by Lian Dolan
“He never mentioned it, but maybe it just slipped his mind.” Neutron Mel must have really wined and dined him at Bistro 47 to get him to agree to shepherd around some wealthy Pasadenans in the middle of the dig season. The Blackberry buzzed again. Jennifer looked at the screen. “It’s Melanie, I’ve got to take this. Your hair looks great! It’s huge! Huge!”
At least I had that going for me. As I walked out of Stephen Stephens Salon, I thought that it did sound like a dream trip. My dream trip.
“Here you go, Missus. Oh, very nice,” said Tran the Mailman as he handed me the mail and pointed to my new ‘do. “You look good. Are you going to the big party tonight?”
“Yes, at the Huntington. A fundraiser for the schools.” I replied, amused by his interest and flipping through a stack of bills until I got to a large manila envelope.
“I know. We going, too. Outside the party, anyway. My son Bernard is playing the violin in the special orchestra. He has a solo.” At the benefit, Pasadena’s top orchestra students lined the red carpet and serenaded the guests into the party. It was a lovely tradition. Of course, Tran’s son Bernard would be a concert violinist as well as a straight-A student. “That’s lovely, Tran. I’ll keep my eye out for him. Or at least, an ear out!”
Tran pointed to the envelope. “Good luck with that. My son apply too, for violin. He didn’t get in. Good thing he going to Raleigh.”
I had no idea what Tran was talking about. Apply where? My face must have registered my confusion, because Tran piped up to clarify, “To the High School for the Arts. The envelope, the big one. What does your son play?”
“Water polo,” I responded like an idiot. I looked down at the return address of the large envelope. The Los Angeles County High School of the Performing Arts. Somewhere in downtown Los Angeles. It was marked: To Aiden Fairchild. What the hell was this? I didn’t want to open it in front of Tran, and I think my look told him that.
“I don’t think they have a water polo team! Ha, ha! Bye, Missus,” Tran laughed as he bounded down the driveway. “Maybe see you tonight!”
“Yes. Tonight.”
Aiden, still in his pajamas, ripped open the envelope, while I stood there like a stranger in my son’s life. “Yes!” he shouted. “Yes! I got in. I made it!” And then the biggest genuine smile of his life passed across his face, accompanied by a fist pump. “Yes! Whooo!”
I was stunned. Seriously, I was stunned. It was like the day the police came to tell me about Merritt and the panda. “How?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom,” Aiden quipped, doing the end-zone dance on top of the couch.
“I didn’t mean that, Aiden. Please stop that!” He did. At least for a second. “I just meant how, how did this happen?”
“I applied and I got in.”
I was going to lose it. “Okay, I’m trying to understand this. But you’ve got to stop being cute with me. You somehow applied to a performing-arts school without my knowledge. And honestly, without my knowledge that you had any actual performing-arts talent—don’t take that the wrong way, but you’ve never even auditioned for a play at Millington. And now you’re in and you’re thrilled. Aiden, what is going on?”
So he told me what had been going on while I’d been at work, or out looking at houses, or at the accountant’s office trying to straighten out our financial mess. In other words, while I’d been absorbed in stabilizing our lives, he’d been thinking about the future. He’d learned about the school from Lydia, the girl from summer camp last year who went to Los Angeles County High School for the Performing Arts (LACHSPA—that’s what everyone calls it, Mom). They stayed in touch all year (ah, yes—the one beaming into our living room on iChat every night). She was a dance major, and she thought he could be a really good actor. Or even a director! (Like Dr. O'Neill said!) So after he blew the interview at Ignatius (I’m really sorry I was such a jerk—I just hate those uniforms), he got together an application (a transcript, three essays and a headshot) and had my mother sign all the legal paperwork (wait until I get my hands on her!). Then he rehearsed an audition piece with Lydia over the computer (yes, from Romeo & Juliet, the same play he claimed not to understand at Ignatius), and Emilia drove him to the audition one night when I was working late (I could kill her, too!).
My son, the same one who can barely remember to turn off the water after brushing his teeth, had decided that he wanted to be an actor and managed to get himself into a highly selective performing-arts high school—one that even the mailman’s perfect son couldn’t get into—all by himself.
If I wasn’t holding the letter of acceptance myself, I would have never believed it.
“Mom?”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“I really want to go there. And it’s free! It’s a public school, so we don’t have to pay anything!”
Now the real $25,000 question, at least as far as I was concerned. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to go to a school like this? Why did you go behind my back?”
“You wanted me to go to Ignatius so bad. It seemed really important to you. I didn’t want to disappoint you. And the whole Dad thing. I know Grandmother and everybody wants me to go there. And when you gave me Dad’s Ignatius jacket, that made me feel horrible,” Aiden said, his eyes welling up. “That’s when I told Nell and she said she would help me. I didn’t want you to get mad. And I thought, if I didn’t get in, then you’d never know. But, I did get in.”
Now I was the one blinking back tears, mindful that Tina had warned me that crying equals puffy face. He couldn’t tell me because he didn’t want to disappoint me. I wanted to strangle him and hug him to death at the same time. But I couldn’t ruin my cascading hair with that much close contact.
I looked at the letter. We had a week to give them an answer. I’d only put down a small deposit at Ignatius, and the balance of the tuition wasn’t due for months. I had two ways to go here: Fight it or accept it. The look of joy on Aiden’s face made the right answer clear. “Okay, here’s the deal. I don’t know anything about this school, like if they even teach math.…”
“They do and all those AP classes that I know you’re going to want me to take,” Aiden interrupted. I held up my hand, signaling my turn to talk. He wisely shut up.
“I don’t know anything about this school. Like how the heck you’re going to get to downtown L.A. everyday without injury. But let’s go look at the website. I want to see what it has to offer. Then next Wednesday I can take the day off and we’ll go visit together. I need to see it for myself and figure out if it’s going to work for us before I agree. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“And one more thing. You’ve got to show me that scene from Romeo & Juliet. I want to see this alleged acting.” I reached out for him, for my baby.
“Okay,” Aiden said, hugging me and burying his head in my shoulder, much to my hair’s dismay. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Aiden,” I said, squeezing tighter, hair be damned. Then I pointed him in the direction of the stairs. “Now go get some actual clothes on, please. Pack your stuff and brush your teeth. Mrs. Gamble is coming to pick you up. You’re spending the night there, remember? Because I’m going to the party with Dr. O’Neill.”
Aiden sprinted toward the stairs, then turned. “Have fun tonight, Mom.”
By the time Tina arrived with my mystery dress, I’d worked myself into such frenzy that nothing but a loaf of bread, a pound of Tillamook cheddar and a chocolate milkshake would calm me down. Really, with hours to go, it was too late to actually lose any more inches, or so I rationalized as I fired up the panini maker. I felt like a felon in my own home when I heard the quick knock, then Tina’s voice in the hallway. “I’m here. With your dress!” Tina managed to give the word “dress” about five syllables. I raced to hide the incriminating milkshake remains, but it was too late.
Tina’s face registered mock disapproval as she burst into the kitchen holding a long silver-gray dre
ss bag, “I hope the seams don’t burst from those carbs!” She unzipped the dress bag dramatically, “Close your eyes!” I heard more rustling, then she ordered, “Open them!”
I gasped—a true, I-can’t-believe-my-eyes-gasp. There before me was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. Better than my wedding dress! Tina held a milky white, one-shouldered, pleated silk dress with a braided gold sash. It was astonishingly beautiful. Classic and modern all at the same time. “Tina …”
“Isn’t it gorgeous! It’s a Mary McFadden. From her 1976 collection called something like Grecian Goddesses. How perfect is it? It’s almost the same dress that Jackie Kennedy wore to the Met Costume Gala that year. Only the draping down the front is different. Isn’t it unreal?”
It was unreal in every way. Oh, God, please let it fit.
“Let’s go try this beauty on and make sure you can get into it. I have a backup, but I don’t want to go there. This is the dress that dreams are made of!” Tina was going a mile a minute now. “By the way, what have you decided? Are you going to sleep with Dr. Dig tonight or what?” How did she know that’s all I’d been thinking about all day? Okay, all week. Fine, for the last month. “Just get that monkey off your back. He’s hot and he lives in a foreign country. Who better for your first time back in action?”
“You sound like Candy!” I countered, hoping to redirect the conversation, as I followed Tina and the dress up the stairs.
“Oh, no. I sound nothing like Candy. Because she thinks you’ve been sleeping with him for months and holding out on us! I, on the other hand, believe that you’ve wanted to sleep with him for months, but were too nervous to act on it. Am I right? Or is Candy?” We reached my bedroom. She held the dress an arm’s length away, implying she wouldn’t turn it over until she heard the truth.
How could I explain that sleeping with Patrick was not “getting a monkey off my back”? It was more than that. It was sex with someone other than my husband. It was sex for the first time with a different man in almost two decades! I was the last woman on earth who thought I’d find myself in this situation so soon after Merritt’s death. Along with all the usual hang-ups about that, I had the vision of my mother-in-law and Merritt’s sisters to haunt me with their disapproval. They’d be at the benefit tonight, watching my every move. To top it all off, I was somebody’s mother! That was a new one for me when it came to sleeping around. The last time I’d seduced a man, I was a grad student and food co-op worker, not a water polo mom. The reality was too much to dump on my friend, who had just arrived with the most beautiful dress ever. So I economized my words. “You’re right. Haven’t done it, but wanted to.”
“Yes! Lunch at Vivienne’s goes to me!” Tina crowed, then cautioned me, “Helen, don’t rush into anything if you don’t want to.”
But I did want to, that’s why I felt so conflicted. I just couldn’t admit that to Tina. “Good advice. Thanks.”
“All right, let’s get you into this dress! Suck it in, Helen!”
CHAPTER 21
Laughter, music and a deep golden light poured out of In Vino Veritas. It was a beautiful May evening, warm enough to go without the lavender silk wrap, a loaner from Tina that I had carefully folded in my evening bag for later. The Gambles had invited about a dozen couples to meet at the wine bar before heading to the Huntington. I’d been so relieved to get the invitation. It was the perfect place to rendezvous with Patrick. The last thing I wanted was for him to pick me up at my house. There was too much of my old life there. With only four days left of his stay in Pasadena, I didn’t want him to intersect with Merritt in any way.
I scooted myself out of Tina and Ander’s Lexus and collected my thoughts. After our dress fitting/sex pep talk, Tina went home to get ready. Returning a few hours later to act as my chauffeur, she looked stunning in a turquoise Badgley Mischka dress and sky-high golden sandals by somebody important. She stuffed me into my McFadden and zipped me up for the night. “Gotta get those girls in there,” Tina grunted as she manipulated my C-cup breasts into the B-cup bodice. “You are now officially a couture size 8, except in the boobs. Lucky you! Turn around.”
I stared at myself in the mirror, and my cheeks went red. It had been a long time since I’d been comfortable looking at my reflection. But tonight, something felt very different. Sure, the hair, the dress and a fresh coating of Bobbi Brown “Port” made a huge difference. But it was something more.
It was confidence.
“Thank you, Tina.”
“It’s all you, Helen.”
Even Anders, Tina’s serious Swedish husband, gave his approval freely while hoisting me into the back seat. “You look lovely, Helen.”
Now, at the door of Veritas, I paused.
“You ready?” Tina asked, fluffing my flowing but slightly depoofing hair and leading me into the bar to meet Patrick. “Never mind, of course you are. Stand up straight. Relax your shoulders. Let’s go.”
And in we went.
Patrick was by himself, perched on an oak stool at a table on the other side of the room, in a proper black tuxedo with a proper white pin-tucked shirt and bow tie. He was sipping champagne and watching the door. When our eyes met, a wave of warm excitement rushed down my entire body. Please don’t let the seams split, I thought. I breathed in as deeply as the dress would allow, catching the scent of night-blooming jasmine from the pergola outside, mixed with the aroma of red wine. Here we go.
I had to maneuver through a throng of well wishing and air kissing, attempting to keep Patrick in my sights at all time, like a dancer spotting during a pirouette. I prayed I could cross the room without my knees buckling, especially given the height of my heels. Fortunately, he stood up and met me in the middle of the crowd. He took my hand, brushed his lips against my left temple and said softly, “I have found my Helen. Helen of Pasadena.”
Very nice. The words Heinrich Schliemann himself had used in his journals to describe his young bride. With a twist, of course. But I had to bring it back to our common ground.
“Which version? Victim or harlot?”
“Definitely ‘the face that launched a thousand ships’ Helen.”
“Thank you.” If the evening had ended right there, I would have been perfectly satisfied. The starvation, the hair extensions, the waxing—everything would have been worth it for that moment. But it got better. “Come with me. I have something for you.” He took my hand firmly and led me across the crowded room.
After being swept away, I finally found my voice. “Did you get me a corsage, prom date?”
Patrick laughed. “Sort of. It is a gift. And I believe it will complement your dress, though maybe not as well as the pink carnations with baby’s breath I got my actual prom date in 1982.” By then, we were at his corner table, and he handed me an elegant silver bag with clouds of tissue paper peeking out the top. “For you, Helen.” He poured a second glass of champagne while he watched me unwrap the package.
The bag contained a gold-and-jewel-encrusted wrist cuff; it was spectacular. I was speechless. It was a modern take on an ancient design, dazzling with semi-precious green, blue and purple stones entwined like a snake and set off by delicately hammered polished gold. I knew exactly what it was and what it meant. “Oh, Patrick! It’s like the bracelet from Priam’s Treasure. It’s ... it’s lovely. Did you have this made?”
“I did. I wanted to thank you, for everything.” Patrick appeared to be struggling with his words. “You’ve made the last few months very, um, successful for me. In terms of research and, well, in terms of everything. Thank you.”
It was the least articulate statement he had ever made in my presence. I slipped the cuff on my wrist and held it up, Wonder Woman-style, for him to see. “Now I feel all-powerful.”
“You’re more powerful than you think, Helen,” Patrick said quietly. The warm rush returned. I reddened, sure I was sending out a strong “take me now” signal. The moment ended too quickly when Ted Gamble bounded up to us with an open bottle of Argyle Spa
rkling Brut.
“Any one need to be topped off? We should be going to the Huntington soon. Jan’s already there, and she said if our whole gang arrives late and drunk, she’ll kill me!” Ted said, refilling Patrick’s glass and mine. There was a slow shuffle toward the door by the other guests, reluctant to leave the convivial warmth of Veritas for the crush of the benefit. Ted turned to me. “Did Patrick tell you about our alliance?”
“No. Have you formed a softball team? Drinking club?”
“Both good ideas, but no. I’m going to be on the board of his foundation, helping to fund his work and find resources! I know people who know people, Helen.” Ted looked like he could not have been more thrilled. “And hopefully, getting in there doing a little digging myself!”
It was obvious the bromance that they'd started that day at lunch months ago had blossomed into real respect and friendship. “Now I’ve got to get this crowd going. I’m sure Jan is wondering where all the big spenders are!”
As Ted waltzed away with the last of the bubbly, I dropped my mouth wide open, cocking my head, “That is amazing. On your board and funding your research! How did that happen?”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” Patrick answered, draining his glass. “But you really should have warned me. I almost blew it.”
“Warned you about what?”
“I thought the guy was a bartender, Helen. A well-educated, well-read bartender. Hours of conversation over lunch and he never mentioned that he was that Ted Gamble, gentlemen proprietor with a very healthy trust fund and then some. I almost started laughing when he offered to underwrite the next three years of research.”
“That could have been awkward.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up.” He laughed.
“Well, you’ve learned an important lesson about Pasadena. No one here is what he or she seems at first glance. And it only took you several months to learn that. It took me years.”