Switch and Bait

by Ricki Schultz

  “Gee, thanks!” I say, and we all start laughing.

  “Well, guess what, psycho,” I continue once we’re done making fun of me and my spinsterdom. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it right this second, but you’re better off. I know it has to suck and I can’t even imagine what—”

  “I know that. I do.” She puts up a hand. “I spent so long trying not to be alone—pretending—but I was alone anyway. What I’m trying to say is that, just because I happen to hate everything with jumble-giblets right now doesn’t mean you should. We will totally grill this Cliff at the party. I’m sure he’s never left a woman for a frat brother.”

  The saleswoman gasps from across the store and then dons a look of true horror that she’s given away she was listening.

  We all crack up again.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Su calls to her and claps the palm of her free hand to her chest. “I know, I know. You can’t make this shit up.”

  Then she pops what I think I recognize as a Xanax and settles back into the chaise’s velvet embrace.

  Chapter 15

  We spend the rest of my afternoon off reliving stories from back at Ole Miss and participating in a fashion show until all four of us have secured new outfits to slay at this dinner party.

  Truth be told, I get kind of jazzed about the party. Reminiscing about the past, seeing how truly happy Dee thinks she is with this new guy, and talking about Cliff with my girls have all awakened the giddy part of me I thought I’d bludgeoned to death a long time ago.

  I feel light to discover that girl still has a pulse, and the more this Optimism surrounds me, the more she awakens.

  The more the prospect of getting to know Cliff appeals to me.

  And my dress is—hello—perfect. Nips in at the waist where I need it to do so. Hugs my curves where I want. I haven’t been dressed up like this in longer than I care to remember, and even though I give Isla shit for always wanting to be fancy, for always going full-on glam when lipstick and jeans will do, there’s a spark of something in my chestal area as I scrutinize myself in this dress. Take the pencil out of my hair and let it flow free.

  I’m not Ansley by any stretch of the imagination, but I clean up pretty well.

  Maybe I’ve been looking at everything all wrong.

  I certainly did that with Henry, and maybe this is my chance not only to put that to bed but also to start fresh, with Cliff, who seems to want to give it a try.

  Looking forward to tonight, he texts.

  And when I respond with Me too, my heart is light because…I think I really do mean it.

  * * *

  I let Cliff pick me up at my place for once, so it feels less dirty. Kind of official.

  Although that feels kind of dirty to me too—I don’t know.

  Baby steps.

  But he tells me I’m pretty and holds my hand on the way to the train station and it feels nice, so I roll with it.

  When we reach the brownstone, Cliff takes the wine we brought out of the paper bag. “I’m really glad I’m here,” he says. “Thanks for bringing me.” Sincerity shines bright in his eyes.

  Hazel—I was totally right.

  I make a mental note to shove this in the girls’ faces.

  “Me too,” I say back, and he pulls me into a kiss that curls my toes in my kitten heels.

  When we come up for air, I catch the gaggle of them beaming through the window—gag—but I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. I’m feeling fizzy and fuzzy already, and I didn’t even do a pre-party shot.

  “I won’t be around next week, by the way,” Cliff adds. “I’ve got this conference thing in Richmond.” He lowers his voice a tick, all sexy. “Will you miss me?”

  There’s that itchy feeling in my sternum again because, Hello, this is a big enough step for me to even be seeing this guy in the daylight and intentionally introducing him to my friends—let alone having to decide if I’m going to miss him when he’s gone for a few days.

  He was supposed to be gone forever this weekend!

  But I know that’s an asshole thing to think, that it’s not a dreamy thing to say, and it’s definitely not in line with this New Thing I’m trying. I know the proper response. So I smolder up at him and squeeze the tension I’m feeling away through clenched fists he can’t see.

  It’ll be okay. Give the people what they want.

  “Of course I will,” I say through a smile, and there’s Isla at the door.

  In a flourish of five minutes, Dina and Sue Ellen have whisked him off to the living room and settle in on either side of him on the sofa.

  I’m sorry, I mouth, but Cliff is nothing but chuckles and grins and thoughtful head nods as they’re giving him the third degree in the most adorable ways possible.

  By the time we’ve run through our introductions and Dina’s asked some questionably appropriate questions, the five of us are a tight little group settling in quite nicely with Isla’s favorite pink champagne. Already making up what we think the stories are with the other people in attendance—mostly a bunch of folks who work at Graham’s investment firm.

  When Henry arrives with Ansley, Isla shifts her focus. She’s beside herself with weird excitement, humming away more furiously and rabid for help in the kitchen.

  I follow her in there before she has a conniption.

  “Slow down.” I giggle, trying to offer my assistance, but—let’s face it—me trying to wrap bacon around water chestnuts is pretty Disaster.

  She ignores my ineptitude and launches into 20 Questions, wanting to know who exactly Ansley is and how I know her and everything that’s humanly possible for me to tell her. I consider launching into Cards Against Humanity answers just to mess with her, but Isla’s on so much overload that I’m kind of afraid if I say the wrong thing, her head might explode all over the asparagus casserole.

  “Ansley is a great customer. What can I say?” I shrug and look anywhere but right at Isla.

  Can’t let her get me this time!

  She’s off her game tonight anyway, though, and I hope to take full advantage of that. Her excitement has her totally preoccupied, and she’s not trying to yank information out of me with just her stare.

  Not that her enthusiasm is surprising; it’s Isla, and Isla’s a cotton candy cloud of joy any day of the week. But it makes me wonder just what all Henry’s said about Ansley. Why it is that Isla is so beside herself with wanting everything to be perfect that she’s not picking up on my lame attempt to downplay how I know Ansley.

  Did Henry say she might be the one, or something?

  And, like, how does one know that without ever having kissed the other person?

  Maybe they have. I mean, probably they have.

  I’ve not been privy to their conversations for the last week, and it’s felt…weird. I guess I just got used to talking to him every day, but I obviously know this is better.

  They’re together now and Ansley is Okay with having the training wheels off. She’s balancing that bike and riding on her own, and I’m happy for her. Like a proud momma watching her kid glide away down the street, wobbly at first but then smooth.

  I’m happy.

  Yup.

  Totally.

  Don’t let Isla look at your face.

  I’m so deep in thought about how Fine I am that I jump (surprise, surprise) when I hear a loud clang from across the room. Before I can react, Isla’s on all fours, getting grease soaked into her gorgeous Lilly Pulitzer. Scrambling with shaky hands to pick up the tray I’d just finished arranging, which apparently she’d knocked to the floor.

  “What happened?” I spring to the tile and assist.

  She doesn’t answer, just stops and sinks to her knees.

  It’s a stupid little thing that’s happened, but it dismantles that with-it exterior Isla’s so famous for exhibiting. This blunder, a thread that unravels the entire garment.

  Her breath becomes erratic now; her eyes grow wet.

  I shove the tra
y aside with a scrape and sit beside her. Cleanup can wait a second.

  She doesn’t have to be so perfect. It’s me.

  I wrap my arms around her and pull her close and try to communicate just that through a squeeze. Let her cry.

  “It’s okay,” I coo.

  She says nothing in return, just breathes deep.

  The robust smell of the beef Wellington soothes me—I hope it’s having the same effect on her.

  After a while, her body relaxes. A few moments of sitting against the cold floor, and she’s pulled herself together once again. She gives my hands a pat, flashes me a look of gratitude, and starts back in on the cleanup.

  We work side by side, the sound of muffled laughter leaking in through the doorway.

  “This is probably a good thing,” I finally say as we collect the last of the ruined hors d’oeuvres and I sweep them from the tray into the trash. “My presentation was awful anyway. Would’ve totally thrown off the aesthetic of the whole party.” I wink.

  She allows a tight smile as I help her up.

  While we’re both attempting to salvage our outfits (and Isla, her makeup a bit), Dina and Su’s disembodied heads appear in the doorway.

  “Everything okay in here?” Dina asks. “You okay, Eye?” Her amber stare goes huge, but I pull my eyebrows tight and give a firm shake of the head.

  “Everything’s fine.” I say, so Isla doesn’t have to. “We’ll be right out.”

  * * *

  All through dinner, Isla’s fairly quiet, but there are so many conversations going on in between where the two of us are sitting, it’s hard for me to catch her stare or pull her into one of our own.

  Henry and Graham have really been broing out this eve, though, doing this little cheersing thing before pretty much every drink they take. Yes, they’re actual brothers, but this is way more fratty than biological broing.

  Ansley looks to be eating it up. She melts over at the two of them like she’s picturing their future family gatherings together, and the way she and Isla have been getting along, I can’t say it wouldn’t be perfect. Sue Ellen just glares at Henry from across the table, and I almost choke on my forkful of Isla’s famous apricot cobbler.

  “I would like to propose a toast.” Isla stands at her end of the table and the conversations hush. Everyone looks up at her with bright expressions but I also detect a tinge of pity in their eyes. It makes me ragey beneath my skin. I hope she’s too blinded by hostessing to notice because I don’t want her to flip her lid.

  “Graham and I just want to say that we’re blessed to have you all as friends, to have you all here at the house—finally—”

  “Hear, hear!” Dina thrusts her glass toward the ceiling.

  “I wasn’t done.” She giggles.

  “Well, what were you going to say, Eye?”

  She furrows her brow and takes some clarifying blinks. Touches a few fingers to her sternum. “You know? I think I forgot.”

  There’s an awkward titter that makes its way through the table and then Dina jumps to a stance. “Here’s to friendship. Here’s to love. And here’s to getting super hammered tonight.”

  Graham and Henry clink one second before the rest of the group, and as Cliff leans in for a kiss, I catch a glimpse of Henry and Ansley. A shiver skates through me. I close him out—close them out—close my eyes—and start to wonder where that fizzy feeling I had at the onset of this night went.

  After most everything has been consumed and Cliff starts a conversation about high fructose corn syrup, I decide it’s time for some air, so I escape to the patio and light up a cig.

  Ah, air.

  It does little to calm me, though. It doesn’t taste that good anymore. But it’s habit. It’s familiar. It’s what I know, and the process does more to calm me now than the nicotine actually does.

  Maybe it’s time to quit this too. I don’t know.

  I watch as the ashes float on the breeze. Their dance carries my gaze in through the kitchen window, where I see Henry leaning against the counter. His face is bright with a smile. He’s so pleasant when he’s with Ansley, it’s repulsive. But before I can make a run for it, they’ve both noticed me, and the two of them are on their way outside.

  I twist around to see just how many bones I think I’d break if I jumped off the side of the patio right now, but it’s pointless. They’ve already seen me and I probably wouldn’t break any bones, just rip my bacon-grease-stained dress and show everyone my ass in the process.

  I resign myself to the fact that there’s no eluding them and their cuteness.

  There’s no escape.

  So I smile it up. “Hey, lovebirds!” I say as they approach. “What brings you to the smoker’s corner? Well, I know what brings you, H-dogg.” I gesture with my cig.

  Henry squishes his face. “I’m not sure I know what you mean?” He looks at me like he really means it. Like he’s not lying to my face right now. Like I’m crazy and I imagined it.

  I give a haughty laugh and take another drag. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must be thinking of someone else. So you’re not a smoker?” I blink.

  I guess I’m trying to gain special access into his brain without Ansley knowing—have a private conversation—Hello, you’re lying to her about smoking now?—but his countenance is impassable. I wait a few seconds to see if he’ll crack, but when he doesn’t, I just shake my head.

  “Your friends are so nice!” Ans says. I’m not sure if it’s a pointed subject change or not, but it’s a necessary one nonetheless.

  “Aren’t they?” Sarcasm drips from my tone, but I need to not behave this way. Like a seven-year-old whose neglected toy just got picked up by a cousin or something and now I want it when I can’t have it.

  “Cliff having a good time?” Ansley wants to know.

  Cliff. Right!

  “I think so. Doesn’t seem too traumatized by all the scrutiny. If that’s not a keeper, I don’t know what is.” I laugh.

  She turns to Henry and presses her hands to his chest. “Would you mind giving us a second? There’s something I want to talk to Blanche about, and—”

  “No problem. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He punctuates it with a wink and gives her a kiss on the cheek before returning inside.

  We both watch him leave, and when she rounds on me, I feel like I’ve just been caught shoplifting. When she speaks, though, I realize it’s just my inner guilt and—

  Stop it.

  “I know our little arrangement is technically supposed to be over and all, but…” She chews at her bottom lip.

  It’s a wonder she has a bottom lip at all, the way she works on that thing.

  Her eyes turn glassy as she continues. “I just feel like Henry and I aren’t connecting, now that I’m on my own with him. And I know you have more insight because you know him, so you could maybe point me in some kind of direction.”

  “But—”

  “Pleeeeease?” She blinks her giant baby blues, and I’m helpless to refuse.

  I’ve been trying not to think about Henry, but here she goes again.

  So.

  I wince my way through it, but in an effort not to have to get too Involved again, I scour my memory for some kind of anecdote she can use so I can get her—them—off my back.

  I rewind past three years ago, past the wedding, and think back to one of the first times I met Henry, and boom. There he is.

  He was the only one in Graham and Isla’s cramped old apartment decked out in head-to-toe crimson. Despite all the taunts we’d been lobbing his way that afternoon, despite the fact that Ole Miss had held his stupid team the whole game, Henry kept yelling “Roll tide” and doing that dumb towel windup thing that always makes me want to punch someone.

  Every single last one of us was draped in blue, white, and orange, and we were screaming at all decibels for Sanderson to go. GOOOOO.

  And as his fricking Crimson Tide came through and drowned our Rebels, he ripped his jersey off in victory. Spiked it to the gr
ound as the quarterback spiked the football for the touchdown.

  I shake my head at the memory. What an idiot.

  “Tell him you want to watch the NFL draft,” I offer.

  Her mouth pulls down in abject horror.

  “This isn’t like you having to do something scary or be something you’re not. This is you showing interest in something he likes. Dude’s way into Alabama football. The Redskins have a slight edge over the Patriots in terms of drafting this one player—Aaron Daniels. He’s from Alabama, and that’s Henry’s team. He’ll probably chatter on about it for hours. You can learn…probably more than you’d like to know really, but it’s something he’s nuts over. And he can feel like you’re interested in him. Bam. Connection. You’re welcome.”

  She smiles. “Thanks for the lead. You really are the best.”

  Chapter 16

  I’m not at all surprised during our processing session the next morning that Dina, Sue Ellen, and Isla all love Cliff.

  “Such a sweetie.” Dee yawns and rubs her eyes behind her Coke bottle glasses she’d never be caught dead wearing in public. “And the way he looks at you…” She gets lost in her own daydream, and it’s Sue Ellen who brings her back to the kitchen table.

  “Definitely be wary,” she says over her mug, “but he does seem to be quite the smitten kitten over you.”

  “And what about you, babe?” Isla reaches back toward Graham as he enters the room and gives him a little love tap as he makes his way toward the refrigerator.

  “Hmm?” Totally not paying attention.

  Apparently he and his brother drank so much that Graham doesn’t remember there even being a Cliff at the party anyway. But he lets me borrow the car to take the girls back to the airport, so I guess he’s good for something.

  During our trek back to Dulles, after Sue Ellen and Dee have said their good-byes to Isla and we’ve all had enough coffee and electrolyte-filled drinks to combat our eventual hangovers like champs, the girls want to know what I’m going to do about Isla.