by Heather Gean
“You know, I once dated a man from Tennessee,” pilsbury-dough-woman said. “He worked on a riverboat and never wore shoes. He had rustic charm.” The trio looked at one another before turning their eyes toward my feet in unison. Dear God.
“Ya know, we normally don’t,” I said. “As a matter of fact we run around naked half of the time. Just whenever momma forgets to scrub our clothes clean in a basin and hang them out to dry.” Mrs. Peacock was the only one who seemed to catch on to that. She half-smiled at me before shifting her weight. Meanwhile, the other two were whispering in awe at my statement. I glanced around for Ashley who was nowhere to be found. Another sip from my glass left me dizzy. If I didn’t slow down I wouldn’t be able to walk in those heels much longer.
“How did you manage to snag a catch like Ashley?” one of them asked. I gave up searching him out and turned back to the group with a simple shrugged.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“You know, I heard there was a mix up. I heard Ashley has filed an appeal,” vulture-lady said. I nearly choked on the liquor in my throat.
“You know, I heard the same thing. I suppose they realized you weren’t a gold digger or anything like that,” pilsubury-dough-woman added. “You don’t really look like one. You aren’t blonde enough.”
“Yes, and I’m nearly positive that her breasts are real,” Mrs. Peacock said. Though on that note I stifled a smile, the others still had my blood boiling. It appeared that no matter the social class or the location, old ladies everywhere lived to speculate. A few more ‘bless her heart’s and ‘I ain’t one to talk about nobody but’s and I would almost feel like I was on the old ladies’ pew at church just before a Sunday sermon.
“You know, I heard your father paid someone off. Isn’t he a Senator?” vulture-lady said. The insinuation that I wasn’t qualified to be Ashley’s future wife was really getting sour.
“Actually, he’s a Representative. And you know, if you think for one second that I’m the kind of girl who needs to--” Someone caught me by my arm, steadying me just after I spilled martini down the side of my dress. The string of curse words I’d intended to spew at the vulture were swallowed up in a gasp. A chill ran down my hip as all attention was diverted to the accident.
“Rainy, oh god, I’m so sorry.” Van stood in wide-eyed horror at my side with his hand on my arm. “Come with me, I can get you cleaned up. Excuse us, ladies.”
As he was leading me away from the women and toward what I assumed to be a bathroom, I heaved a sigh. “Mr. Sherman, why is it that every time we meet I find myself in a questionable situation?”
“I’m just exciting like that,” he replied absently. He seemed to be searching the crowd for someone. Just before he led me into a bathroom I hadn’t even known was there, he snagged a blonde from the bar. “I spilled a drink on her dress. Help her out, okay?” The blonde tossed her hair and sighed before agreeing.
Before Van let me enter the bathroom, he touched my arm again. “Hey, don’t let these people get to you. You nearly insulted Madame Noir and Mrs. Hezeki.” I recognized the names as a high-end fashion designer and a beer company. I winced and decided a spilled martini was preferable to having two of the most influential women in America hating me on something more than principle.
“Thanks,” I sighed. “Who was the one in purple?”
Van smiled, and without the redness in his eyes and the stubble on his face, he was heart-wrenchingly adorable. “That’s Grandmother Greer. Don’t worry. Nobody can insult her.” He nudged me with his elbow. “It’s cool. Just didn’t want you to get TKOed before dinner.” I laughed and thanked him again. At least someone was looking out for me.
The bathroom door shut behind us, muffling out all sounds of the party but not quite blocking out the aroma of dinner. “Hey, Penelope, thanks, but I think I’ve got it,” I said as she attempted to help me dab out the wet spot on my dress with a hand towel.
“Penelope?” She giggled and tossed her hair again. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong sister. I’m Walker.”
“Walker?”
She grinned. “Yeah, we met earlier today. Upstairs…” It all fell together. The girl standing in front of me had been the same spitfire who’d stormed into my room, but not the apathetic girl lying beside the pool. “I hope you won’t tell anyone.”
“Uhh… no. Of course not.” My head was spinning, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the tangled web of lookalike family hanging around the Schroeder house. She studied my confused expression.
“Twins,” she simply responded. That explained a lot. “Don’t hold it against me.”
After giving up on the hand towel, she instructed me to sit on the counter right beside the wall. I did so in a far less sober manner than I’d intended. “Why am I doing this?” I asked.
Walker pressed a silver button on the wall that sent an automatic hand dryer I’d thought was a soap dish whirring. Warm air blasted the side of my dress. Jeesh, this was really too much.
“So how does it feel?” Walker asked as she leaned against the opposite wall. I looked at her in confusion. She seemed to leave too much out of her sentences.
“Warm?”
“No. I mean, being the future Mrs. Schroeder,” she said dramatically. The first picture that popped into my head at that name was Ashley’s fake as press-on nails mother. I winced. I didn’t seem a suitable heir to that heavily weighted name nor did I really want to be.
“Like I need another martini.” Walker whole-heartedly agreed.
Once I slipped off of the counter and reopened the bathroom door, I took a deep breath. Round two was upon us, and it was anybody’s match.
~*~
Here’s the million-dollar question: how many alcoholic beverages does it take to get through dinner with the Schroeder clan? Unfortunately, I’d lost count. In my opinion that translated to entirely too many.
I sat near one end of a table long enough to seat every all one-hundred of the guests. There was a certain hierarchy to the seating arrangement, and the fact that I was sitting beside Ashley Schroeder on my first visit had created quite a buzz further down the table. It was as if some peasant girl had suddenly been made queen of the castle, and the entire kingdom was ready to storm the castle with pitchforks and torches. I figured I could hold them off with the over abundance of forks sitting aside my plate. Besides, if I’d been stabbed at that moment I would’ve bled gin. In a sense, I had begun to feel immortal.
I poked at the dessert on my plate with what was probably the wrong fork. Nobody needed that many forks. I attempted multiplying the number of forks per plate to figure out exactly how many of the same utensil it took to set the table, but I quickly lost count. The martini and I weren’t good math partners.
“Now, gentlemen, no business at the table,” I heard from Mrs. Schroeder. Her statement was directed at her husband, Ashley, and two other men. They’d been arguing over investment options since the soup and salad. I’d spent a whole dinner with Ashley and his family and had only learned the obvious; they were filthy rich and their business was booming.
“I’m glad you interrupted. I have business of a different kind to take care of,” Ashley said cordially.
He stood abruptly and tapped one of his many forks against the edge of his glass. It made a ringing sound that swirled around in my head far longer than it should have. All ninety-eight other people sitting at the table immediately turned their attention to him. “I would like to make a toast,” he announced. I wanted to sink straight to down to the floor when he said it because something in his sideward glance hinted that the toast was about me. “I don’t know how many of you have met Rainy Clarke, but I was informed a few weeks ago that she is the future Mrs. Ashley Schroeder. So this is to the DML for sending this lovely lady to me. I don’t think any man could’ve gotten as lucky.” Though the crowd was not composed of my biggest fans, the guests applauded and smiled accordingly.
I’d never heard someone announce how wonderf
ul I was to an entire crowd, especially not a complete stranger. That’s basically what Ashley was to me. I knew nothing more about him at the end of dinner than I did before I flew out to New York. I felt like a mail-order bride who barely spoke the language and knew nothing of the customs. Though I smiled while people applauded, I wanted to announce to everyone how fucked up I thought this situation was, but perhaps in less vulgar language.
Ashley didn’t return to my side. Instead, he whisked me out of my chair with a tug of my hand. “Do you like to dance?” Ashley asked as he led me out of the dining room. Other guests began to follow suit on his cue.
My head spun for a multitude of reasons. “I’m not very good at it,” I replied. Dancing around my apartment in my underwear to random rock tunes was a definite yes. Dancing in a ballroom while slightly inebriated to a string quartet was a negative.
Ashley pulled me close to his side by my hand. “It’s okay, I’m not either,” he half-whispered.
Once in the massive foyer that doubled as a ballroom, Ashley spun me around in what should’ve been a graceful twirl and ended up catching me the second I lost my balance. His arms wrapped around me as I steadied myself. “Whoa. Too much to drink for that one?”
I nodded with a wince. “The room is doing enough spinning for the both of us.” Ashley grinned, still holding me close to him.
“Do you have a request for the band?” At present they were playing some slow melody fit for a funeral.
“I doubt I know anything they can play.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” He swayed me to the slow tune. “They’re the best string quartet in New York. They know everything.”
“‘Heart Shaped Box’,” I challenged. It was the last song that I’d listened to on my mp3 player before I arrived in New York. That moment seemed like days ago instead of less than twenty-four hours earlier; this was one of the longest days I’d had in a while.
“By…?” Ashley prompted.
No, seriously? I gave him a look of skepticism, but soon realized that he really had no clue. “Nirvana.” He laughed at himself as if he should’ve known. His arms slipped from around me, and he quickly approached the quartet leader to put in my request.
By the time Ashley returned to me they were hitting the first few notes of “Heart Shaped Box.” While it sounded wildly different on classical instruments, I could tell they were making an honest effort. I was shocked, but not as much as the rest of the guests. They’d already begun to move to the walls and avoid any attempt to ballroom dance to this song.
Ashley put one arm around my waist and entwined his free hand in mine. I began to laugh softly. As he moved us around the floor I struggled to follow his lead.
“I hope you aren’t laughing at my dancing,” he said with a grin. I smiled back at him. He was so classically gorgeous. If manufacturers ever caught on, an Ashley doll would be Barbie’s next love interest once her fling with Blaine died down. Then again, Barbie would need permission from the DML before she tried anything like that.
I felt the toe of my heel crush Ashley’s foot. A simultaneous cringe was followed by soft laughter. “I told you I’m a horrible dancer,” I said as apology. The tip of my tongue slurred the c in ‘dancer’.
“Then we make a good pair.” I didn’t know for sure if he was right, but we seemed to be okay so far. We were, however, the only pair on the dance floor. Luckily, I still had the elixir of immortality coursing through my veins.
“What are the words to this song?” he asked. What lyrics my mind didn’t blank out on were nowhere near happy. Kurt Cobain wasn’t exactly a rainbows and butterflies kind of guy.
“Ya know, it’s kind of hard to tell what he’s singing. It was part of his appeal.” Ashley chuckled and accepted it as a suitable answer. In my head, however, I sang along. It wasn’t until the song neared its end that I realized two other people in the room were mouthing the words: Penelope and Van.
When the song finally ended a few people clapped appropriately. “Any other requests?” Ashley asked.
“I’d like to sit down.”
Ashley put his hand on my lower back. “I’m assuming that isn’t a song.” I laughed a little as he led me to an armchair so large it dwarfed me.
“Another drink?” he asked.
“I probably shouldn’t.” He nodded in agreement.
Ashley occupied the matching armchair aside mine. An end table with a bowl of mints atop it sat between us. I smuggled one and relaxed into the velvety fabric. “Nice furniture,” I said.
“Yeah, mom ordered these chairs from Switzerland. Apparently most of the American chairs that year were leather. She told the vendors that she didn’t live in the Playboy mansion and therefore had no need for leather furniture.” He grinned at the preposterousness of her reasoning.
“Wow,” I said with a laugh. “Now that I know all about your family, what should I know about you?”
Ashley leaned on the armrest nearest me. “Well, what do you want to know?”
Liquor had a way with encouraging me to say things I shouldn’t say. I probably should’ve kept that in mind before I made best friends with the bartender. “What do you really think about this wedding business?” He shot me a sideward glance before shifting his weight. My heart sped a bit. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Well, Rainy.” He inserted a short pause. He was too charismatic to let anyone hear him stutter. “I’m at a really good point in my life. I’m financially stable, I’m prepared to buy a second house and make any necessary arrangements, and I want someone to share that with. I’m happy that you’re that person.” He paired it with nothing more than a confident gaze.
A second house? Necessary arrangements? “What do you mean by necessary arrangements? Would you buy a house in Memphis?”
“Sure,” he said. “Anywhere you want. I wonder if that Graceland place is for sale yet.” I had to laugh at that.
“You would you move to Memphis?”
He shifted in his chair again. “Moving is such a strong term. We could stay there from time to time.”
“I have a job in the Cultural Art Museum of Memphis. Will you insist that I give it up?”
He smiled. “What is this? Twenty questions?” I cooled my guns and relaxed again. The prospect of staying in Memphis excited me, though.
“If I’m going to marry you I need to know more than what you do between nine to five everyday.” Ashley snaked his hand to my armrest to squeeze mine.
“Well, this is it.” I glanced at the stuffy people milling around the fancy party and decided if I had that kind of money I wouldn’t spend my time in places like that. “Any more questions?”
“Tons.” I figured now was the perfect opportunity to find the truth in Google’s information on Ashley. “Do you have any strange allergies to household pests?”
Ashley raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“How about a gnome collection?”
He laughed. “Not currently, no.”
“Have you ever?”
“No,” he said. “That’s incredibly strange.” I took comfort in knowing that the idea seemed as absurd to him as it had to me. Obviously the internet wasn’t the most reliable source for information. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.” I nodded in concurrence but continued in my relentless quest for knowledge.
“I have a dog.” My thoughts were growing scattered. “He’s black and white. His name is Ringo Starr.”
Ashley nodded receptively. “I’ve never had a dog. I’ve considered getting one, but I don’t have a lot of time to devote to a pet. Does he come with you like a package deal?” I said that he did, relieved that Ashley didn’t hate dogs. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.
“You shouldn’t invest in Google.”
He nodded in confusion. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
My vision was beginning to blur as I looked out across the thin crowd of dancers. I was a little drunk, but most of all I was exhausted. I was proud of myself for making it through
the evening alive. It seemed like an eternity ago when I’d stepped off of the airplane. The Schroeder mansion was like a giant time-warp continuum. I wondered how many Transylvanian transvestites were in attendance.
“Rainy,” Ashley said, pulling me back into reality. His gaze was more tender than it had been all night. “I don’t want you to think I’m moving too slow with this. I just wanted to get to know you a little before I officially proposed.”
“Slow is nice.”
“And you’ll get a ring. I wanted to meet you before I picked it out.” I hadn’t even thought about a ring. I rubbed my thumb across the underside of the ring finger on my left hand; I wasn’t sure I was ready to feel an engagement ring there, but I nodded.
Ashley traced a finger across the top of my hand. I watched it, realizing how numb I was from the alcohol. “Maybe it’ll even be in a heart-shaped box.”
“Listen to the song before you decide that?” I wasn’t a Pisces, but nonetheless the connotations wouldn’t be nice.
I thought of Van and Penelope at mention of the song. My watchful eye found them sitting together at the base of the curving, ascending staircase. They were engaged in nonstop conversation. For no good reason I felt a pang in my chest. I squirmed a little in my chair. Seeing an engaging conversation and an honest connection made me realize that I was missing out.
“You okay?” I returned my eyes to him absently. “You look a little green.” I knew he meant sick, and that I was not. I knew how to hold my liquor. However, I took pain in responding with a nod. I envious, and that bothered the hell out of me.
Round two ended with a pang. It was a TKO for Rainy and definitely time to call it a night.