The curtain closed again, and everyone was hugging everyone else. Liz and Pamela gathered around me, however, and asked, “Who sent those, Alice? Who are they from?”
“My dad, I think,” I said, and found the little card attached to one stem. I turned it around to read it. There was just one word: Patrick.
Mr. and Mrs. Ellis invited us all to their house for the cast party, and Mrs. Ellis herself wore a 1920s beaded dress. It was an exceptionally warm night, and some of us had opted for dresses instead of jeans. Sylvia had taken Patrick’s flowers home with her, and she and Dad had brought both cars so that I could drive Liz and Pamela to the party.
The Ellises’ house was even more Victorian than Mr. Watts’s. It looked like something out of a Charles Addams cartoon, with little nooks and crannies at every turn, lace curtains, flocked wallpaper, overstuffed velvet furniture, old photos covering the walls, and pillows you could get lost in.
Mrs. Cary had changed her dress for the occasion, and she and her husband came looking like Daisy and Jay Gatsby themselves. On one side of the parlor, Mrs. Ellis had an open trunk filled with old costumes—tall silk hats, capes, corsets, vests… .
“Alice, this is for you!” Pamela cried, holding out a luscious black lace teddy, and of course everyone urged me to try it on, which I didn’t. But I did pull on a pair of ruffled knee-length bloomers under my dress, the ruffles gathered at both knees. And when someone handed me a fitted corset, circa 1910, I put that on too over my dress, and Liz and Pamela were screaming with laughter as they stood behind me, tightening the laces to see how much tighter they could go before I passed out. Sam even took a picture for The Edge.
What surprised us all was watching the stage crew get in the act. When Mrs. Ellis put on a CD of the Charleston, a couple girls and one of the guys from the crew did an impromptu dance for us. We kept finding things in the trunk and putting them on their heads—strings of pearls, a boa—and it seemed the more we dumped on them, the faster they danced.
Amy Sheldon was there in her black pants and a black tee. Mostly she watched from one of the straight-backed chairs, laughing at the antics of the dancers, happy to be part of the celebration. I sat on a hassock at her feet as we ate the little meatballs and tiny hot dogs Mrs. Ellis had made for us, and I asked Amy if she was having fun.
“It’s a silly party, isn’t it?” she said. “I think you have your clothes on wrong. Your dress should be on the outside.”
I laughed. “You’re right. I wouldn’t wear a corset like this in a million years, but tonight it’s just for fun.”
“It makes people laugh,” said Amy, trying to analyze it.
“Exactly.”
She smiled then. “I’m going to be on stage crew next year too. I already got invited,” she told me.
When the party broke up a little after midnight and I drove Liz and Pamela home, we went over all the details of the party—who did what, said what, wore what… . And just before Pamela got out, she said, “Ryan asked me who sent the roses, Alice.”
“Yeah?”
“I told him they were from your brother.”
“My brother? Why?”
“Dunno,” she said as she opened the door. “Just to make things more interesting, I guess.”
21
TALKING WITH PATRICK
Spring vacation couldn’t have come at a better time. Sylvia said that I slept until two thirty the following afternoon. That wasn’t entirely true, because I woke around noon and debated getting up—then thought better of it and went back to sleep again.
When I finally stumbled into the bathroom, I felt as though I had molted into a new person, refreshed and alert. If spring hadn’t always been my favorite season (I like fall), it was for today.
Dad and Sylvia didn’t ask anything of me. There was a slice of quiche waiting for me in the fridge, some fruit salad, some ham. Dad was watching an NBA play-off game, Sylvia was altering a skirt, and the house had a blissful, contented sound—the low hum of the sewing machine, the sports commentator’s monologue. It all just made me happy and totally absorbed in the deep red of the roses on our coffee table. I was thinking about the best time to call Patrick to thank him when the phone rang.
It was Ryan.
“Hi,” he said.
“Oh, hi!” I said, wishing I could have talked to Patrick first.
“Tried calling you on your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” he told me.
“It’s in my bag upstairs and I didn’t hear it,” I explained.
“Just get up?”
I laughed. “About a half hour ago. How long did you sleep?”
“I’ve been up since eleven. Told Dad I’d wash the cars this afternoon, get the pollen off.”
“It’ll only get worse in May,” I said.
“I know, but it’ll give me something to do. I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. Take in a movie, maybe… .”
This was too much too soon. I wanted some downtime. I wanted to talk with Patrick, try on some summer clothes… .
“I sort of promised to hang with my family tonight, Ryan,” I said, searching for an excuse. “They’ve hardly seen me at all the last several months.” What was the matter with me? I couldn’t say I wasn’t interested, because I was.
“Understood,” he said. “Tomorrow?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m going to a shower for Jill tomorrow.”
“She the one getting married?”
“Appears that way.”
“Sort of weird, isn’t it? Spring vacation and all,” Ryan said.
“Well, there’s a history to it,” I told him. “What about Wednesday?”
“Okay. Wednesday afternoon or evening?”
“You decide. Whatever you want to do,” I said.
“Till Wednesday, then,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”
My heart was racing when we ended the call. I felt a certain excitement I hadn’t felt for a long time—the growing certainty that a guy likes you and you maybe like him. The beginning of the flirtation dance, back and forth, where you’re edging into unknown territory, and each question, each answer, is a clue.
I finished my breakfast, looked over the comics without really concentrating on them, then went straight up to my room and called Patrick. It was a while before he answered. I was afraid I’d have to leave a message, but then he picked up.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”
“Sleeping? No. I’m here at the tennis court waiting to play,” he said. “It’s a gorgeous day in Chicago.”
“Here, too,” I told him. “Patrick, those roses are beautiful. I was bowled over.”
“Glad you like them,” he said. “I’d rather have been there, but I had to work for my prof yesterday. And I’d barely see the play before I’d have had to fly back again. This will be the first time I’ve had in a week to get some exercise. How’d the play go?”
I started to tell him about the dog getting loose onstage, but Patrick was saying something to someone else.
“I’m up next, Alice,” he said. “I’ll call you later, okay? You going to be in this evening?”
“Yeah, I’ll be home,” I said.
“We’ll talk then,” he said, and we signed off.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my toes. The nails needed trimming, but I didn’t make a move to go get the manicure set. What did I want from Patrick? I asked myself. His blessing? Permission? His telling me it was okay to go out with Ryan during spring break? Even after spring break, maybe? Did Patrick ask me if he could go out? He might even be playing tennis with a girl—how did I know? Why hadn’t I told Ryan I’d go out with him tonight?
The truth was, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Ryan. But another truth may have been that I was trying to think up reasons not to like him. What did it say about a relationship if I said no to other guys because I wanted to convince myself that Patrick was “the one”? Or why couldn’t it be that Patrick really was spe
cial and I was protecting the relationship? Isn’t that what people did when they were married? Committed themselves to the marriage as well as to the person? But who was talking marriage? We weren’t even engaged. And Patrick was going to Spain in a couple of months.
I stood up and went to get a basin to soak my feet so my toenails would soften. That’s me—always jumping ahead. Planning my life weeks, months, years ahead instead of savoring each minute of every day.
When Molly Brennan called later and said she was having a hen party cookout in her backyard Tuesday evening, I almost leaped into the phone saying yes.
“I’m inviting you and Gwen and Pamela and Liz and a few others,” she said. “And guess who else will be there?” I tried to think, but before I could answer, she said, “Faith.”
I squealed. “Oh, I’d love to see her. She’s not—”
“Back with Ron? Nope. She’s moved on—way on.”
“Okay. What can I bring?”
“How about crackers and dip?” said Molly. “Hey, if I play this right, everyone wanting to bring something, I won’t have to cook a thing.”
Les took us to a steak house for dinner that night, so I obliged him and ordered a T-bone.
“Heard from any colleges yet?” he asked me after he’d ordered the drinks.
“UNC and George Mason said yes. William & Mary turned me down. I’m going to Maryland,” I said.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched me. “Well, three out of four ain’t bad, kiddo.”
I gave him a fake pout. “I wanted everyone to love me.”
“You’ll be going to a good school, Al, and we’re proud of you,” Dad said.
“I just want to know why,” I told him. “It’s like when you break up with someone. You need to know why. You need closure.”
Les reached for the pepper mill and ground away. “I broke up with a lot of girls and never said why, mostly because I didn’t quite know myself. Just wanted to move on, I guess.”
I hate that phrase, move on. Like no matter what happened or what you did, you just “move on,” and that’s supposed to make everything all right.
“I feel like writing the admissions office back and asking, ‘Was it something I said? Something I wrote? My SAT scores? Not social enough?’ What?” I told him.
“Just let it go, Al. There’s a lot more to life than school.”
“Yeah? So how is your life going? How’s Kay?” I asked.
“How should I know? You probably see more of her than I do,” he answered.
“Les, I haven’t been to work for two weeks.”
“Well, Paul and I had invited her and Judith to hear a new band in Georgetown last night, and only Judith showed. She said that Kay called her at the last minute and said she couldn’t make it, she’d explain later. Something to do with her parents. Judith thinks she’s starting to cave.”
“No!” I said. “That would be horrible!”
“It’s her life. And we had a pretty good time with Judith, though I cut out early.”
“And Andy? What’s happening there?” asked Sylvia.
“Same traffic, up and down those side stairs. Somebody every night. Often two.”
“Les, is this something you should look into?” Dad asked after the waiter placed our orders in front of us and left. “She’s using Mr. Watts’s house, after all.”
And I said what the others didn’t: “You think she’s a hooker?”
“Oh, Les!” Sylvia said.
“I’ve already been looking into it, doing a little checking at the U,” Les told us. “Andy calls herself a grad student, but that was a couple of years ago. She claims she’s tutoring, so I’ve got to be careful here… .”
“Just don’t you and Paul get yourselves arrested if the police raid the place,” Dad said.
After Les had gone that night and Sylvia and Dad were going to bed, I propped myself up on pillows in my room and called Patrick. I told him about how the dog got loose onstage and how Brad had kissed me in that funny act we put on in the Silver Diner, and I loved hearing Patrick’s deep chuckle at the other end.
“You found out you had talents you never knew you had,” he said.
“Kissing, you mean?”
“I mean the whole thing. Acting, being onstage …”
“Yeah, I guess I did. But I’m not thinking of making a career of it,” I told him. “How did the tennis game go?”
“Got creamed. We were playing doubles, though, and I’d have to say that my partner wasn’t quite up to it.”
“Who was your partner?”
“Fran. We were playing Adam and John. You met them when you were here last summer.”
My stomach did a flip-flop.
“Last week Adam was my partner and we won, so I don’t think my own game was off. But, as I said, the weather was glorious.”
I decided this was an incident I didn’t have to file in my worry bank. Patrick’s spring break hadn’t coincided with mine, and he’d spent his with his parents in Wisconsin. Now he was back in school, and he needed all the relaxation he could get.
“What do you have planned for your spring vacation?” he asked me.
“R and R,” I said. “I have a couple papers due and an article to write for The Edge. Tomorrow night there’s a surprise shower for Jill, Tuesday night I’m going over to Molly’s with a bunch of girls, and Wednesday I’m hanging out with Ryan. He was Larry in the play.”
“Oh? Going anywhere in particular?” Patrick asked.
Is that all he’s going to say? I wondered. No surprise? No jealousy?
“I don’t know yet,” I said flatly. “We just said we’d get together. Maybe he’s invited some other people, I don’t know.”
“Maybe,” said Patrick. And now I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling again. “Or maybe he just wants you all to himself.”
“We’ll probably just talk about the play,” I said. “Don’t worry. He’s going to the University of Iowa next year. He’ll be even farther away than you are.”
“Correction,” said Patrick. “I’ll be in Spain.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” I said. I wanted to say, So whose fault is that? but I didn’t. I told him I’d been accepted at UNC and George Mason but had confirmed with Maryland I’d be going there.
“Well, it’s a relief to have that decided and out of the way,” Patrick said.
“I suppose,” I said. “All these decisions I’ve had to make this year, Patrick—whether to try out for the play, whether to try out for Ivy Day Poet, what colleges to apply for … they must seem so small compared to all the things you’ve done in your life. You’ve had a lot of great moments, but one of the biggest moments for me was receiving that bouquet of roses onstage.” I felt as though I was going to cry again.
But Patrick said, “Then I’m glad your biggest moment was from me.”
How could I go out with Ryan after that?
22
CATCHING UP
The surprising thing about Jill’s baby shower was that she really was surprised. I could tell partly from her reaction and partly because she hadn’t fixed herself up especially—just came to Karen’s in a wrinkled shirt without mascara, thinking she was going somewhere with her mom. I almost thought she was angry at first, like she’d been set up to humiliate herself, but then I think she was genuinely moved that so many girls had shown up. Maybe even Jill, homecoming queen, had insecurities too, I decided, watching the number of times she tried to pin her hair back, hair that could have used a washing.
Her mom was there, looking lovelier than Jill, actually—a former model, I’d heard. As each gift was opened, it was placed inside the crib Karen had borrowed for the occasion.
“Did you ever see so much white and yellow?” Jill said, laughing as she opened a little romper set. “Nobody dares buy pink or blue till after they find out the sex of the baby. I want a little girl. I know just how I’ll dress her.”
“Just wish for a healthy ba
by, Jill,” her mother said. “Little boys are nice too.”
“Hmmm. Big boys are better,” Jill said, and we laughed.
I noticed how frequently there was a snide remark about the person who wasn’t there. When the doorbell rang a half hour into the party, one of the girls arriving late, Jill murmured, “Please don’t let that be you-know-who.” When the tiny cakes were passed around, Jill said, “I’m going to have two, even though the witch would frown at me.”
I guess she liked the gift from Gwen and Pam and Liz and me. “Oh, Ralph Lauren,” she said, more about the labels than the little booties and cap. I saw her peek beneath the tissue paper for a gift receipt, and when she found it, she smiled and said, “Thanks, guys! Cute!” and passed the box along to her mom.
Something was missing here, I wasn’t sure what. I kept hoping the door would open and Justin would appear with a guitar, if he played a guitar. That he’d sit down and sing a song to her and the baby. That Jill would caress her tummy, even, and say, It’s okay, little man, or something.
But the evening ended with people carrying cups and saucers to the kitchen, and Jill saying we were all invited to see their apartment after they’d fixed it up, and then we were in Gwen’s car again, going home.
For the first minute or two, no one said anything. We were each struggling for something positive or kind or generous to say, but somehow words were hard to come by.
It was Pamela who finally spoke. “It would be nice if all mistakes were reversible, wouldn’t it?” When no one dared take it further, she said, “If you marry the wrong person, you can get a divorce; if you believe in abortion, you can get un-pregnant; but the one thing you can never change is the father of your baby.”
I was about to protest that Jill and Justin had wanted to marry, that they’d wanted—I hope—the baby for its own sake, that Justin was not a bad guy. Then I realized that Pamela wasn’t, perhaps, talking about them at all.
“Well, you lucked out, Pamela,” Gwen said, speaking for all of us. “You didn’t have to make any of those decisions.”
“That’s what senior year is all about, isn’t it?” said Liz. “One decision after another. Do you remember when we were little, and all we had to do was get out of bed in the morning and our moms had our clothes all laid out for us? They arranged our playdates. Drove us wherever we needed to go.”
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