ISABEL
Heidi promised she’d go to the art opening even though she said she could think of a hundred other things to do on a Saturday night that were less painful and began listing them. Root canal, high school play, laundry, any movie starring Bruce Willis. I stopped her after she said bowling. Nothing’s more painful than bowling, I told her.
We drove in silence for a while, staring out through the windshield at the traffic, all those taillights shining red before us like radiant hearts.
Heidi turned to me. “You look cute, by the way,” she said.
I was wearing a dark green dress, my favorite black sweater with the pearly buttons. Heidi was in a red skirt printed with black flowers, very Spanish, and a simple white top.
“You do too,” I said. “Too bad Matt Hawkins can’t see you now.”
“No kidding!”
“You’d turn his head. And that’s a lot of head to turn.”
“Ah, leave his poor forehead alone,” she whined.
At a traffic light, I glanced up at an apartment building and saw a woman framed by a window. She was holding a phone with one hand, sipping from a wineglass with the other.
“So do you really like this Carlos guy or what?” Heidi asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “It’s sort of hard to tell. My emotions have been all over the place. First it was Gabriel’s anniversary, then Vanessa…”
“I know what you mean.” Heidi turned down Alamitos and flicked on her headlights. “It’s like your heart finally healed just before it got broken again.”
“Exactly.”
“Just let things happen with Carlos. Don’t force anything.”
“That’s what I’m planning on doing,” I said.
We pulled into the parking lot and cruised up and down the rows until we found a spot. We stepped out and there was a nice breeze with the faintest scent of the ocean in it. The curved pathway to the front entrance was lined on both sides with tiny lights, reminding me of the aisles in a movie theater.
When we stepped into the museum there was this hum of excitement, the sound of conversations overlapping, the squeal of laughter. I held Heidi’s hand and together we slowly pushed through the crowd, my eyes jumping around, looking for Carlos. There were lots of suits and ties, dresses and jewelry. Everyone looked stylish except for a handful of art punks in jeans and T-shirts with oily hair and multiple piercings. I got the impression that this was the place to be. And we were there.
Some people were holding clear plastic cups of wine and I motioned to Heidi with my hand to my mouth. She nodded and I plowed through—Excuse me, excuse me—until we were standing before a table covered with hors d’oeuvres: a cheese plate and a fan of crackers, carrot sticks and celery sticks, olives, grapes, miniature muffins, and these meatball-looking things skewered with colored toothpicks. We scooted over to the next table where a man in a white waiter’s jacket and black tie stood with his hands behind his back. About a dozen unopened bottles of wine crowded one side of the table. I held up two fingers.
“Can I see some ID?” the man said.
I frowned.
“Aw, come on,” Heidi pleaded.
“We also have club soda and bottled water,” he offered.
“Forget it.” Heidi grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the table.
We were standing near a wall beside a large photograph of a silver-haired man blowing air into a red balloon, cheeks puffed, his hand wrinkled and age-spotted. “We need to find someone to get us drinks,” Heidi said.
“Who?” I said. “We don’t know anyone here.”
“Where’s your boyfriend, anyway?” Heidi teased.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet.”
I shot her a look. “What happened to letting this happen and not forcing things?”
Heidi pointed. “There he is.”
I followed the imaginary line that extended from her fingertip across the room and spotted Carlos in a green button-up shirt tucked into black jeans, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was talking to a blond woman with glasses, a cup of wine sloshing in her hand. She was all smiles, standing close to Carlos.
“Uh-oh,” Heidi said. “Looks like someone’s got her eye on your boyfriend.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“Quick, do something.”
“She’s, like, thirty-five.”
The woman leaned closer. Carlos straightened his back and turned his head to the side.
“Oh my God!” Heidi exclaimed. “She so wants to kiss him.”
There was no denying it. The woman—whoever she was, however old, however drunk—wanted Carlos’s lips. And he wasn’t giving them to her.
Heidi nudged my elbow. “Are you going to let her steal your man?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “No one’s stealing anyone from anyone.”
A couple crossed in front of us, blocking my view—the woman in a shawl pointing at a photograph, the man saying something into her ear—and then they were out of my line of vision. The blonde had her hand clamped on Carlos’s jaw like a chin strap, directing his mouth toward hers, kissing him.
“See,” Heidi said. “I told you.”
The blonde let go of Carlos’s face and pushed up her glasses, drained her cup and handed it to him, then walked away, her shoulders thrown back. Carlos looked around the room to see if anyone had seen what happened.
I know it’s dumb, but I was a little jealous at that moment. I felt it in my heart, this little pinch.
I zoned out, the room squeezed into a glass tunnel, but before I could imagine everyone around me dropping dead, Carlos swept his hand back and forth in front of my eyes like a windshield wiper. “Anyone home?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head, embarrassed.
“She does that all the time,” Heidi said.
“Not all the time.”
“More than any normal person should.”
I elbowed Heidi.
“What time did you guys get here?” Carlos asked.
“About ten, fifteen—”
“Who was that woman?” Heidi said, cutting me off.
I elbowed her again.
Carlos blushed. “Oh no, you saw that?” He was looking right at me.
“Sort of,” I said.
“She’s really drunk,” he said. “I work with her. She’s a museum guard too.”
“She’s a little old for you, don’t you think?” Heidi said.
“Like I said, she’s really drunk.”
I giggled, but I was still jealous. There was still a little pinch.
Carlos leaned close to my ear. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
“Me too,” I said, smiling.
“Did you guys do a balloon yet?” Carlos asked.
I had no idea what he was talking about. I looked at Heidi. She didn’t seem to either.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand. “You have to do this.”
CARLOS
It was a daring move, grabbing Isabel’s hand and making my way through the crowd, but I was full of confidence. Maybe it was Nadine’s drunken kiss that made me so self-assured. Maybe I was tired of taking things for granted and floating through my life like a windblown candy wrapper. Whatever it was, I held tight to Isabel’s hand and together we headed to the east wing of the museum.
On the way over, I spotted Richard Spurgeon talking to Ms. Otto, her hand fiddling with an earring. I had intentionally stuck his address label on a postcard, knowing there might be trouble if he showed up. But there they were, chatting away, no trouble at all. Richard caught my eye and winked. I gave him a thumbs-up.
I brought Isabel and Heidi to the circular wall of Plexiglas that was the centerpiece of the east wing. The Plexiglas was knee-high and within its transparent barricade were all the tagged red balloons, hundreds of them, each filled with a different person’s breath. All the ceiling lights were aimed inside the wall, spotlighting the balloons, and their tight red
skins held on to the light. The whole thing looked like the cross section of a pomegranate.
“I don’t get it,” Heidi said.
“What does it say on the cards?” Isabel asked.
“They’re people’s wishes,” I said. “You blow up a balloon and then fill out this card with your name and age and wish.” I held on to Isabel’s arm. “Get closer,” I said, crouching.
Isabel bent down so we were both sitting on the heels of our feet. I pointed at the nearest balloon with its card facing up, and she placed her hand on my shoulder for balance. “I can’t read it from here.”
“I’ll tell you,” I said. “It says…‘Henry Gibson…age forty-six’…and his wish is…” I inched closer, my knees practically touching the wall. “…‘My treatment works and I have many years to live with my family.’”
Isabel made a small moaning sound. “That’s so sad.”
“Yeah, some of them are,” I said. “But some are funny. I read one earlier that said ‘I wish to lose my virgin soon.’”
Isabel laughed.
“The kid was only eleven.”
“Whoa, slow down, Billy,” she said.
I looked across at all the other balloons. They reminded me of large, red lightbulbs. A woman on the far end was also crouching as she held her curly blond hair away from her face. She was reading the cards one after another. She smiled, she frowned, she bit her bottom lip, she laughed, covering her mouth, then she frowned again.
Isabel and I stood up and a balloon sailed over our heads. It dropped lazily in front of us, the card twirling at the end of its string. Isabel turned around.
“Somebody made a wish,” I said.
“I want to make one,” Heidi said, all excited, like a child.
“We have to go over there,” I said, pointing toward a mob of people.
Heidi turned around and wiggled her way through the crowd. Isabel and I followed. This time, she was tugging me along, squeezing my hand and leading the way.
I spotted Leonard, dressed in a maroon blazer and black shirt. He was talking to a lovely woman in a metallic green dress, her hair all done up, tight curls spiraling down her cheeks. Our eyes met, Leonard’s and mine, and he jerked his head faintly in my direction. The Monday after he had chewed me out for being late for work, he’d apologized, blaming his mood on an argument he’d had with his girlfriend. We’d tapped our fists together and nothing more was said about the incident.
We scooted through the horde of jackets and blouses like penguins. Eventually the three of us made it to the front of the table where a large crystal bowl held a mound of uninflated balloons. A smaller bowl held the blank cards, the strings already tied to them. There were two cups, one on each end of the table, crammed with pens. The tablecloth was made of white silk and had Japanese characters sewn into the shiny fabric. On one side there was an intricate embroidery of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. Underneath its branches, a woman in a turquoise kimono was watching the pink flowers floating in a pond, a serene smile stitched on her face.
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