by Aliyat Lecky
Helen looked at her best friend, ten years her junior, and smiled. Angie had always been a good and honest friend, and had always been there for her. When they had first met, Angie approached Helen as a fan of her writing. She informed Helen that she, too, wanted to be a writer and get into the business. Helen dismissed her in the beginning. Angie’s confidence misled her into thinking Angie was a little too much All About Eve. Helen assumed she meant to enter into the romance game, but Angie quickly clarified that her aspiration was, in fact, to write in an entirely different genre. She had aspirations of being a successful writer of Urban Fiction. Decades, and over a dozen volumes later, Angie was just that.
The sound of her own chuckle surprised Helen.
“Helen, what are you giggling at?”
“Do you know what birthday this is for me?”
“Yes.” Angie knew where this was going. She hit one of Helen’s peeves. “Giggle? I do not giggle. Teenagers and tender dryads giggle.”
“Romance writers. So dramatic.” Angie exaggerated a sigh. “What are you chuckling at? Or are you too old to chuckle, too?”
“I was just thinking that only you would come to pick a person up for a surprise birthday party already dressed for the party.”
Angie’s eyes rolled back to the stretch of wet road before her.
Helen peered into the darkening sky, absorbed in trying to recover an elusive thought. A vague impression left from long ago, triggered somehow by the distorted gray landscape streaking past the speeding car. The rainy night elicited a sense of the familiar that Helen could not quite bring to the surface. Was it the smell of the wet air outside the vehicle, or perhaps the disappointment of life taking over, and threatening to envelope her. Helen focused on the windshield and the view it offered, at last remembering similar rain-blurred scenery through the window of another car on another rainy evening, a lifetime, and a continent away. That was the season she learned to regret.
***
WHEN SHE FIRST arrived uninvited to Maggie’s wedding, the day was bright and clear, yet the clouds on the horizon seemed to be moving in quickly towards the extravagant gala. The garden reception was set up under tents to accommodate the one hundred plus guests. She arrived a little late with a group of the bride’s theater friends, and the absence of Helen’s name on the list went unnoticed. None of them, after all, warranted admission to the wedding ceremony itself. That privilege was given only to family and closest friends. It was no surprise to the doorman, who was distracted by their outlandish appearance, when the odd group of young people showed up to gain entrance to the stylish affair. He didn’t notice that their number did not match the number of names on the guest list.
Maggie was seated on the dais. Her vibrant red curls trained straight beneath her ivory veil. The handsome man she was seated next to, presumably her groom, was a complete stranger to Helen. A point she would have considered completely bizarre, given the amount of time she and Maggie spent together, had she not been concentrating on getting over the shock that the woman she considered her best friend and confidant had just pulled off a wedding of great grandeur. She had invited half of the “who’s who” of New England without giving her the vaguest clue.
Helen waited until all the toasts were over and the party seemed to be going at full tilt before making her presence known to Maggie. The bride was standing with her groom receiving compliments and well wishes from a group of straight-laced people who, judging by their appearance, Helen guessed could only be guests of the groom. Maggie’s friends, even in their most conservative dress, out-colored and out-dressed all the others present, save the cardinal, who glowed red.
Maggie turned to Helen without any hint of surprise, ever the consummate actress, as though she fully expected her to suddenly appear before her. Helen eyes were wide with utter confusion without being asked to be present, completely resentful at being handled so coldly about the affair and being conspicuously left from the wedding party. Before Helen could speak, Maggie excused herself from her adoring groom, and guided her speechless little friend away from prying eyes and ears.
As clouds heavy with the threat of rain darkened the skies outside the tent, Helen stood opposite Maggie, watching the weather change over Maggie’s lace-covered shoulders. Helen stared outside the tent, focusing on the grey and cold. Anything other than Maggie’s beautiful face. Better the falling rain.
“Helen, you have to go,” was all she said. Maggie offered no reason, and gave no explanation for why they would find themselves standing calmly together, face to face at the entrance of a bridal tent festooned with flower garlands, which matched perfectly the orange and cream roses of Maggie’s bridal bouquet. Helen noticed that Maggie appeared to be absent of any remorse as she turned away back to her guests, leaving Helen standing alone just out of the rain, hating her, and wondering quite frankly how she had come to be standing alone on the edge of this pop-up scene from one of Maggie’s dramas.
By the time, Helen hailed a cab some three blocks away, she was drenched. She shivered the entire cab ride home. She rode back to the dorms, oblivious to any of the sights or sounds that continued to blur around the speeding cab. She concentrated on the fall of the rain against the taxi’s dirt-smudged windows. The drops distorting the real world about her, so that all existence outside the cab mirrored her own sense of reality. No straight lines. No true color. Only peach and cream distinction.
That ride took place many years ago when Helen was still a girl, so young. Yet she had grown so much in a matter of hours that dreary afternoon. On that cold day, decades ago, Helen abandoned fantasy and operatic musings for determination. As Helen discarded her wet clothes on the floor, she changed completely her value of life. It was then that she learned that life was not simply the discovery of how it is to be filled with beauty as her parents had taught her.
***
HELEN LOOKED OVER at her beautiful, true friend, dressed just for her, then focused on the rain-soaked world about her. She sat quietly watching the patterns of the warm rain falling against the immaculately detailed car. Rain etched its way easily down the cool clean glass creating an art and wisdom she failed to recognize decades earlier. The drops reflected the neon of the city evening, and sent it back to its purpose. No wonder stars were invisible from the city streets. The stars themselves dim their own brilliance to watch the show of inorganic light. Helen looked about her, past the rain, into the night. If only she had the nerve to simply ask Maggie his name.
***
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
Helen smiled graciously at her guests as she tried to locate Richard in the crowd, making her best effort not to allow annoyance to register on her face. She spotted Richard to the left side of the staircase with his arms ready to receive his gleeful bride. Wrong. Instead of heading toward her husband, Helen surrendered herself to the tide of hugs and back pats from scores of people, many of whom she failed to recognize. She allowed herself to be tossed about in waves of guests, making sure she was not carried towards Richard. Finally, after greeting the majority of her guests, she was rescued from the sea of bodies on the opposite side of the open room. There, she was fished out by the strong grip of her son, David. She landed next to him, warm and clammy, and quite out of sorts.
“Happy birthday, mother.” David pulled her in for a full hug and kiss on her cheek.
“David. Honey.”
“You looked like you could use a little help getting out of that. Dad is over there.” David pointed out the obvious.
“Yes.” Helen pushed the hair out of her eyes before yelling over the increasing din of revelers. “Where’s Sydney? Are the girls here?”
“She’s here somewhere. I don’t know where. Dad’s trying to get your attention.”
“Oh?” Helen chose to ignore her husband for the second time.
“Mom?” David looked carefully at his mother. “Did you…did you know about tonight? Dad told Syd and me that you were okay with a big bash.”
Helen’s face softened. She had not meant to put her son off. He was a worrier. “Don’t worry so much. I’m just fine.” She placed a reassuring peck on his cheek. “I just need to shower and change. Look, enjoy. Tell your father I’ll be back down when I’m dressed. I’ll just be a minute. Have you eaten? Get something to eat. When you see Sydney, tell her I’ll be right down. There’s no need to come up.”
By the time she made her way across the room, waving, shaking hands and hugging faceless bodies, Richard had given up his post by the stairs. Just as she reached the foot of the stairs, she reached out and grabbed the back of Angie’s dress, impeding her progress in the opposite direction.
“Angie, you promised me you’d come up with me to get dressed.”
“I’m hungry, Hel. You’re a big girl.”
“Damn it, Angie.”
“No, Hels. I’m going out to the party. I did my job.”
Helen ignored Angie’s feisty-tude. Grab me some cheese, Greedy.”
“Damn.” Angie stomped away in her Louboutins. “Hell, Hel’s, I hadn’t planned on all this servant shit.”
Helen smirked at the back of Angie’s impeccably wrapped bun. “And bring a bottle of Champagne.”
“I’ll bring two.”
When Helen descended the stairs, nearly thirty minutes later still buzzing from the drinks her and Angie shared while she dressed, the foyer was vacant. Before appearing at the top of the wide curved staircase, she listened for voices. She had little desire to make a grand entrance in her eveningwear. The dress itself was beautiful. The top clinging, accentuating soft curves, and fit snuggly to her svelte waist. The skirt hugged her hips and bottom, enhancing her hourglass figure. The neckline, a tease, just low enough to hint at an interesting little peek, was high enough to be respectable. Still, Helen felt a little obvious. Richard obviously knew her body well, and the dress, clearly designed to show off every attractive womanly feature, was proof of it.
Helen followed the noise out into the backyard. The white stretch of canvas caught her off-guard. She groaned. A tented party. That meant the likelihood of the guests being chased off by mosquitoes was pretty slim. With a tent for shelter, they could be at it all night.
She stopped just outside the tent to get her bearings before entering. “Not this one. I am not going to be out here all night.” They were defiant words spoken to no one in particular as she entered the celebration in search of a drink. Before she had the chance to disappear into the crowd, she ran into what’s-her-name. A passing acquaintance she met once or twice at Richard’s office. She knew she had seen the woman enough to know her, but could not remember her name.
“Helen. Oh, you look lovely. Happy birthday.” The woman quickly scanned up and down, appraising the birthday girl.
“Thank you. How nice to see you.” Helen filled in where the name should have been with a quick embrace. She did want to appear gracious at least.
“You look lovely, dear. I love your dress. It is simply...” She grabbed Helen’s hand for emphasis like an old school chum, and continued to prattle on ad nauseam about Helen’s apparel. For her part, Helen stood patiently, trying to remember the speaker’s name. Sarah something. No. Martha, maybe that was it. She continued to nod charmingly at her comments, hoping to get through the conversation without being found out. “…and how was your flight?”
Helen hated this question. The inquiry was gratuitous at best, like, “How are you doing?” She never knew if people really wanted to know about the airplane ride, or if they just wanted to hear, “good,” or “just fine.” Helen had a sneaking suspicion that what’s-her-name standing before her was more interested in being seen as more than a passing acquaintance of the guest of honor than she was in any flight. Helen seized the opportunity as a deterrent for a potentially lengthy conversation.
“The flight wasn’t so bad. Just under three hours. But traffic was so horrible, I was sure I’d missed my flight. By the time I arrived at the airport, checked my luggage, and made it to check-in, I was thoroughly exhausted. The flight attendants were nice enough, of course, but the turbulence, awful. We hit a storm about halfway, and I just could not get back to sleep…which of course means…Richard. Honey, hello.”
Helen eased back into Richard’s embrace. He had come up quietly from behind. He held his wife tightly about the waist. He smelled of musk and leather, as a man should. Helen leaned into him. His response, soft taps on her hip, a promise. She turned her face to kiss Richard full on the mouth, purely for shock value, and still holding onto the woman’s hands. The woman released Helen’s hand immediately. Helen was certain what’s-her-name was grateful to Richard for the rescue.
“Nancy.” Richard never forgot a name. “Are you getting to know Helen?” His booming voice captured the attention of those immediately around them. Helen’s hopes for sneaking in quietly faded quickly. “You remember Nancy. She works in the Lino Lakes office.”
Helen nodded. Nancy. That was her name. “Yes, Nancy Dodd. We’ve met a few times. We were just catching up.” She smiled sweetly across at Nancy, who seemed to appreciate the attention of the surrounding crowd, and had no intention of leaving the birthday girl’s side. Helen’s annoyance at Richard’s party mood increased. He was downright punch drunk. He lifted his right hand, which, to Helen’s displeasure, held a microphone. As if on cue, a server appeared at Helen’s left with two glasses of champagne. Helen noticed at that moment that champagne was being served all around. In the face of her own disposition, she smiled without any effort. Richard was certainly a smooth operator.
“Everyone, can I have your attention?” He waited a few moments for the noise to die down. Once all eyes were on him, he began. “I’d like to propose a toast to my lovely wife…”
Helen watched his eyes follow the line of her neck down the front of her blouse. She smiled appreciatively. She knew precisely how the evening would end for the two of them. “Helen, my beautiful wife on her…well, it’s none of your business which birthday it is.” He paused, waiting for the laughter to quiet. Richard was a showman. He had great timing, having learned from so many years of giving speeches. “I’d like to say to you, my love, you have stuck with me for twenty-six years, and I can say they have been twenty-six of the best years a man like me can wish for. Helen, I love you. I adore you. I am so lucky to have you in my life. Sydney, our lovely daughter…” Richard pointed off to the left.
Helen followed his drink as he spilled champagne onto his hand. There, she spotted Sydney, their daughter, for the first time that evening, standing next to her husband Sidney.
“And David, our son…” he motioned across the room. David was standing near the dais where the band waited to resume their music, next to Angie’s daughter, Cynthia. He raised his flute towards his parents.
Helen squinted in the muted light. Were David and Cynthia toasting with champagne? Neither of the two was of drinking age.
“…we wish you the best, and many more. We love you.”
Helen accepted the inevitable. After drinking from his glass, Richard followed his birthday toast in his usual manner. He turned her in his arms, presenting her, for all to see, with a passionate kiss. The embrace began light and tentative, his hands appraising from her shoulders down her back, and resting finally on her hips. As he pulled her into him, any remaining annoyance gave way to longing. She did love him. She had always felt so good with him, never more than when he held her this way, with his desire firm against her. So strong. So warm. So hers alone.
His fervent kiss was passionate, and in spite of being in a room with so many others staring at the act, Helen understood that the kiss was for her alone. Richard did love her. He loved her in such a way that she was assured that, surrounded by over one hundred people, this was a private moment.
“You are beautiful tonight.” His whispered words sealed the moment.
Helen did not get a chance to respond. John Starks, a business associate of Richard’s, approached, extending his hand to Helen as a c
ourtesy before speaking to Richard. Helen thought for a moment that Richard might turn John away, but he did not. Helen watched as Richard’s face changed from love to business. He cocked his head away from her to the left, as he often did during transactions when they held his full attention. Helen stood by silently while her husband negotiated with her birthday guest. Richard’s confident expression assured Helen he would come out on top. He had always ended up on top. She gathered as much when first they met at a graduation celebration for the brother of a good friend. It was his confidence that had attracted her, even in the beginning. He had it.
***
RICHARD CLAIMED HELEN as his future bride from across the room. Because of who her parents were, Helen was a bit of a local celebrity, however, the budding politician had no idea who she was. He only knew she had taken little notice of him, unlike some of the other women present, who knew precisely who he was, and knew him to be a great catch. Before introducing himself to her, he questioned the guest of honor about the attractive woman. Richard’s friend, the graduate, having just completed his tenure at St. Thomas’s rigorous law school, was already soaked in a well-deserved celebration. He merely held aloft his hand and pointed somewhere in the vicinity of his sister.
“Ask Penny. She brought her.”
To Richard’s satisfaction, Penny, who immediately saw the two as perfectly matched, even though she had hoped Helen might be interested in her brother, answered all his inquiries happily.
“Single. Not currently in school…drifting, I suppose. Parents? Helena Dahl, the dancer. Oh? You don’t know who she is. What do you people in Minnesota do to enjoy art expression? Of course, you have heard of her father, Richard Dahl. Yes, the sculptor. Well, that’s a saving grace, I suppose. Well, gee, I don’t know. She lives here in Seattle with her parents. Private school all her life. College, yes. She went to Radcliffe. She writes a bit. Her parents are lovely. Odd, if you know what I mean? They’re artists. No, they’re fine. Good people. Ah, well there you have it. No, she’s not seeing anyone, seriously. Well, it just wouldn’t be right if I gave you her number.” And more of the same.