna be sleeping with his highness then you gotta go to court, otherwise you’re just his mistress. And I know that’s not the case.”
What if ol’ Mother Sterling had invited some other lady-in-waiting to her Christmas party for the sole purpose of distracting her beloved only son from the pretentious scullery maid? She would know by now that I would be returning to her annual Christmas party. It was what Luke wanted.
“You really think that’s such a good idea?” I had protested when he had asked me.
“You mean you’d send me into that caldron of curmudgeons all by myself?” he had asked with that lop-sided grin of his. “I thought you were my friend.”
But was I his girlfriend? A caldron of curmudgeons sounded like girlfriend-duty to me. Especially when the head crony was a reinterpretation of Mommie Dearest, who in the midst of all her catering details and crystal selections would undoubtedly be plotting some kind of ultimate humiliation for me; one that, to use Corrine’s words, would seal the deal. It was painfully obvious that neither of our mothers had ever read Little Women or gotten the Betty Crocker memo.
Going with Luke to his firm’s holiday party had been a treat. It had been great meeting his colleagues, hearing the funny stories about him at work, seeing him once again in his familiar role as leader of the pack. I relished being included in his spaces the same way I delighted in showing him off in mine. But attending another Sterling Christmas party, with all its dangerous toils and snares for the illegitimate daughter of a lab technician, for whom Section-8 was home and not reserved theater seating, well that was not so great, especially with the museum fiasco still very fresh. I couldn’t believe that I was preparing to dress-up for yet another Betty Sterling smack-down.
Yet dress-up I did. In a surprisingly adorable little black dress that Corrine had helped me find. It went beautifully with the black patent-leather pumps I had worn to the museum. The dress had a deep-v neckline which permitted a hint of cleavage, and a respectable hemline that stopped just above my knees. A pair of black Spanx pantyhose gave me smooth lines and flattered my curves. Top of the line faux pearls in my ears and around my neck accented the look, and the scent of Warm Vanilla Sugar capped-off my presentation. I was almost too cute to get in my Corolla.
Carrying my coat on my arm, I rang Luke’s doorbell, and when he opened the door. He looked quite pleased with his faithful sidekick. He also looked very good in a black suit, white shirt, and red silk tie. When we kissed I had to pull away from him for fear he’d muss me up.
“Save it for later, cowboy,” I teased him, smoothing out any wrinkles in my dress.
“Two hours and we’re outta there,” he replied, helping me by stroking my butt.
For a minute I forgot all about seeing his mother.
“Party-pooper,” I said.
“The private party will be better.”
Assuming I survived the gauntlet that according to the newspaper was one of the highlights of the Dallas holiday season.
When Luke turned onto Swanson Street, I could see my anticipated temple of doom sparkling with about a million white Christmas lights. Bulbs trimmed the house, twinkled in the trees and hedges, and lined the driveway. Swanson Street was locally famous for its Christmas-decorated homes, and not surprisingly the Sterling house stood out among the best and brightest, global warming and oil-supported terrorism be damned.
Luke didn’t even have a wreath on his front door. Maybe that was because he couldn’t reach high enough to hang it, although he could have asked any one of us to do that for him. I was thinking of buying him one of those miniature Christmas trees so at least there would be some evidence of the season in his house. No, he wasn’t religious, but even atheists celebrated Christmas.
I must have sighed too loudly because Luke reassured me that everything would be fine.
“We’re a team, right?” he said.
I mustered a smile.
“Sure,” I replied.
A team. Not a couple. But in any case we were together.
Since Luke had been instructed by his mother to arrive earlier than the other guests, when we came to the house the Sterling driveway was completely empty. Nevertheless Luke elected to park along the street, and some distance from the house too. I gave him a puzzled look and he explained that he didn’t want to get boxed in.
“But you said your father was hiring a valet service for tonight,” I said.
“It’s better this way,” he replied as he was reaching into the backseat for the chair and its wheels.
Once he had the wheelchair reassembled he completed his transfer while I got out of the car too. Luke could easily do a wheelie to get over a curb, but tonight he stayed on the street and I left the sidewalk to walk beside him. We were a team.
“I think I’m worried too,” Luke said out of nowhere.
I thought of Luke’s spasm during his mother’s acceptance speech at the museum, and what Lucas had said about his grandmother’s attitude about his father’s disability. Surely she wouldn’t do something to embarrass him tonight. Well not intentionally anyway. And I would be on my best—well my most guarded behavior.
“I’ll keep my distance from your mother,” I assured him. “And I promise not to take it—”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Luke.
I stopped before we reached the driveway. Did he really think that Betty Sterling would do something to hurt his feelings tonight? Or mine? Luke stopped too and turned to look up at me. Maybe he was still worried that I wouldn’t know how to handle myself among his well-to-do friends.
“Well what then?” I urgently wanted to know.
Surely he knew I was fine in a crowd, whatever its composition. He didn’t really think I’d launch into some socialist commentary expounding the virtues of universal health care or public transportation in this setting, did he? I was a civil servant for God’s sake, and these were tax payers even if they did loop-hole their way out of most of their responsibility.
And even if Betty Sterling did say something awful, I wouldn’t react, even though I would be within my rights. Luke wouldn’t want me to. He was quite capable of fighting his own battles, if and when he chose to. Besides, it would be a family affair, and I wasn’t family.
“It won’t be easy keeping these old wolves away from my woman,” Luke answered me. “They travel in packs, you know.”
My woman?
“You mean me?” I asked dubiously.
“What’s the matter, Rachel?” asked Luke. “Too possessive?”
I shivered a little, from the cold, and from the joy.
“No,” I answered softly. “I like it.”
He smiled at me and pushed off again. I am his woman. I hurried to catch up with him.
“We’re sorta too old for boyfriend-girlfriend, don’t you think?” he continued nonchalantly, as if he had not just pressed the reset button for the evening, for our entire relationship. “And ‘my lady’ sounds a little too pretentious to me. Like I should be wearing a cape or something.”
Now I really was floating like Melinda had said, a genuinely festive grin illuminating my face brighter than the Christmas lights. When we reached the driveway one of the valets rushed up to us.
“Mr. Sterling?” he asked eagerly as if only confirming what he suspected.
“Yes,” said Luke.
“We’ve got a place set aside for you over there,” the valet pointed to a spot marked off by two orange cones along the large circular driveway. “Would you like me to move your car, sir? Where’d you park?”
“We’re good,” replied Luke.
The valet looked confused.
“But Mr. Sterling, I mean Mr. Thomas Sterling said—”
“We’re good,” repeated Luke, but this time more firmly. “If you’ll excuse us,” he added rolling away.
I was puzzled but silent, and especially when we passed by the front door. Luke led the way to a side entrance to the house. Here a narrow ramp had been installed.
“It’s handier this way,” Luke said as if reading my thoughts about the ramp. “Doesn’t spoil the front of the house. It’s good for delivery men too.”
At his house there was a ramp to the front door. I understood about real estate values, but it seemed like Luke had been relegated to the servants’ entrance of his own parents’ house. I wanted to say something about sensitivity, but again it wasn’t my place. Luke rang the doorbell and after a bit, a maid, in uniform, opened the door.
“Good evening, Anita,” Luke said to her.
“!Hola! Luke,” she replied brightly.
I was glad that she called him by his first name. It didn’t qualify him as a socialist, no, but maybe it proved he wasn’t a snob.
“Anita, this is Rachel,” Luke introduced me once we were inside. “Esta es mi novia.”
Mi novia. How romantic!
“Hello Rachel,” Anita was saying, smiling warmly at me.
“Encantada, Anita,” I said resurrecting my own Spanish and offering her my hand.
I wasn’t proficient, but Hilda required all of her team to have enough Spanish-speaking capacity to handle a client emergency.
“Ah, es muy bonita, Luke,” Anita said approvingly.
“Sí,” he agreed. “Very.”
My cheeks burned.
“Pero, su novio,” Anita added to me. “He is handsome too, no?”
My novio. I was still having a hard time believing the upgrade.
“He is magnífico, Anita,” I replied. “Absolutamente.”
“Sí! Estoy de acuerdo,” replied Anita, taking my coat. “El amor es maravilloso, yes?”
“Sí!” I enthused.
“Okay, you two,” interjected Luke, stowing his gloves in the pouch under his chair. “That’s enough. Where are the padres?”
Anita winked at me.
“Los hombres nunca quieren hablar de amor,” she fussed.
“Sí, es verdad,” I replied.
We laughed together as Luke rolled his eyes.
“El señor is upstairs,” Anita told him getting serious. “And la señora,” she made a face, “She is in the kitchen making the cook to weep.”
“It figures,” said Luke. “Can you let her know, we’re here.”
The inside of the Sterling house was as brilliantly lit as the outside, and even more impressive than I remembered. White candles in crystal holders flickered everywhere, giving the interior a soft ethereal glow. Gone were the early American furnishings that I remembered from twenty years ago, replaced by modern contemporary pieces, with sleek lines and neutral colors.
“Wow,” I said quietly as I looked around the enormous living room. “It’s beautiful in here.”
“You really like it?” asked Luke.
I shrugged. With such high ceilings the hardwood and tile floors might feel a little chilly without all the candles and the crowd to come, but such flooring also made it easier for Luke to navigate. Maybe his mother had redecorated with that idea in mind. A loving mother would, and Betty Sterling did love her son, the side entrance notwithstanding. I just had to keep reminding myself of that fact.
“I think I could feel a little lost in all the space,” I admitted thinking of my own comfy condo with its warm yellow walls and plush brown carpeting that Luke could never see.
The center of the room was dominated by a huge white marble fireplace where a bright fire blazed. I was drawn to it.
“But big and open really is the style,” I continued warming my cold sweaty palms in front of the fire.
Mommy sometimes dreamt out loud about a major remodeling of her house to open things up.
“Not that you’ve ever been one to follow popular opinion,” said Luke moving beside me.
“Está bien, mi novio?” I said smiling down at him.
Slipping his arm around my waist, Luke pulled me close.
“Muy bien, mi amor,” he replied.
Mi amor. Spanish was such a lovely language.
“Well now,” said Betty Sterling from behind us. “Don’t you two look cozy?”
We turned to face her.
“Good evening, Mother,” said Luke.
She was wearing a strained smile, one only involving her lips and just barely.
“Hello Mrs. Sterling,” I followed suit. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Rachel,” she returned, and then crossing the expansive room she moved a vase of white roses a few inches over on a side table.
Her gown was floor-length, the deep burgundy silk draping her thin frame snugly but not tightly, a side slit revealing her slim right leg, and of course the impressive height of her matching silver sling-back pumps. As small as she was, Mommy would have had trouble pulling off such a chic look. Cosmetic surgery, liposuction, these things were routine if you had money.
“Your home is very nice, Mrs. Sterling,” I extended an olive branch. “The Christmas lights are beautiful.”
She looked at me again, the chilly smile still intact.
“Thank-you, dear,” she replied. “We’re pleased you could join us tonight.”
“Thank—” I started.
“Otherwise Luke wouldn’t have come,” she continued coolly. “He made that very clear. I hope for his sake you enjoy yourself tonight.”
I didn’t know the best way to respond to that, so I didn’t. Members of the catering staff, also uniformed, in black slacks, white shirts, and red bow ties, were finishing preparations of the buffet tables abundant with hot and cold hors d’oeuvres. Thankfully the doorbell rang and Anita bustled from an unseen place to answer it.
“That will be the musicians,” said Betty Sterling looking at her watch. “If you’ll excuse me. Your father is obviously still preoccupied upstairs, I’ll have to make sure they set-up correctly.”
She left us, leaving a cloud of her perfume behind.
“Live music too,” I now commented. “The Sterlings always do things in a big way.”
“Rachel,” Luke began. “About what she
—”
“I know she doesn’t want me here,” I cut him off, smiling at him affectionately. “You do.”
“Yes,” he said, threading his fingers through mine and drawing me to him.
“I am not going to kiss you, Lucas Sterling,” I replied pulling back. “It’ll mess up my lipstick, and it’s show time.”
“All right, be that way,” he pretended to pout. “But just remember: two hours,” he repeated his earlier decree. “Then I get a private performance.”
“Shall we synchronize our watches?” I teased him playfully.
“No need to. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
TWENTY-NINE
In one corner of the grand living room the Sterlings kept their beautiful Steinway piano. Back when we were in college Luke had shared with me how his mother had forced him to take years of piano lessons. “I have all of the technique,” he had said, “And none of the talent.” Tonight the piano player was hired talent, as were the other musicians: two violin players, a violist, and a cellist. It wasn’t long after the musicians began to play that the guests started to arrive en masse. Soon there was a loud but refined din comprised of classical music and conversations, and the recurrent chiming of the doorbell.
It was hardly a cauldron of curmudgeons in which I found myself, but more like a bevy of the beautiful people of Dallas society. Yes, there were some gray-hairs, and some blue-hairs, some dyed-hairs and some no-hairs, and a fair share of hairs-with-extensions, but position, privilege, and power were all on display and elegantly. It wasn’t all old either. Luke wasn’t the only—or the youngest—member of their next generation in attendance, although maybe he was the only one who had brought, as his date, an alien life-form.
At first I stuck very close to him. It seemed safer that way. This was Luke’s world after all, and he knew practically by instinct how to be in it. I was content just to smile a lot and respond politely to any direct question or comment that came my way. Inevitably, however, as these things will go, Luke and I were parted, and I wound up trying to latch on to one of the catering staff, a young woman who was replenishing the champagne flutes on one of the linen-draped buffet tables.
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