“No, it’s not a big deal really. Plus, you would be doing me a huge favor. When it’s me and him, things can get kind of tense, but if you’re there he’ll be Mr. Charm. People love him. He saves all the deep emotional scarring for his family.”
“Wow, you’re really selling me on this dinner, Cabot.” I’m more sarcastic than I meant to be, because I’m terrified. It was one thing to spend time with Cabot, alone, but it’s a whole other level to meet his dad.
Disappointment clouds his azure eyes. “If it’s too weird for you, don’t worry about it. We can get together next week instead.”
Sure, we can postpone us, Cabot and me together, alone. But I know how dramatically things can change in a week, a weekend. If I really want to do this with him, I have to take the opportunity.
“No, it’s fine, I’d love to come to dinner with your dad.”
The clouds lift. “Are you sure? Afterward, we’ll do something fun, just the two of us.”
I nod. “I can’t wait.”
His eyes sparkle now. “Me either.” Then, “My dad and I have a standing reservation at eight, so I can pick you up at your house at seven thirty.”
“Oh, why don’t you pick me up from school? I think I have extra rehearsal on Thursday afternoon.” Cabot’s look says he doesn’t believe me, again, but thankfully he doesn’t push. “Where are we going? More importantly, what should I wear?”
“Dinner is at our country club. It’s kind of pretentious, but then, so is my dad. Wear whatever you like, you’ll look great, I’m sure.”
I have no idea what people wear to dinner at a country club. During voice, I Google: what should I wear to a country club? I get lots of pictures of preppy boys in navy blazers and loafers, women in tennis outfits. I text Willa and ask if she can take me shopping after school.
Willa: where were you at lunch?
Me: Cabot took me off-campus
Willa: Yes I can take you
When we get out of class, I walk to Willa’s car. She’s already waiting. And she doesn’t look happy.
“You didn’t text me when you got home last night, Mariely.” Her tone is not accusatory, more sad.
“I know. I’m sorry. I got home really late and crashed out.” Only part of that is stretching the truth: I did get home late, but I didn’t crash out. Not immediately. Mostly I lay in the dark listening to Alé’s little-boy snoring and thought about kissing Cabot.
“No you didn’t,” Willa says. “You’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not,” I argue. Except, if I’m being 100 percent honest…it’s kind of true. I could not love Willa more if she were my blood sister. But all the constant cautioning and dire warnings about me and Cabot? Even though I know her heart’s in the best place, it’s wearing me out.
“Yes, you are avoiding me. I know because it’s the same reason I avoid talking to you about Damien.”
“You do?” Now I feel guilty. “Why?”
“Well, for starters, you make faces at me every time I say his name.”
I cringe. She’s right, of course, which makes me feel even more guilty. “Willa, I—”
“No, let me finish. I’m having a hard enough time believing that Damien likes me, wants to be with me, and your constant harping about him does nothing for my confidence.”
I feel about two inches tall. I’m a terrible best friend.
Willa continues. “Last night when you didn’t text me to talk about what happened at lunch yesterday, it made me think, and I realized that I can’t keep asking you to blindly support me when it comes to Damien, when I have been less than enthusiastic about this whole thing with Cabot. You’re a big girl, and you know better than anyone I know what you’re doing in life. So, I’m going to stop being Miss Debbie Downer all the time and believe that you are more than capable of navigating the obvious pitfalls of this fake romance with Cabot. Okay?”
I throw my arms around her and squeeze tight. “I don’t deserve you, Willa. And neither does Damien, but if he is what you want, then I want that, too. I’m sorry I’ve been such a crappy friend lately.”
Willa unwinds herself from my enthusiastic embrace. “Well, because of the extreme weirdness of your situation, you’re forgiven, as long as I am, too.”
“Always.”
We climb into her car, and she drives us in the direction of my favorite vintage stores.
“That kiss yesterday? Not part of the plan, correct?”
“Yes, kissing was part of the plan, just not so…”
“Superhot?”
I can’t stop myself from smiling. “Sooooo hot. Willa, it was amazing. I’ve never been kissed like that ever. It was like something from a movie—Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster on the beach in From Here to Eternity, Humphrey Bogart kissing Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, Montgomery Clift—”
“Yes, yes, I get it,” she says, rolling her eyes, “and if looks are anything to go by, I don’t think Audrey had ever been kissed like that by Cabot, either. I’m pretty sure there’s a voodoo doll with dark eyes, dark hair, and perfect cupid-bow lips covered in pins head to toe in her purse. Just sayin’.”
We park on the street outside the first store. “What are we looking for today?”
“I need something to wear to dinner with Cabot’s dad at their country club.” I don’t tell her about hanging out afterward—I feel like her unwavering support is still too fresh to test quite yet.
She doesn’t so much as flinch. “Okay, country club attire it is.”
We hit every thrift store on Burnet Road, but came up empty for my budget. Willa offers to let me borrow something of hers, except that while we’re about the same height, our styles are definitely not. Willa’s got a whole geek chic thing going, and I’m rockabilly pinup. Not to mention, she’s got amazing boobs, and I do not. Nothing of hers fits me just right in that department and I really want everything to be just right for this dinner.
On Wednesday, I trade a shift with a guy at work and after Lita gets home we load up Gia and Alé into our ancient Dodge Caravan and drive across town to the Gucci Goodwill. The store location is just off Lake Austin Boulevard, and anything in this town with Lake Austin in the name means upscale, even the Goodwill. All the “ladies who lunch” donate their barely worn designer clothes here.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t have gone to the store by our house,” Lita grouses at least sixteen times while we battle forty minutes of traffic. I feel bad asking her to do this after she worked all day, but Willa had a family thing and couldn’t drive me.
“I’m sorry, Lita, but this location has the best stuff.”
When we get there, Gia and Alé scramble out of the minivan. Gia grips the five dollars in toy-spending bribe money I’ve given them to behave. Inside the store, the kids’ section is within view of the women’s section so Lita and I can keep an eye on them while I start my search for the perfect outfit. I want something that shows my artistic flair but also says studious, something flirty but also classy, and I need it to say all of this for forty dollars or less. I can’t afford to spend more than one night’s pay.
Combing through the racks with me, Lita is still grumbling. “All this way. The gas money…” Lita never gripes, so I feel this is about more than just the couple of dollars, but she hasn’t offered up any reasons why she’s grumpy and I haven’t asked. Lita tells me things when she’s ready and only when she’s ready.
“I’ll pay for the gas.” I hold up a crimson diaphanous top that plunges down to at least my knees. “Too much?” I tease. Lita peers over the rim of her glasses, not amused. “I’m kidding, Lita. I’m looking for something to do the trick, not turn tricks.” Still no response. Nothing, it seems, is going to budge Lita out of her mood.
We push through more clothes, the scraping of cheap wire hangers the only sound between us. Then Lita mutters, “Too much fuss to impress a boy.”
I do my best to keep the eye-rolling tone out of my voice. “I’m not trying to impress him.” Except as soon as t
he words roll off my tongue, I know they’re a lie. I want Cabot to see I can fit into his world. “The place where we’re going is fancy, that’s all.”
“Hmmph. Why is he taking you to such a fancy place? I thought you were friends only? Friends don’t dress up for each other and go to fancy places.”
“I dress up and go to fancy places with Willa sometimes,” I point out.
Again she gives me a long look over her glasses. “Willa is not a distraction. Boys, they’re distractions. You don’t have time for distractions, Mariely.”
“I dated Jacen for almost three years and I never heard you say anything about him being a distraction.”
“Mija, Jacen was…well, Jacen was like Willa—a pal—and you weren’t ever going to be in love with him. Not really. Now we have to drive to special stores so you can buy better clothes to go to a fancy club with a boy I never heard of until yesterday? That is a distraction.
“Your dream is so big, and the odds against you are so great. You are so talented and you have so much fire, and you think it’s going to burn forever, but there’s always something or someone in this world that will try to put it out. The problem is the thing that puts it out doesn’t alway appear to be so terrible. Sometimes they seem quite nice. Like dinners at fancy places with a boy who admires your new clothes.”
“There is no way I’m going to ever allow someone to keep me from reaching my dream. I promise you.”
“No, don’t promise me, mija. Promise yourself.”
We keep going through the racks until my hand lands on a cherry-red dress with darling cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and full skirt. I grab it and run over to a mirror, holding it in front of me. It’s definitely not preppy, but the color is gorgeous, and it reminds me of something Grace Kelly would wear in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I can picture myself riding in Cabot’s convertible, a scarf tied around my hair as we drive with the top down. “It’s perfect,” I croon.
The tags still dangle from the label, never worn. I will never understand people who buy things and never wear them. Especially a—I glance at the original price—three-hundred-dollar dress! Underneath that is the Goodwill price: ninety dollars. Holy Hedy Lamarr! More than twice what I can pay. I feel like crying. I should have stayed on my side of town; I could probably have found something appropriate and never would have known what I was missing out on over here. I put it back on the rack.
“What’s wrong?” Lita asks. “You said it was perfect.”
“Perfection costs too much. I need to lower my standards back to ‘do the trick.’ Like you said, I can’t let the cost of one gorgeous dress keep me from getting to Los Angeles.”
Lita picked the dress back off the rack. “Give me your money, Mariely, I’ll pay for the rest.”
“I can’t let you do that. It’s too much. It’s not worth it, really.”
“No, but you are. You’re a good girl, you work hard, you don’t complain—much—and you never ask me for anything. So, I know this dress, this dinner, this boy must be important to you. Only, remember, don’t make it too important. Because I expect you to pay me back when you’re a big movie star, mija.” She smiles.
I run into her arms and start crying. “I won’t let you down, Lita. I love you so much. Thank you for everything.”
Tears are running down Lita’s face, too. “Don’t let yourself down, that’s all I want. Don’t make my mistakes, or your mom’s. You can be better than us, Mariely.”
I know only part of what she says is true: I can and will be better than my mom, but I could never be better than Lita.
Chapter Sixteen
Luckily, even though Willa’s wardrobe was a bust for me (no pun intended…okay maybe pun intended) for my dinner with Cabot, her shoe selection is spectacular since Mia came into her life. And as best friends should, we wear the same size.
“Here,” she says, tossing a pair of black heels over the curtains of one of the Black Box’s dressing rooms the next day after school. “I still don’t know why we couldn’t have gone to my house for you to get ready. Cabot could have picked you up there—his dad’s house is four down from ours.”
“Because he doesn’t live with his dad and I’d already told him I had late rehearsal—”
“You mean lied to him that you had late rehearsal.”
“Only a little lie. I did have rehearsal today, just not late. Also, I told him that I’m spending the night afterward at your house.” I poke my head out from the curtains and bat my extravagantly thick false lashes at her. “Please?”
Willa purses her lips. “You know you don’t have to ask. Why do you keep lying to Cabot about this? You live where you live; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I slip the dress over my head and smooth it over the petticoat I’m wearing to give it even more flare. “I’m not ashamed. Only, it’s one thing for Cabot to know I’m a scholarship student, and another for him to see what that really means.” I pull back the curtains and step out. “Well?”
A huge smile breaks across Willa’s face. “You look like a movie star. Like Elizabeth Taylor in that movie you made me watch where the guy tries to kill the poor girl he got pregnant so he can end up with Elizabeth instead. Remember? She looked stunning.”
“That’s what I remind you of? A Place in the Sun? Thanks, Wills, I think.” I step over to the full-length mirror on the wall. She’s right, though; the dress looks stunning, and my lipstick is the exact shade of red to match. “What about my makeup? Is it too much? Maybe I should have gone more natural to meet his dad. And my hair? Is is too big?”
“Wow, who are you and what have you done with my best friend who gets up in front of an audience of a thousand strangers on the regular without so much as an eyelash twitch? Unclench, Mariely. This is dinner, not a Broadway audition.”
“I know, only…is it weird that I’d prefer a Broadway audition right now?” I shake my hands out, trying to loosen them. “At least then I’d know what I was doing. I mean, what if I spill my water? Do they have candles on the table at country clubs? I could knock those over and burn the whole place down. Or worse, what if my fork slips out of my hand, flies across the table, and stabs Mr. Wheeler in the eye?” And I haven’t even told her about me and Cabot after dinner. I’m trying not to think about it too much because if I do, I might not be able to leave this dressing room.
My deranged dinner scenarios render Willa momentarily mute. “You have got to relax, Mar. None of those things are going to happen.”
I huff. “Really, it’s like you’ve never seen a rom-com in your entire life. These things could absolutely happen, or worse. I’m not country club material. I don’t want to embarrass myself tonight. I don’t want to embarrass Cabot in front of his dad.”
Willa grabs me by both arms. “Breathe, Mariely. Normally, this is where I tell you to break a leg, but since this is not theater, this is real life, sort of, I’m going to tell you it’s time to pull up your big-girl panties. Relax, have fun, spill the water onto the candle, order the soup, and everything will be fine.”
“Hello?” Cabot’s voice calls from inside the main theater. “Mariely, are you here?”
I look at Willa one last time. She squeezes my arm in support, then hands me my clutch and pushes me through the door to where Cabot is waiting. He’s wearing camel-colored pants and a navy pullover, a gray undershirt peeking out of its shawl collar. And his glasses. He reminds me of Marlon Brando, when he was young and hot, obviously—not as the Godfather.
“Hey,” I say, stepping out of the shadows.
At first, Cabot seems startled when he sees me, and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. He doesn’t say anything, so I begin to worry that somehow I’ve made a terrible mistake, that I chose the wrong dress, and now this whole evening is a terrible mistake, and—
“Mariely, you look beautiful, like you stepped off a 1950s movie set.”
A smile builds inside me, starting somewhere below my heart, and bursts across my face. “Really? Th
at may be the best compliment I’ve ever had.”
“Then you haven’t had enough compliments,” he answers. I look down at the dress, doubly glad now that we drove all the way across town to find it.
“You don’t think it’s too much? Too theatrical? With the hair and the makeup, I wasn’t sure.”
Cabot comes closer. “You’re never too much,” he says, his voice sinking into the low rumble it had right before he kissed me yesterday. I feel it vibrating under my skin. “You’re always just right.”
My smile fades, and now I can barely breathe. I was wrong. That was the best compliment I’ve ever gotten, or anyone has gotten, ever. I want to kiss him again so badly, but I’m not feeling as bold as I was yesterday. Yesterday was a fauxmance kiss; today it would be…real. A real kiss, with real feelings, and, well, you don’t start with the kiss at the beginning of the date for a reason, right?
I clear my throat. “Should we go? I don’t want to be late for dinner with your dad.”
“Sure,” he says. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. I promise dinner will be a nonevent, and then I have a place I want to show you.”
I hope he’s right about dinner being a nonevent, because I still can’t get the nightmares from earlier out of my head, and now I really want tonight to go well so I can thank him for that amazing compliment. Properly.
We head west from the city, along a windy road into the hills, and the farther we drive the bigger the houses get. Finally, we turn down a road that ends at a stone gatehouse. The guard types Cabot’s name into a tablet and then lets us through. Cabot pulls slowly along a narrow lane and stops in the circular drive in front of an imposing limestone rock building.
My nerves are starting to get the best of me, and when the valet runs over to open my door, my legs are shaky.
“I’ve got this,” Cabot says to the guy, reaching for my hand to help me out of the car. Cabot and I have held hands almost every day since we raised the curtain on our fauxmance. It’s a patented part of our act. This time, though, when our fingers slide naturally into place, it feels special.
Crazy, Stupid, Fauxmance (Creative HeARTS) Page 11