Hip to Be Square
Page 19
Her slender hand points to the basket so I will follow Beau’s lead, and then it discreetly directs my attention toward a sharply dressed man over by the telescope. He is even more handsome than the photo Sadie showed us on the website.
Angelica and Peyton and Caitlin make their way up the front walkway. I wave to them and motion for them to follow Beau and me as we choose a table near the band. As casual introductions are made around the circle, we set our individual lanterns down to mark our places and head for the dance floor.
I have only danced four times in my adult life. Publicly. And two of the times have been with Beau. We step onto the floor without the awkwardness I have planned on. My chin rests comfortably below his shoulder when we slow dance. This gives me time to try and rub out the still-mucky look of pink lip gloss on his nice suit.
When I finally called Beau, he confessed to just calling Tess to get my phone number. I thought that was exceptionally nice of him. He could have played it cool like other guys would. Let’s face it…like I would. Who acts interested anymore? Expressing one’s simplest desire to get to know someone further seems the kiss of death if you listen to anyone out there dating. I count on one hand the number of friends and perimeter people I know who are seeing other people. It becomes clear I have put way too much stock in what comes out of Angelica’s mouth as being the voice of our generation.
The downside to his chat with Tess—he also got the latest news about my job status. Honestly, I am glad my holey laundry is out in the open. And it just keeps flapping. Throughout several dances and the start of our dinner, I ramble on and on about Rae’s ridiculous accusations and the pressures of working at Golden Horizons. When I confess my recent goals and lifelong aspirations, he doesn’t make me feel guilty. “A change right now might help you choose the next course of your path,” he says while we nibble on endive salads before the formal program begins.
“That’s what I was thinking.” And how great it would be to survive the date drought and end up with Beau.
“Sometimes it’s good to change lots of things in your life at once. To get it all over with.” Beau laughingly presents a theory for disaster, but also one quite in favor of a new relationship.
I don’t respond but keep my eyes fixed on the flickering luminarias that cast small halos around the gilded rose petals scattered about the table. I think of pretty Halo and how we will never be shoe locker buddies at the resort.
“Mari, Caitlin, Angelica, and friends, I’d like to introduce you all to the guest of honor, Carson Curtis. Carson…my dear friends.”
As Sadie savors the moment, I turn to face my friend and the man who has captured her heart. “Hello, Carson. This garden is lovely. Such a wonderful idea for a contribution to the community.”
He nods and accepts other congratulations and greetings from around the table.
“It’s such a pleasure. I feel as if I know you all by now. I’ve told Sadie how lucky she is to have such a close group of friends. And how lucky I am to have met her. Why, I really think this entire garden came about because I wanted excuses to keep calling her.” Carson speaks his heart, much to Sadie’s surprise. She has remained professional around him for much of the evening, I noticed. This comment causes her to step closer to him and gently place her hand on his arm.
“We must make the rounds before the entrée is served. We’ll see all of you afterward over by the telescope. Oh, look, Carson…the Ramirezes have arrived. I really must thank them for their generous contributions.” Sadie looks beyond us to a table near the champagne fountain.
“As in Kay and Ricardo?” Caitlin, who has a complexion the tone of a latte, actually blanches. Her red lipstick is a stark smear of color across the canvas of her face.
“Why, yes. How do you…” Sadie’s eyes are wide, and a look she rarely offers to others—pure surprise—crosses her features. “Are they relatives?”
“Parents,” Caitlin says from behind the napkin into which she is spitting out a bite of garlic roll. She chokes slightly and reaches for her water glass.
“Parents!” All of a sudden Sadie doesn’t know how to think of eclectic, strange-but-true Caitlin anymore. This friend who barely pays her bills, lives in a questionable neighborhood, and complains against corporate structure has affluent, socially revered Kay and Ricardo Ramirez for parents. By Sadie’s look, their contributions are noteworthy. And so is this bit of information. “Well, let’s walk over together.” She motions like a kindergarten teacher rounding up kids from recess.
Narrowing her eyes a bit at Sadie’s shock, Caitlin puts down her napkin with a tight fist. She stands slightly hunching over so her parents won’t see her. A bizarre topiary is a gracious blocker for her small frame. “Don’t tell them I’m here. That is the last thing I need. Promise.”
“I…I won’t. I mean, I promise. But wouldn’t they know we are…”
Caitlin’s look says it all. No. They know nothing about her or her life, and she plans to keep it this way.
Unable to contain myself, I try to peer over the tree shaped like a star to see the unknown parents. All I ever got out of Caitlin was the fact that the one is a psychologist and one is a scientist. I forget which is which. But I always knew or understood that they were wealthy. Obviously, this point had never crossed Sadie’s mind. After all, she hadn’t thought to ask Caitlin if she was related to these major donors.
When I turn back to Caitlin’s chair, she is gone. I see the edge of a shrub still moving and hear her hiccups just beyond. I start to go after her. It takes Angelica, of all people, giving me the “how rude can you be” look to remind me that I have a date.
“Beau, I’m just going to go check on her. I’m sorry. Will you be okay here?”
“Definitely. Peyton and I have some common interests to discuss.”
I’d like to think he means me. But I know he doesn’t.
Caitlin sits on a stone bench and rubs her arms quickly, as though the warm night cannot penetrate her chills.
“Didn’t you think they might be here?” I ask. The thought had occurred to me, but I figured maybe she and her folks were in one of their civil cycles.
“No. I don’t know. I was excited about dressing up. Meeting Carson. And Beau…” She leans toward me and bumps my elbow affectionately. “I didn’t think through the they factor. Did you see the look in her eyes?”
“That fancy shrub with a crew cut was in my way.”
“Not my mom. Sadie. Her look was of acceptance or worth. It made me sick.”
I don’t ask why. I understand. Caitlin longs for Sadie’s approval almost as if Sadie is a surrogate parental figure. And it is only when Sadie knows Caitlin comes from money that she seems to recognize her friend’s worth. I don’t want to get in the middle of this. And it is Sadie’s night. I stay silent but show my support with a return nudge.
Tears roll down Caitlin’s cheeks. After a few moments of silence her hiccups are replaced by several sighs to catch her breath. “It isn’t Sadie’s response. Or just her response, I should say. I’m sad because my dad’s birthday is this weekend and we haven’t spoken in quite a while. I’m mad at myself.”
“Every story has two sides…” I present the appropriate cliché.
“Yeah, but if I express my opposition to their materialistic, status-oriented life with such conviction, I should also express my faith to them. They should see how I have changed because I am a Christian. Instead, I act like the petulant child who couldn’t wait to leave home. I’m doing this all wrong, and I hate it.”
I don’t know whether to say it or not. When is encouragement a lecture? “Maybe tonight could change that. Maybe this entire night is not about Carson, Sadie, Beau, or the stars.” I made a grandiose gesture to the brilliant night sky. “Maybe tonight is about you.”
She pushes her cheeks back and forth to the side as though she is gargling with mouthwash and ponders this possibility. Just on the other side of a flowering cactus we hear a woman’s startled cry that end
s abruptly. I stand up and rush around the prickly arms of the plant and find an elegant woman in a lavender gown crumpled on the ground. The heel of her shoe is caught on a loose piece of flagstone.
“Oh, ma’am. Let me help you.” I practice the art of picking up fragile bodies with expertise that comes from experience. I use my legs and am careful with her frame as I bring her to an upright position in two moves.
“Goodness gracious,” she says, a bit faint from the quick motion. With only one shoe on, she falters and grabs my arm. When her eyes focus she sees her shoe…in three pieces on the stone walkway. “Wouldn’t you know I bought those just for this event. That will teach me to impulse buy. Won’t I look like the silly, old lady for the rest of the evening.” She says this with a slight laugh, but I sense she is quite upset by the situation. “I only wanted to see the rest of the grounds.”
“You know what? My friend Caitlin and I…” I point toward Caitlin but she is no longer by my side. “Well, my friends over at that table…we were talking about going without our shoes the rest of the night. There is something so romantic about dancing barefoot, don’t you think?”
She responds as I expected her to. “It is a romantic thought for the young, I would agree.”
“It also means I won’t be needing these. What do you say?” I slip my feet out of my impulse purchase shoes. They have already worked their magic. They gave me the courage to call Beau, and that was worth half-a-month’s rent.
She shakes her head to resist the offer, but the graceful flower on the toe catches her eye. “They are lovely…” she looks down at her dress and laughs. “And can you believe how well they match? Honey, do you really want to give up your shoes to a perfect stranger?”
“You aren’t perfect yet…” I tease her with the shoes and she reaches for them.
We exchange names and information, and then Grace and I return to the party.
“Did I miss much?” I ask to point out the fact I am back. Beau and Peyton are talking up a storm while Angelica chats it up with some wealthy patrons who turn out to know the owner of her company.
“Hey there.” Cute eyes are glad to see me. “You missed the unveiling of the telescope and Sadie’s great speech. But I think her scope was set on Carson, so she’ll never know.”
“I cannot believe I wasn’t here for that. Does that mean the evening is almost over?” I feel as though I could stay forever. Because we are outdoors, I don’t have my usual gala jitters and subsequent desire to bolt for the nearest exit.
“It cannot end till the pretty lady dances. Come on.” Beau grabs my hand.
“Angelica, let’s get another twirl out there, shall we?” Peyton interrupts Angelica’s schmooze session, and she doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“I should look for Caitlin. I’m worried about her,” I say privately to Beau.
He turns my body to face the dance floor. “Looks like you have nothing to worry about.”
Caitlin, dressed in a creation of her own inspiration, is dancing with a man I presume to be her father. He exudes pride, and her petulant child expression has been replaced by a grin of contentment.
I’m a bit teary, actually. I feel blessed by tonight’s events.
“Mari.” Sadie and Carson are coming toward me quickly. I wonder if she is trying to get away from the dignified gentleman who follows her as she winds her way around the group of dancers.
“Mari. Before you take in your last dance, this gentleman wanted to say hello.” She steps aside and reveals a man I know well, but not so well. I blink a few times and it comes back to me. Lionel Richardson.
“Such a small world,” I say, offering my hand in greeting.
“It is indeed. I saw you earlier and had wanted to chat with you. And then you disappeared from sight.” He motions toward the shrub.
“Sorry about that. It is so good to see you again. I hope you have enjoyed the event.”
“It is a lovely event. Sadie always does an exceptional job.” He pauses to refocus on his original intention. “I couldn’t find you or my mother, and then she told me why you disappeared!” He points over to Grace, who waves in return like an excited child at a parade.
I have to laugh. What are the odds? Lionel reaches to shake my hand again.
“I’d like to welcome you to my team, Mari. That is, if you are still interested?”
Is this a pity hire? He never even interviewed me.
Does it matter?
No.
“Yes! Mr. Richardson, yes!” I shake his hand a bit violently, but he seems pleased nonetheless.
“I’ll plan to see you Monday morning. My crew will be expecting you. Welcome aboard.”
I look at Beau, who is beaming at my good fortune. My cruise ship, which never lands in any promising ports, has just maneuvered its way into the most fabulous location imaginable: my dream life. And there are still seven months until my thirtieth birthday. That is not only on track, but ahead of schedule.
And as if to mark the occasion, a camera flash goes off in our faces. I drop Lionel’s hand and place mine over my eyes to shield them from momentary echo flashes. When vision returns, I see Kevin Milano, who gives me a quick nod before disappearing into the crowd for another photo op.
“Well, I think there will be a record of our agreement. See you soon.” Lionel bows and walks past me toward another wealthy gentleman.
“Tonight couldn’t have been more perfect,” I say as I take in the scene about me…Caitlin’s moment of truth, Sadie’s look of love, Angelica’s real laugh with no flipping of the hair, and Grace, who looks regal over by the champagne fountain. It occurs to me that I have repeated Jace’s end-of-date line.
“Mari…” Beau pulls me toward him as the music begins.
“Yes?” I cannot handle mush. I want it, but I cannot handle it. Don’t…
“It’s our song.” I realize that the last melody of the evening is indeed our song “Fly Me to the Moon.”
I laugh in a bizarre tone. One-part joy and three-parts disbelief that I have met someone…a guy…who would even say “our song” on a second date. He must be the last guy on earth who would be so wonderfully old-fashioned and, let’s face it, a bit cheesy. Angelica would be appalled.
I think of Tess’ advice that it is hip to be square when it comes to love. Instead of focusing on the fact that Beau returns to Phoenix in three days, without wagering my own bet about my chances of finding love, and without thinking through the ways I might mess up my new job, I surrender to a night of miracles that turns my gratitude toward the keeper of those glorious stars above.
Saturday’s Style Section
The photo features Sadie, Carson, Lionel, me, Beau, and a portion of Angelica’s face as she looks on with shock. The short article occupies my attention all morning.
“The unveiling of Carson Curtis’ night garden hosted by the Botanical Society was a festive affair that beckoned the likes of Majestic Vista’s Lionel Richardson. Once again, Milano’s camera has captured the fabulous look and style of Ms. Mari Hamilton, pictured here with bare feet, adding a surprising touch of whimsy to her fairy princess vintage Valentino. Tucson Style has found its fashion muse for the year. While always-elegant Sadie Verity directs attention to the stars, we’ll keep our eye on Ms. Hamilton. It looks like Angelica Ross of Rex and Hunter pharmaceutical is already doing just that.”
As I put the paper down on the kitchen table, I notice the real estate section. There, framed by a drawing of an intricate garden gate, is an ad for Canyon Crest. “The last wing of luxury condos will be available in six months. Reserve today!” I carefully tear it out and put it in my purse. Monday I will use my first lunch break as a fabulous Majestic Vista employee to call and reserve my future home.
The phone rings; on the couch Elmo resituates his large body away from the annoying sound. “Hello?” I am expecting Sadie but am pleasantly surprised to hear someone else.
“Did you see the paper? Is Angelica going to flip or what?”
“Absolutely!” We laugh as though we do this every Saturday. I toy with my woven bracelet—Old Mari cannot believe this is real. The new Mari considers how incredibly real and normal this feels.
Third Date
The dark paneled walls of Divine, a posh restaurant in a resort even more exclusive than Majestic Vista, provide a rich, peaceful backdrop for Date Number Three. Angelica says it is the absolute best ambience for Date Three. Curiously, she hosts her top clients, doctors and psychiatrists, in this place of hushed conversations and violin music. And she wonders aloud why her clients become infatuated with her.
I don’t think she really wonders.
Beau steps forward to check on our reservation. I use the opportune vantage point to admire the width of his shoulders, the tailoring of his suit, and his kind manner toward the hostess. He looks back to be sure I am okay. I wave from the damask-upholstered mahogany bench. All I need is a pillbox hat and I am royalty.
He does a little wave.
I am resting on a cloud—a silky, damask-covered cloud—watching this bit of heaven ask about “our table.”
Our reservation.
Our future.
Our life.
“Our” is not a word I have used very honestly. I toss it out when I need to imply power. “I have a team of people backing me. I am not alone.” This is what a false “our” is meant to connote.
Just last week I called the cable company to report my missing Classics Network. Said repeatedly to the customer service rep, “our” was intended to conjure up visions of a bulky husband—surely standing next to me, breathing just inches from the receiver—who would be very, very upset if he missed the Gene Kelly film festival.