Tonight isn’t Julia’s first foray into this exclusive world. She’s spent the past four years on the periphery taking care of the Emerson children, a wealthy family from town. Her eyes wander around the room, remembering the countless hours she’s spent with their family and friends, supervising the children at holiday parties and other social gatherings. She didn’t realize her position as their nanny protected her from outward hostility.
In the short time she’s been here, it’s become painfully clear, working a society event is much different from attending one as a guest, or in her case, a plus one.
When Julia thinks of her hometown, she divides it into two tribes. She always felt the term fitting since Bristol was once populated with native Wampanoags.
These days, there’s a tiny tribe she calls The Elite, primarily white Anglo Saxon Protestants, some of Mayflower lineage, who keep so much to themselves, they’re practically invisible to Julia’s people. She calls her tribe, Everyone Else, mostly Italian, Portuguese and Irish Catholic families, many of them second and third generation Americans.
The Elite live on Poppasquash Neck, a gated community on a small peninsula across the harbor. These families have lived in Bristol for generations, are members of exclusive clubs where they mingle amongst themselves, and send their children to private schools, presumably to keep them away from the rabble.
Most attend the Episcopal Church on Hope Street, though a few families are Catholic and attend St. Margaret’s, one of many Catholic churches in town. Will’s family has lived on Poppasquash for over two hundred years.
When Julia was young she thought the big houses across the harbor were empty. The older she got, the more she realized that didn’t make any sense, but until she landed the babysitting job with the Emersons in high school, she’d never met a single person from that part of town.
The first time she drove down Poppasquash Road was a revelation. She couldn’t believe the size of the houses, or how beautifully the grounds were maintained, had never seen such elegance or opulence in person. The Emersons live less than three miles from her home, but it may as well be the opposite side of the globe.
Charles and Claire treat Julia like family and on social occasions she’s free to mingle with their guests, but she’s always known, she’s an outsider. She isn’t considered one of the servants, but she is hired help. At these events, after she puts the kids to bed, Julia tries to help clearing glasses and plates, but invariably gets sucked into conversation as she weaves through the crowd.
At the last party she worked, Julia was cornered by an older gentleman who asked her what she thought about the Bush tax cuts. She raised her eyebrows. He doesn’t think I have a clue what he’s talking about. So she set him straight, explaining her thoughts on Bush’s economic policy, and after a brief back and forth, he threw his head back and laughed, declaring her, “simply charming.”
“Charles, your nanny is a pistol!” he grabbed Mr. Emerson as he walked by. “She has very strong views on the President’s economic plan. I thought she was an actress?”
“Our Jules is an historian, Peterson, a brilliant young lady,” Charles smiled and winked at Julia. “We’re lucky to have her.”
She thinks of The Elite as voyeurs, trying to get a glimpse into the lives of Everyone Else, the other, less fortunate tribe, who exist in a world they’ll never know.
Once they have a few drinks in them, and good Lord those people can drink, they ask her the most absurd questions. “How many pregnant teens are in your class? Have you ever seen a drug deal in the hallways of your school? What is it like to live over there?”
They’d never ask a cook, maid, server or gardener the sort of questions they ask her. They’re invisible. But the nanny doesn’t fade into the background, she’s part of the action and considered fair game. Julia plays along, sharing surface details, smiling on cue, asking polite questions about their charity work and travels. Everyone has always been pleasant to her, but Julia is under no illusion. To them, she’s a curiosity.
At this wedding, she’s not just a curiosity, Julia feels like a circus sideshow. The men are ogling her and being disrespectful… she knows that lascivious look well. She can feel their eyes on her, can see the judgment on their faces.
The women she’s been introduced to won’t make eye contact with her, and turn away to talk to whomever is closest, not bothering to hide their contempt.
Why are they so quick to judge me? They know nothing about me at all!
As soon as they pulled into the parking lot, she knew this would be an experience, but she didn’t expect to be treated like an invader or a threat. She wants to shout, Don’t worry ladies! I don’t want your men! Not realizing that, for all intents and purposes, she’s already taken one.
She never thought of Will as one of them, at least…she didn’t.
Will and Julia sit down at a table set for twelve where she meets Carlton and Buffy, Mackenzie and Darcy, Parker and Quinn, Graham and Mimi, and Tucker and Whitney. Are these their first or last names? It’s a mystery.
Just as the men have their uniform, so do the women. Shoulder-length, straight blond hair of various shades, a pastel suit or dress so dowdy her grandmother wouldn’t be caught dead in it, and the obligatory strand of pearls.
They all look the same to me. Julia can’t tell them apart except for the color of their dresses.
“How do you know our Will?” the lady in pink asks Julia, her eyes as cold as ice. Our Will? Julia fixes her gaze on her and raises an eyebrow. Buffy, is it? This woman can’t be more than twenty-five and looks forty.
At this point, Julia’s had just about enough of their smugness and superiority. She may as well have a little fun while she’s here, so she smiles, resting her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand.
“He picked me up at a bar last week.” Julia says, fluttering her eyelashes at Buffy, and Will bursts out laughing.
“We’ve known each other for a year now, right Jules?” He drapes his arm around her shoulder.
“Just about.” Her mouth is smiling, her eyes are not. Forced smile number two hundred and seventy-three of the evening. Not that she’s keeping count.
“We were in a play together this past summer,” Will tells the group, sending not-so-subtle shockwaves around the table. The men begin laughing and ribbing Will for doing something “so gay” and the ladies turn to each other in confusion.
Julia sits on her hands and bites her lip, doing her very best to control her anger, while Will turns pink, probably wishing he’d kept that bit of information to himself.
“Whatever were you doing in a play, Will?” Buffy snorts.
All conversation at their table revolves around boats, houses, horses, and parties. His gaffe forgotten with the aid of large quantities of alcohol, Will is talking animatedly with Graham about a trip they took to ‘the Vineyard’ in high school. To her left, Mimi and Whitney discuss the upcoming ‘season’ of parties. Julia sits back in her chair, her eyes glazing over while she butters a dinner roll.
They are so boring. How can Will tolerate these people? But he does. What’s most disturbing to Julia is this version of Will fits right in.
Her mind wanders back to the Emersons, her only point of reference for people in this social sphere. Julia’s never envied them their wealth or status. It didn’t take her long to understand that along with immense privilege comes high expectations and an even higher level of conformity.
She would never want to live as they do, more concerned with other peoples perceptions of them than their own happiness. Claire’s fixated on remaining a size two and puts a tremendous amount of pressure on herself to throw picture perfect parties. Charles, always trying to impress people with his boats and club memberships. And the boys! God, she feels for them.
Every year she receives a Christmas card of the three boys dressed identically, carbon copies of one another, though Julia knows how unique they really are. Carlton, the shy artist, Spencer, the outgoing athlete,
and little Edmond who dreams of being a ballerina and loves the color pink. Claire has said more than once they’re hoping it’s just a phase, “Edmond’s only six after all!”
On those occasions, Julia’s had to restrain herself from yelling at Claire. Being different is something to be celebrated, not discouraged! But not here, not in this world. With dismay, Julia recognizes that one day, her sweet boys will all turn into some version of the men sitting around this table.
The surf and turf is finally served and Julia’s thankful to have something to do. She has nothing to contribute to the conversations swirling around her and would love to knock back a few shots of vodka, but she needs to keep her wits about her tonight for several reasons.
One, she doesn’t want to get cornered by one of these drunken idiots who may think he can have his way with her. Two, she needs to stay mentally sharp to verbally protect herself from these hostile women. And three, someone has to drive them home tonight and it’s not going to be Will.
She limits herself to two drinks, enough to take the edge off, but not enough to loosen her tongue. That could get ugly…quickly. Will, on the other hand, is on his sixth? Seventh? She’s lost count. This is a side of him she’s never seen, never imagined existed.
It dawns on her, this is the first time she’s met any of Will’s friends in almost a year. She’s never thought about that before but it seems odd to her now.
Why do we always hang out alone?
Maybe Will instinctively knew she wouldn’t fit in? If that’s the case, he was absolutely right. And more importantly, she doesn’t want to fit in with these automatons. Watching him interact with his friends tonight, she wonders if she’s completely misjudged him. Is this the kind of life he wants?
The bride and groom dance to Etta James’ At Last to the applause of three hundred people, while the wait staff circulates, removing the dinner plates. Julia smiles to herself at the song selection. Apparently some things remain the same across social lines, dancing to At Last at weddings is one of those things.
Will absently runs his hand along her spine, still deep in mind-numbing conversation. He and his buddies have moved on from sailing to skiing, from the Vineyard to Aspen.
I’m so naïve, she thinks, her stomach turning over. This is Will’s world. This! Right here! Not the world they’ve created over the past ten months. Here, among his peers, she sees who he really is for the first time.
She’s not completely oblivious. She knows they’re from different tribes, but it never seemed to matter. Julia’s spent a lot of time with his family and gets along with his sister and parents really well, and Will seemed to adapt to her world without a problem.
But there’s no getting around it now, their differences are glaringly obvious tonight, a giant wall between them.
A wave of nausea washes over her and Julia desperately needs to get out of this room, away from this scene and these people. She rises unsteadily to her feet, gripping the back of her chair. The room has started to spin, and if she doesn’t get out of here now she’s going to be sick. She taps Will’s shoulder and excuses herself, searching for the ladies room.
In the safety of the bathroom, she sits in a stall, tears clouding her vision. This isn’t how she imagined this evening at all. Tonight was supposed to be the night… She thought they’d dance, she’d meet a few of his friends, then they’d go to her house and… who knows?
She wanted him. She’d convinced herself Will was worth it. Now? She doesn’t even know who he is. Love makes you blind. She was stupid to allow a chink in the armor. No man is worth the heartache.
Julia grabs a tissue and dabs at her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears before they begin, and sighs, thinking, eventually I will have to leave this bathroom. What an awful thought.
The door to the restroom opens, letting in the sound of the band, and closes behind two women gossiping in hushed voices.
“Did you see her dress? So inappropriate! It’s so short and looks like a rag,” they laugh.
Are they talking about me? Julia’s eyes grow wide and she covers her mouth.
“And her hair! So frizzy!”
They are! I’m the only woman in this place with curly hair. For several minutes she sits in the stall, frozen in embarrassment, while they verbally rip her to shreds. Finally, she peeks through the crack to see the offending women. It’s Darcy from her table, and someone she doesn’t recognize.
“What can Will possibly see in her? He’s so handsome and eligible,” the stranger in lavender says dreamily, applying her hideous pink lipstick.
“She looks like a hippie, utterly classless,” Darcy adds.
“Well, I guess some guys need to slum it before they settle down.”
That is it! Julia’s flooded with anger and a slew of other emotions she doesn’t fully understand. She pulls herself together, opens the stall and walks deliberately to the sink, slowly washing her hands. They stop talking and glare at her, not one speck of shame between them. Julia shuts off the faucet, grabs a paper towel and turns to face them.
“You want to know why Will is with me?” They raise their eyebrows in response. “He said he’s tired of dating boring, uptight girls, like you. He prefers a woman with a pulse.”
Their mouths fall open, then Darcy’s eyes narrow. Julia’s happy to have touched a nerve with that comment, and dries her hands, standing directly in front of them.
“Oh, and I’m the best fuck he’s ever had.”
She tosses the paper towel in the trashcan and walks out of the bathroom.
Julia is livid and humiliated, her thoughts and feelings a jumble inside her. She actually sees red, and would love to make a scene, maybe grab Will by his collar and drag him out of here, but she’d be giving them exactly what they want. They’d tell stories for years about the screeching greenhorn Will once brought to a wedding.
She has two choices, sit and pout, or put on a show. She’d never give them the satisfaction of watching her shrink into a corner, so she decides now’s the time to use a few of the acting skills she’s picked up over the years.
Julia spots Will by the bar with a group of men and struts over to him, her hips swaying side to side. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I have curves. She grabs Will by the lapel, presses her lips to his ear and whispers, “Dance with me.”
Will is obnoxiously drunk. His eyes remain unfocused for a moment, then she watches as they glaze over with lust. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her against him, and her heart begins to pound, the blood rushing to her head. He’s aroused, she can feel him against her stomach.
Not a fucking chance, Will!
She wants to push him away, but instead she swallows her anger and sticks to her plan.
She smiles seductively at his friends, who predictably salivate with desire. Julia wants to make sure the ladies see what their men really want. Not their frilly bows, blond bangs, dowdy dresses and sensible pumps. The object of their desire is the sexy Italian chick who’s not afraid to show a little leg. She removes the clip from her hair and shakes it out behind her.
“You’re mine for the rest of the evening,” she says, leading Will to the dance floor. He holds her close and they slow dance to The Lady in Red. Julia almost bursts out laughing at the irony. The band is on break and this DJ has a sense of humor. The only red in this room is the blood running through Julia’s veins, everyone else’s runs blue.
Will’s hands wander down her back, one coming to rest on her ass, and she doesn’t stop him. She’s playing a part for her audience. Temptress. Sex goddess. This is her farewell performance. She has no intention of ever seeing any of these people again.
Darcy is standing with a group of women near the dance floor, obviously sharing the story of their recent exchange. Her fiancé, Mackenzie, has been one of Julia’s most ardent admirers this evening. If Darcy only knew how easy it would be for Julia to lure Mac into one of the back rooms... it’s pathetic how easily men are manipulated when it comes to sex.
Instead, Julia resists the urge to flip Darcy off and rests her head against Will’s chest, the sadness settling in. He touches the curve of her neck and tilts her head up, his mouth finding hers, and for the first time she feels…nothing. The electricity is gone, which should be a relief, but only manages to make her feel worse.
“Aren’t you lucky,” she whispers and closes her eyes. “You won’t remember any of this in the morning.”
Chapter Three
The following afternoon, Ellie drives Will to Julia’s to pick up their father’s car. He has the worst hangover of his life, and doesn’t remember leaving the wedding or the drive home. When he thinks about Julia having to find their way home from Hartford on her own, he’s consumed with guilt and shame. He wishes he could remember what happened last night. He vaguely recollects dancing with Julia…but his last clear memory is of the food being served.
Everything else is a blur. Parker and Mac provided him with round after round of drinks from the moment he entered the ballroom. There was vodka, and rum…and tequila involved in his memory loss, that he knows.
When he was in high school, they used to tease him for being a lightweight. “You’re Irish, man! Don’t be such a pussy.” He built a tolerance over time, but since he went to college, he’s spent less and less time with his old friends and drinking much less as a result.
Ellie grills him the entire ride across town. His head’s splitting open and he wishes she’d shut the hell up!
“Jesus Christ, Will, how much did you drink last night?”
“I don’t know, El. A lot.”
“She had to drive you home?” Ellie says, gritting her teeth. “Will, you totally blew it!” She whacks him on the side of his head.
“Oww! Stop it!” he cries out, his head throbbing.
“Last night was supposed to be the night. Why would you drink so much?”
Why did I do that? Julia must be so upset with him. He’s furious with himself.
What if I Fly? Page 3
