The Vow

by Denene Millner

  “Have you met Bunny?” asks Ché, as she checks her glossy black shoulder-length curls in the reflection of her gold Versace compact. She then adjusts her stylish leopard-print dress with its daringly low neckline. Desiree, wearing a beautiful gold suit with a lacey camisole underneath, talks to Bryan.

  “Bunny?” I ask, not sure who she’s referring to.

  “Yes, Bunny, Garrett’s mother,” Ché says, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me as if I’m totally clueless. “Everyone calls her Bunny.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know,” I say.

  “Yes, Bunny,” says Desiree, joining our conversation. “Aunt Bunny is simply the best. We love, love, love her.” It is clear by her use of “Aunt Bunny” that she’s trying to send a message to me that they are close. Desiree prattles on about how they all grew up together, took family trips together, and have known each other forever. I signal the waiter to refill my wineglass. This could be a long night.

  “Well, I just met her a few minutes ago,” I say, taking a sip of wine. “She seems quite lovely.” Ché and Desiree exchange glances and smile at each other.

  “So, what do you do, Trista?” asks Ché.

  “I’m an agent at TA,” I answer. I pick up my fork to begin eating my Caesar salad.

  “Oh, that must be fun,” says Desiree, wrinkling her little button nose (it really is the size of a button). When I ask them what they do, Ché says she owns a little boutique on Melrose, and that Desiree designs jewelry. They are typical L.A. BAPs—“Stepford sistas,” as Amaya likes to call them. Girls who grew up with privilege, are always dressed perfectly, hair impeccable, and if they work it’s more like a hobby. They are more familiar with the South of France than South Central. There’s a lot of inbreeding in their circles and they don’t like interlopers. Still, I decide to try to play nicely.

  “Oh, I love your store,” I say to Ché, trying to forge some sort of bond, to make this evening bearable. We talk fashion for a little while when Desiree tells me about her latest buying trip to Italy in which she took Ché with her for a few weeks. She casually mentions that they stayed at the Jameses’ villa.

  “That’s so nice,” I say sweetly as I take another sip from my glass. “I look forward to going over with Garrett next month.” I stab the last leaf of lettuce on my plate with my fork and plant it in my mouth. Take that, heiffa.

  “Are these seats taken?” a deep voice says over my shoulder. I look up and see Damon standing with Amaya. She looks at me expectantly, dressed in a light-blue thin dress that hugs her body. I gaze up at the dais and see that Keith is also aware of her presence. He does not look happy. Ché and Desiree give Amaya the black-girl once-over, throwing serious shade all the while checking her out under lowered lashes. They might as well have said, “Bitch, who the fuck are you?”

  “Hey, Tris,” Amaya says as she kisses me on the cheek before slipping into the empty seat next to Garrett. Damon sits down beside her. Garrett makes the introductions around the table. Ché and Desiree turn their full attention to Damon. Bryan, who is seated, tells Amaya that he recognizes her from somewhere but can’t place her. Ordinarily Amaya would take this as an opportunity to flirt with a brother—but she’s got her eyes on another prize tonight. Garrett continues to talk to his friends, so I ask Amaya to come to the ladies’ room with me. We need to talk.

  “What the hell is going on?” I hiss when we get to the ladies’ lounge.

  “What do you mean? I ran into Damon in the lobby and we walked in together,” she says, removing her lipstick and lip brush from her small beaded clutch for a touch-up.

  “Don’t be coy, heiffa. I’m not talking about Damon. I’m talking about Keith. You knew he was cohosting this event with his wife. That’s why you’re here.”

  “Is he?” she asks. I give her a look to let her know I’m on to her.

  “Look, what you do with Keith is your business, but don’t get your dirty laundry mixed in with mine. I don’t need the fireworks tonight.”

  “Girl, please. I’ve got this all under control.” She reaches down and reties the silver straps of her sandals around her ankles, then rises and smooths down the front of her dress. It’s apparent from the look of the sheer material that you can’t wear undergarments with this dress.

  “Nice dress,” I say sarcastically as we turn to leave the powder room.

  “Thanks, girl. Just a little something I picked up.” As we make our way back into the dining room, it’s as if Amaya were walking a red carpet. She smiles and blows kisses at people she recognizes around the room. I glance up at the dais again and see Keith is staring daggers into her backside. His wife seems oblivious to her entrance as she chats with the DARE director’s wife, Tracey Petty.

  “Hey, baby,” says Garrett as he holds my chair and I take my seat at the table. “Damon was just telling us that you guys all went to UC together.” I stare pointedly at Damon. There was no need to let everyone know any more than that.

  “Yep, that’s right,” Damon says as he cuts into his breast of chicken. Ché, not satisfied that the attention is shifting away from her, jumps into the conversation.

  “Oh, that’s so funny. Garrett and I both went to Stanford together.”

  “Is that right, honey?” I ask, not sure what the point of her comment is.

  “Yep,” Garrett shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but before I can ask another question Mrs. James appears behind her son. She greets Ché and Desiree with kisses, while pointedly ignoring me and Amaya.

  “Garrett, will you join your father and me for a cocktail afterwards?” she asks. “We’d like to chat.”

  “Of course, Mother. Trista and I will see you later,” Garrett said. I can tell by the look on her face she was hoping I would be going home instead of joining a family conversation. I wonder if what she wants to talk about is me. When I turn around in my chair to ask Amaya what she thinks I should do about mommie dearest, I see that she’s slipped away from the table. Without even looking back at the stage, I know that Keith’s chair is empty as well.

  AT THE CONCLUSION of the reception, Desiree and Ché ask Damon if he wants to join them for a drink in West Hollywood. I am surprised to hear him say yes.

  “Sure, sounds good,” he says. “Are you guys going to join us?”

  “Oh, no thanks,” I say, looping my arm through Garrett’s. The Stepford sistas’ faces perk up at my answer. “You three have fun.”

  “Cool,” Ché says as she whips out her compact to check her flawless makeup yet again before departing. As I turn to ask Garrett if we’re going to his place or mine I overhear Ché inviting Damon to a dinner party later in the week and giving him her business card. He smiles at her and puts the card into his jacket. When he looks up, he catches me observing their conversation. He winks at me, stands up, and then, smiling down at Ché, helps her up from her chair. I can’t believe he wants to go out with her. Since when is she his type?

  Ché loops her arms through Damon’s and walks out of the reception. At least if he’s hanging out with her I don’t have to worry about him getting into my business. The room empties out quickly and soon the only other people left in the gallery are those on the planning committee, who are now sitting at the reception table, cataloguing the auction results and writing up shipping receipts under Trixie’s watchful eye.

  When Garrett’s parents come over to the table, his father gives me a warm embrace.

  “So nice to meet you, young lady,” the Judge says. I smile brightly and catch a glimpse of Bunny’s face, which looks like she’s sucking on a lemon. Love, love, love the father; hate, hate, hate the mother.

  The Judge asks me to accompany him through a final sweep of the gallery so he can show me some of his favorites. Garrett and his mother follow behind us.

  As we all reach the end of the exhibit we hear whispered voices and a woman’s giggles coming from a roped-off area in the back of the room. Suddenly Amaya walks out adjusting the top of her dress to cover nipples on high-beam and Keith follow
s behind her. Her face wears a self-satisfied smile until she sees me and Garrett’s family.

  “Uh, Trista, I’ll call you later,” she mumbles in my ear as she rushes out of the gallery.

  I’m furious. I feel a hot flush rush up my neck. Keith tries to play off getting busted. He shakes the Judge’s hand, thanks him for working with him. When he steps over to Mrs. James to try to kiss her on the cheek, she turns her head just out of his reach. He heads off, presumably to find his wife. “Wasn’t that Trista’s little friend?” Mrs. James asks, pointing over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed into little slits, her jawline tight.

  “Yes,” mumbles Garrett, looking at me quizzically.

  “Tsk, tsk. We have to stop just letting anyone into these events,” she says dismissively. After an awkward silence, Garrett says our goodbyes to his parents and we head out of the gallery. I can’t believe Amaya. How could she be messing around with that man, and his wife is in the next room?

  “SO, WHAT’S UP with your friend?” Garrett asks as we wait for our cars to be brought around. I don’t want to get in the middle of Amaya’s mess, so I play dumb. I explain that I had invited her with the extra ticket he had given me and pretend to know nothing about her connection with Keith. Luckily he didn’t pump me for details. Suddenly his friend Mike comes bounding out of the gallery.

  “Ready to go, man?” he asks, slapping Garrett on the back. I look at Garrett quizzically as I was just about to suggest we go back to his place.

  “Uh, yeah,” he stutters. “You don’t mind, right, honey? Mike’s getting some of the guys together tonight. Cool?”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to mask my disappointment. “Will I see you Saturday?”

  “Well, actually we were kinda planning to play golf that morning, and then catch up with some other friends.” Mike looked at me expectantly, almost with a challenge in his eye. I didn’t want to come between the two friends hanging out.

  “No problem,” I say with false brightness. “I’ll probably just go see my dad.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Tris,” Garrett says quickly. He kisses me goodnight and then helps me into my car. As soon as I merge onto the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 405 freeway I dial Amaya’s number and adjust my earpiece.

  “Damn you, Amaya! Pick up the phone!” I yell as I weave in and out of traffic. I hang up and redial repeatedly. When I get her voicemail for the fifth time I throw the cell phone onto the passenger seat in disgust. I can’t believe she dragged me and my man—and his family, for that matter—into her bullshit. I’m going to kill her.

  I’M STRESSED. It’s Monday and Cassidy hasn’t returned my repeated calls to set up a meeting to discuss a new Miramax project, and now there’s drama with Jared and Kimberly. Just as Sloane predicted, the Star came out with an item about Jared and Kimberly’s alleged canoodling on the set. The other tabloids picked up on the story and began following them both around town. Apparently it was all more than Jared’s fiancée could take. But instead of slinking back to Idaho, as Sloane had predicted, Heather swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. My latest update from one of Sloane’s assistants said they had pumped Heather’s stomach and Jared was with her. Sloane is working desperately to keep it out of the papers. If she doesn’t fix this, Jared will come off looking like a bastard who has driven this girl to try to kill herself. Audiences wouldn’t like that. Our Paramount contract will be history. Jared’s career will be over before it even started.

  I call Viv to check on Corey before heading over to Garrett’s office to pick him up to go to another client’s premiere.

  “What’s up, Viv,” I ask when she answers the phone.

  “Nothing, girl. Just frying some chicken for dinner,” she says. Damn, I wish she hadn’t said that. Just the idea of Viv’s fried chicken makes me want to drive over to her house. Just to torture myself I ask her what else she’s making.

  “Oh, just some of Corey’s favorites. Mac and cheese, collard greens, some sweet potatoes, and some corn bread. It’s our special ‘eat what you like night.’ The rest of the week we’re not eating this mess—strictly veggies and baked or roasted meats for us.”

  “Damn, you’re killing me. I know you put your foot in it, too.”

  “I need to since I’ve had to work late the last two nights, chasing around the new ‘it’ couple, Jared and Kimberly. My editor, the star-fucker, officially has a hard-on for the two of them and basically has me staking out their every move.”

  “They don’t call it Hollyweird for nothing, sista,” I say. I want to tell her about Heather’s suicide attempt but I can’t. Thankfully she drops it.

  “Hey, why don’t you come over? Jerome’s coming over to watch the basketball game with us, but there’s more than enough.”

  “Oh, Big Daddy’s coming over, huh?” I say teasingly. “He’s been spending a lot of time over there. Anything you need to tell me?”

  “No, silly. We’re just hanging out. He really likes Corey, and we’re just going to watch the game. You know ain’t nothing jumping off over here. It’s not even like that. We’re just friends, girl. Besides, I’m focused on making sure Corey stays healthy, and writing pieces as the culture critic for that online magazine I told you about. My third story runs next week.”

  “Can’t wait to read it,” I say. “I’m glad you’re pursuing the type of writing you really love to do.” I hope Daddy can get Sean out of her head.

  “If you aren’t coming over here, what are you doing tonight?” she asks. The sound of the grease popping in the skillet makes my stomach growl.

  “Going to pick up Garrett to go to the Washed Up premiere,” I answer.

  “Oh, sounds like you two are inseparable. Although now that Damon’s in town…” her voice trails off suggestively.

  “Let it go, girl,” I snap. Why does she have to keep bringing him up?

  “You know, I don’t think you really know what you want,” she says.

  “What do you mean by that?” I ask impatiently. “I’m looking for a relationship. I’m looking for someone who respects me, isn’t threatened by my success, someone who can contribute to our financial security, someone supportive.”

  “Trista, what is wrong with you, girl? It doesn’t seem like you’re looking for a relationship as much as you’re looking for a business partner.”

  “And what makes you the expert? You know what? Never mind. I don’t even want to get into this with you. I gotta go.”

  “I’m just telling you this ’cause I love you and I may see something you don’t.”

  “Whatever,” I say. Now I’m annoyed. “Look, I’ll call you tomorrow to find out what happened with you and Daddy.”

  “Well, hopefully I’ll be reporting the same ol’ thing: Nothing happened,” she says as she hangs up the phone.

  THE NEXT MORNING when I turn on my computer, I see a new email. I stop highlighting clauses in a contract and open a message from Amaya with an e-vite. I click on the link and a cartoon Elvis in a white pantsuit starts singing “Viva Las Vegas.” Pink text appears below it on the screen:

  YOU’RE INVITED TO: Amaya’s 26th BIRTHDAY BASH

  WHEN: September 24–26

  WHERE: The Palm Hotel, Las Vegas

  WHAT TO BRING: ABC—attitude, bikini, and condoms!

  I’m still steamed at Amaya for her little performance at the Corcoran, but just looking at the invite piques my curiosity. I ask Adriene to conference in Amaya and Viv.

  “Did you get my e-vite?” asks Amaya when we all get on the line.

  “Aww, yeah. Vegas!” says Viv. “You know, that’s just what I need after all the drama with Corey and Sean. Hot damn, it’s on now!”

  “Hold up, are you sure your other man is going to let you go? Maybe you should ask your Daddy first,” I say as I laugh at my own joke.

  “Listen, I go wherever I want to go,” she replies tersely.

  “Whatever, we’re going to celebrate my birthday,” says Amaya, jumping in. “And as the slogan goes: Wh
at happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!”

  “Oh, look here, I see on the invitation that it’s your twenty-sixth birthday…” Viv says, laughing. “Didn’t we celebrate your twenty-sixth last year?”

  “And the year before that?” I offer.

  “As far as casting agents and nosy reporters like yourself are concerned, I’m twenty-six. Look, this is going to be three days and two nights of fun in Sin City. I even convinced Elise to fly out. And I haven’t even told you guys the best part.”

  “Well, don’t hold back,” I say. “What’s the deal?”

  “Keith bought all of us first-class tickets and booked us a luxury suite at the Palm,” she says, her voice full of excitement. Does accepting Keith’s generosity make me an accomplice to ruining his marriage, I wonder.

  “Trista, I know you’re already overthinking this,” says Amaya. “Let’s just go to Vegas and see Elise and hang out together. I promise it will be drama-free. And hopefully I’ll have another surprise to share with you guys when we get there.”

  “All right, then, that sounds like an offer we can’t refuse,” Viv says. “C’mon, Trista, let’s get away for a weekend. Although I doubt I’ll be bringing a bikini, and I damn sure won’t need any condoms, but I’ve got plenty of ’tude.”

  “Well, I’m sure Amaya’s packing enough condoms for all of us!” I say as I think about this little getaway a minute longer.

  “Whatever, heiffa,” shoots back Amaya. “You know you want to go.”

  “Sounds like we’re going to Vegas, ladies,” I say. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”