Vanity Fare

by Megan Caldwell

  Lissa just looked pleasant, as she always did. “Nice to meet you, John.”

  I couldn’t quite figure out what they might have in common, besides breathing and both being available, but I knew John was enough of a salesman, and Lissa was empathic enough for them to figure it out themselves.

  Sure enough, before I’d even left them, they were talking about men’s fashion and where to find the best sushi.

  Yay. I liked it when I could do nice things for my friends.

  I came up to where Keisha was surveying the crowd. She spoke without looking at me. “In case you’re wondering, Molly, the karaoke begins at nine P.M. And we’ve got the first half hour solidly booked.” Then she glared at me, as if daring me to back out. I knew she’d never let me hear the end of it if I did, so I made sure to keep my mouth shut.

  “Wonderful,” I managed to say. I walked to the bar and leaned my elbow on it. Mike handed me a highball glass filled with something fizzy. I took a sip, relieved to find it was seltzer.

  “Hi, Molly.”

  I nearly choked on my drink. Nick had somehow managed to get next to me without my noticing. I placed my drink down so I could wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.

  “Hi, Nick. I didn’t know you were still here, I thought you’d left already. I mean, we had the event, and all, and I thought work was done. But I’m glad you’re here. I really appreciate it. Of course, I’m terrified for when the singing actually starts, but everyone knows I can barely carry a tune, even if I know the words to most of the popular songs from the past twenty years.”

  Dear God, I was babbling. And he was looking at me with that understanding glint in his eye, as if he knew just how uncomfortable I was. I only hoped he didn’t know how much I wished he’d lean over and kiss me.

  “You’ll do fine. Your friends will make sure of it. They’re quite fiercely protective of you, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh?” I replied as nonchalantly as I could, taking another sip from my drink. “Did they say anything?”

  He chuckled. “They didn’t have to. As soon as I said my name, your friend Keisha gave me this appraising stare, and the other one, the blond one, made sure I knew just how smart and funny you are, and how many people—that is, men—are just lying in wait for your divorce to be finalized.”

  Who knew Lissa was in training to be my mother?

  “Oh. Well. Sorry about that.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t be. Friends like that are precious. So what if they threaten someone’s liver with a rusty butter knife? It just means they care about you.”

  I snorted into my drink, making the seltzer jump up my nose. His face got all concerned, like when someone accidentally ingests liquid into their nasal passages. Or just makes a complete and total ass of herself.

  “You okay?” He reached out his arm and patted me on the back. I wiped my nose surreptitiously on my polyester sleeve. Hm. Not so absorbent.

  “Fine. Great. Fine.” Oh, God, I was babbling again. I checked my watch—at least seventeen minutes until the torture—that is, the karaoke—started.

  “Want to dance?” At least it’d be better than trying to figure out how many ways I could find not to blurt, I have the worst crush in the world on you, and I wish you were just the least bit interested in me.

  “Sure.” So he did engage in rhythmic motion. Nick reached out and took my glass from my nerveless fingers, placing it on the bar. Then he grabbed my hand and led me toward the dance floor, like Simon had, only this time it was not so much proprietary as solicitous. Or so my biased brain said.

  Stevie Wonder’s “As” was starting to play. What cruel devil DJ was making me suffer so? It was long, well over five minutes, and it was one of my favorites, and it also usually made me cry. Not what you wanted to hear when with your unrequited crush.

  I looked up into the tiny DJ booth and saw Keisha lodged up there, enormous headphones stuck on either side of her close-cut hair. I stuck my tongue out at her, then looked back at Nick.

  “Ah, Keisha just . . . oh, never mind,” I said, giving up on explanations. I looked down and stared at my feet.

  A strong hand lifted my chin. I met Nick’s eyes, and I could tell, even in the dark room, they were amused. “C’mon, Molly, I know you’re not as shy as you pretend. I saw you dancing with Simon before and you didn’t look at the ground with him.”

  That’s because I don’t care about him.

  Had I said that out loud? His expression hadn’t changed, I guessed I hadn’t.

  “Uh, sorry,” I mumbled, not breaking eye contact.

  “That’s better,” he said, reaching out and pulling me into his arms. I felt the solid warmth of him, even through the ancient polyester, and his smell—that very masculine scent that had sent me spinning even before I knew what kind of man he was.

  “Thanks for coming,” I muttered into his chest, only it came out sounding like “Nkf ffr krfing.” He laughed, a deep rumble that echoed into my body.

  After a while, his grip tightened, and I found my right leg moving in between his, his left leg between mine. A perfect fit.

  We danced in silence. It felt so good, so comfortable to be there with him. Even though I was full of anxiety about how I felt. Glad to know I put the “moron” in oxymoronic.

  I also couldn’t avoid what seemed to be happening to Nick. Or, more specifically, to what was happening below Nick’s belt. I’d just registered it when he pulled his body just far enough away so neither of us would be embarrassed. Hopefully.

  It still felt comfortable, and now I knew he felt something, too.

  When the song finally ended, he pulled away from me, giving my back a last, fleeting stroke. I wanted to lean into him, to pull his face down to mine, but I just stared at the ground. We stood there just a beat too long, and I felt as if there were an electric charge traveling between our bodies. My heart was beating just a little faster, and I almost looked up to say something, but then I felt somebody else bump into me, and the moment was gone.

  “ ’Kay, Mol, you’re on!” Lissa poked me in the arm, forcing me to look up into her face. Cheery and cute, as usual. It was a shame she was so nice or I’d hate her.

  “On?” I said stupidly, wishing my friend the floor would swallow me up. Nick smiled—was it an “I like you” smile, or just a friendly smile?—then turned and headed for the bar.

  “Onstage? For karaoke?” Lissa said, as if explaining something to a very slow person. I acted the part, moving as slowly as I could toward the tiny stage.

  All too soon, I was there. Keisha bounded up onto it, holding her hand out for me, grinning that grin I was beginning to despise.

  I took her hand and clutched it, hard, allowing her to swing me up onto the stage. There was a wooden three-legged stool on one side, and a microphone on the other. I moved instinctively toward the stool, but Keisha positioned me directly in front of the microphone. The lights were in my face, but I could still see all too many faces peering up at me.

  God, make this night stop.

  “Don’t I have to choose a song or something?” I asked.

  “Nope. Already taken care of. Mr. DJ?”

  Mike had replaced Keisha in the booth and nodded at me. Maybe I didn’t like him so much after all.

  The opening strains of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” came leaking out of the tinny speakers. Boy, did my friends know me. Despite my tension, I felt a smile creep over my face.

  I took one step to the microphone, prepared to sing my version of the ultimate divorce song.

  And froze.

  My throat wouldn’t let anything out.

  I tried. I squeaked a little, squawked some, then took the step back and felt my face flame. I felt my eyes start to well up. I couldn’t even sing in public, for goodness’ sake, what made me arrogant enough to think I could survive on my own, and take care of Aidan, too?

  I tried again, and this time, I managed a tiny little quaver. Triumph! I could do it! I opened my mouth wider this
time.

  And belted out the first few lines, just a little late.

  I was just hitting the part about making him leave the keys when he moved into the spotlight.

  Hugh.

  All scruffy brown-haired no-good cheating sonofabitch of him. Who’d brought my mother close to financial ruin. Who was about to do the same to Aidan and me.

  My mouth snapped closed.

  Keisha, who’d been below me on the floor, looked behind her. When she swung her head back in my direction, there was a fearsome light in her eye. She darted back into the crowd—was she going to sock him?—and pulled Lissa up to the stage, hopping up next to me, holding a hand out for Lissa.

  The music was still going, but no one was singing.

  Keisha poked me in the ribs, then gestured for me to start moving. She poked Lissa in the ribs, too, and they both began shuffling in that backup singer lope.

  “Sing, woman, sing!” she hissed into my ear. I shuffled toward the microphone. It was time for the chorus.

  “Go on now, go,” I sang, making a shooing motion with my hands. Hugh’s eyes widened, and he blinked a few times, fast. I guess I wasn’t too subtle. I knew I was loud.

  Keisha and Lissa moved to either side of me, doing the bump, like the popular girls did in high school. I felt confident, exhilarated, pissed off.

  What the fuck was Hugh doing at my Freedom Party?

  When the song finally wound down, all three of us were giggling onstage, and most of the audience had thrown their arms in the air and were clapping.

  I had actually done it! I was free! I could do it.

  Except Hugh was headed toward me, a determined look on his face. Keisha stepped in front of me, blocking his view. He peered over her shoulder. “Molly, I need to talk to you.”

  “Not now, dickface,” Keisha said. I winced at her bluntness. “Can’t you see this is Molly’s night? This isn’t about you, or Ms. California, or how lame you are for getting fired. So go away and leave her alone.” She planted herself in front of me.

  Hugh blanched.

  “And who the hell told you about it anyway?” she snarled.

  We both turned and looked in my mom’s direction. She looked guilty as she saw Hugh and the expression on our faces.

  I pushed Keisha away and stepped forward to look into Hugh’s eyes. “No, Keish, I can handle it. I can,” I repeated, making sure she heard my confidence. She moved to the side, leaving me alone with Hugh.

  “Is Aidan okay?” He nodded. “So. What’s up?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. At that moment, if Hugh had said anything I didn’t like, I knew I was going to deck him. It felt good. Damn good.

  “Um, well,” he stammered, trying to take my arm, “I . . . I want you back.”

  An unbidden wave of relief washed over me. For a moment, I basked in being wanted.

  Then I remembered it was Hugh, a man whom I’d realized was weak, shallow, selfish, and not so bright.

  “Why?” I demanded. I shook his arm off like he was a pesky puppy begging for a treat.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. His pants, I noticed, were new since we’d broken up. They made his legs look short.

  He pulled his hand out of his pocket holding a black velvet box. “Because I made a mistake.” He flipped the box open, exposing his grandmother’s ring and all its beautiful, shiny facets. The ring he’d given me already. But taken back.

  I wanted to fall down on the ground and howl, but I knew what I had to do. “No kidding. Just one? I’d count at least each one of the dollars you siphoned from our savings account, the times you made Aidan feel bad for not being just like you, the way you got fired because you just couldn’t cut it, maybe how you didn’t even have the guts to tell me you were unhappy with our marriage. Not to mention how you never took your used water glasses to the kitchen sink.”

  He drew his fingers across his brow and rubbed it in that lame “I’m thinking so intently” way he’d innovated in college for especially hard oral exams.

  He sighed. Heavily. “You’re right, Molly.” He shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture. “What can I say? You’re right. But I miss you. I want you back.”

  “Why?” I asked again. “What about Sylvia?”

  “We broke up,” he said shortly.

  “Oh, so you think you can come back and crook your little finger and I’ll make it all better? She dumped you, didn’t she?”

  The expression on his face answered as clearly as his words could have.

  “I knew it. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t desperate. Geez, Hugh, how do you think that makes me feel?”

  He stepped forward, as if to clasp me in his arms. The caress-instead-of-talk ploy had always worked on me before; I guess he thought he’d go for the sure thing.

  “I love you, Molly.”

  Both of us stared at each other for a moment. In all our years together, he’d never said it. Never. Not when he’d proposed, not when I spent my paycheck on his law degree, not even when I’d given birth to Aidan.

  I used to blame it on his upbringing and his heritage—his family just wasn’t that demonstrative—but now I knew better. Bastard.

  I stomped on his foot. He yelped, then gave me an accusing glare. “You hurt me, Molly.”

  “Yeah, well, join the club, Hugh. When you left, I was devastated. I didn’t know what I had done. What was wrong with me. Well, I’ve since found out nothing is wrong with me. I’m a good mother, a good friend, and yes, Hugh, I was a good wife.”

  I poked him in the chest, hard. “But I’m not going to be a good wife anymore. I’m not letting you crawl back into my life and push me back into being that insecure person again. Go on now, go.” I finished, pointing my finger toward the door. Gloria herself couldn’t have done it better. I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction, then looked to see his reaction.

  Apparently Hugh was as impressed with my dramatics as I was. His mouth dropped open, then he recovered, snapping it closed and taking a menacing step toward me.

  “Let me tell you a few things, Molly, since we’re being so open.” He shoved his finger in my face, and I had to resist the temptation to bite it off. “You think you’ve been the long-suffering wife? Well, I suffered, too. Every time I stayed out just a minute later than I said, I heard about it. Not in words, no, you wouldn’t ever go so far as to actually talk to me, but you said plenty in sighs and sad faces and silence. It got so I wished you’d just haul yourself up on the cross and be done with it.”

  He had me there. I had done those things. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I knew I wasn’t that martyr any longer. “Just go, Hugh,” I said in a resigned tone. “I don’t think there’s anything more to say.”

  I turned away from him and walked up to the bar. “Seltzer and lime, please,” I said to the bartender. He nodded, then passed the glass into my hand. “Cheers,” I said, raising my glass to myself. I took a long swallow, then put the glass back on the bar and chanced a look behind me.

  Fuck. Hugh was still there, glaring at me. What part of “just go” didn’t he understand?

  “Molly,” he said, reaching a hand toward me. His voice was meek, pleading. Did he actually still have hopes of reconciliation? And why would he want to in the first place, given everything we both thought of us when we were together?

  “Molly, is this individual giving you trouble?” Simon sounded as snobby and British as he possibly could. I saw Hugh visibly stiffen.

  Great. I bet even Gloria Gaynor never had nights like this.

  The Ice Cream Man Cometh

  Come on, you didn’t think we’d miss something so obvious, did you? Yeah, well, he’s done terrible things, he’s tortured—and he’s got pistachio, strawberry, and chocolate, and that’s just for starters. So pull up a seat at the bar, grab a cone, and enjoy, because for this guy in white, life’s failures are inevitable.

  25

  “SIMON, I’M FINE.” I PUSHED HIS ARM BACK TOWARD HIS body. He’d li
fted it, as if prepared to sock Hugh in the nose. Not a bad idea, but when it happened, I wanted it to be my arm that did the socking.

  “Nobody talks to Molly like that.” He cocked his fist again.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered, pushing his arm down again, more firmly this time. “I’m not yours to defend, Simon. Back off.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, buddy, you heard her.” Now Hugh was starting to get that caveman tone in his voice. “And she can’t be yours, she’s my wife.”

  What was next, chest-beating? Maybe one of them would decide to drag me by my hair to their cave. “Look guys, I’m flattered by this whole ‘Me Tarzan’ thing, but I’d like Hugh here to leave, and Simon to understand I can take care of myself. Is that too much to ask?”

  They both looked at me dumbfounded. Apparently it was.

  I glanced around at the others. They were looking at us all like we were the main attraction at a wrestling event.

  Hugh’s face got tight and twisted, like the night before he took the LSATs and realized he hadn’t paid attention in his Kaplan prep course. Simon just shot me a condescending smirk.

  “Don’t pay attention to her, Hugh, good fellow, Molly needs taking care of from creeps like you.”

  And that’s when Hugh hit him. Right in the arm. Hugh never could aim straight. Simon retaliated by punching Hugh square in the upper chest, making Hugh give this funny little squeak as he bent over. While there, however, he nailed Simon right in the belt. Simon’s eyes got all wide before he kicked Hugh in the shins.

  “Stop it,” I yelped. “Stop it!” I tried to separate them and got an elbow in the mouth for my trouble. A strong arm reached in and grabbed me around the waist.

  “Just leave them to it,” Nick said in my ear. He pulled me away from the flailing limbs and tucked me snugly against his side. His warm, strong side.

  Keep control of yourself, Molly, I said as I felt myself start to lean into him. He kept his arm around my waist and turned me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here for a while,” he said in a low voice. I nodded, hoping neither one of the guys in the Thunderdome would notice.