“This is Roberta.” She nestled even tighter under his arm, her left breast crammed into his armpit. How unfortunate, I thought, that she had a name that suggested a female truck driver. Stocky. Mustachioed. Someone with anger issues.
“Yes,” I said. “And you remember Steven.”
“Oh yeah, hey, man.” Tyler offered his hand.
“How’s the music going?” Steven asked. “Grace says you should be famous.”
“Almost there. I just signed a record deal.”
“No kidding!”
Tyler grinned and lazily worked his gum. His bloodshot eyes shifted to me and narrowed slightly.
“Well, our movie’s about to start. Good to see you!” I flapped a hand at them and grabbed Steven and dragged him through the store.
Outside, he stopped me. “What is going on?”
“You know I can’t stand to miss the beginning of a movie.”
“Wait a minute. Why were you so weird in there?”
“Was I weird?”
He gave me a look.
I scrambled for something plausible. “Well, I think he was high, don’t you? You know it’s just not productive, trying to talk to people when they’re like that. Best to move on.”
Steven looked dubious, but decided to buy it. He settled an arm around me as we walked. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”
It was not, technically, untrue.
For so long I prided myself on being a truth-teller, no matter what. And now I was dissembling all over the place. Telling very smooth semi-truths.
This situation with Tyler Wilkie had turned me into a liar.
That week I brought my pointy shoes to work so Edward and I could go on a lunchtime jaunt to Saks. My dad’s show was coming up in four days.
We narrowed it down to two tiny, mod, sixties-style mini-dresses. I favored a hot-pink satin, sleeveless shift. Not a lot of shape to the body, just a straight line down to midthigh, but I have good legs. Which I guess is the point of a dress like that. The other dress was girlier: black, strapless, with a floaty hemline and a big black bow across the breasts.
I slipped on the cruel shoes and tippy-toed out of the dressing room to model each of the dresses for Edward.
“So, which one?” I asked.
“It’s a myth, you know, that all gay men have exquisite fashion sense.”
“Now you tell me.”
“But it happens to be true of me. The black dress. With opaque black tights.”
“But won’t I look a little somber, all in black? Don’t you think the pink is more fun?”
“Grace, I’m reminded in this moment that you have breasts. Why not let the girls out for a little fresh air? Steven will love it.”
I bought the dress and the tights and a strapless push-up bra and also some big, sparkly, opalescent crystal earrings. A few hundred dollars later, we went back to work. I had to admit, I should make the effort to look like this more than once every couple of years.
I still had bangs but the rest of my hair had grown out enough to wear in an updo. I had on tons of mascara, pale pink lip gloss, and my breasts looked like a couple of softballs nestled together on a shelf and all bound up with a bow. Although why you’d tie softballs up with a bow, I don’t know. The black tights and heels made me look leggy, almost tall. Just for this evening, I was a hottie.
Steven was coming with me for the first hour of my dad’s event, and then the driver was taking him to the airport for his flight to Munich. I left the bathroom as he was coming out of the bedroom and we gently collided. He stepped back to look at me.
“Damn, I’m canceling my flight and coming home with you tonight.” He set his hands on my waist and pulled me closer.
“No you’re not,” I sighed.
“I could tell them I’m sick.”
“Yeah, right.”
He sniffed the tops of my breasts. “Is that a new perfume?”
“No.” I straightened his tie. “It’s just that body lotion I always wear.”
He could be so oblivious.
We left my wrap at the coat check, I snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter, and we strolled around so Steven could check out the broken baby doll paintings and try the sound effects. Someone had given us a program that included an essay about my dad and a list of the various sounds we might hear.
We stopped at a painting and Steven slipped on the headphones and pressed the button. And made a pained face. He took off the headphones. “Yikes,” he said, consulting the list. “That had to be grieving Pashtoun women ululating.”
I put the headphones on and pressed the button, feeling lucky.
“You got some ’splainin’ to do, Lucy!” Desi Arnaz shouted self-righteously in my ear. I always hated when he did that. I hung the headset back on its wall hook in disgust.
“This is even more creepy than you described,” Steven said as we perused the rest of the paintings in that room.
“I know. Creepy and sad.”
“I can’t believe how beautiful you look.” He discreetly nuzzled me. “How can you do this to me right when I’m leaving?”
“Sorry.” I smiled. “I’ll wear the dress for you again sometime.”
“Yes, you will. The night I get home.” He checked his cell for the time. “I’m going to find the men’s room, okay? Be right back.”
I traded a passing waiter my empty wineglass for a full one and spotted my dad in the next room talking to three people. A chic Asian woman, an executive-type man in an expensive suit, and—
TYLER WILKIE.
WTF?
Though the rest of me seriously balked, my feet automatically moved toward them. My dad stopped whatever he’d been holding forth on to come and kiss me. “My God, you look like your mother thirty years ago,” he whispered. Just what a girl loves to hear.
He brought me over and I shook hands with: the director of the San Francisco MOMA; Tori, who represented my dad’s paintings in Japan and might be his current girlfriend; and Tyler Wilkie, whom Dan had heard was an incredible singer.
“We know each other, actually,” I said.
“Oh?”
“We do,” Ty said.
It was so disorienting, seeing him in this context. Then I had the bizarre realization that he was a New York celebrity guest. Like Parker Posey or Liev Schreiber, both of whom I’d spotted when I came in. Tyler was more dressed up than I’d ever seen him, in a rumpled dark blue velvet dinner jacket, albeit with jeans, a black shirt, and black biker boots.
While I was mentally evaluating his appearance I endured his flash examination. It started at the tips of my pointy shoes and swept up to the crown of my French-twisted hair, slowing almost imperceptibly at the unavoidable speed bumps—my bow-bound boobs, glossy lips, and the mini-chandeliers hanging from my ears. Our eyes met when he reached the top. I expected to see a teasing glint in his, but he looked away. Totally unreadable.
“How?” Dan asked.
“I beg your pardon?” I said.
“How do you know each other?”
“Grace is my best friend in New York,” Ty said.
“Really!” Dan looked at us, brightly curious.
I would have liked to accuse Tyler of gross exaggeration, but my throat was too tight to speak.
“So that explains your question,” Dan said to Ty.
That comment tipped me over into full-scale paranoia. What question? It appeared that my dad and Tyler Wilkie might be in some kind of cahoots. A bizarre combination that had the potential to send me back to therapy for years. I looked around the room and gauged the distance to all exits. Ah! Here came Steven.
“Oh great, she found you,” he said, shaking hands with my father. “I have to go to JFK now and I hated to leave her alone.”
“Thank you for coming,” my dad said. “Did you get a look at the paintings?”
“I did. They’re interesting.”
My dad grinned. I wondered how many times he’d heard that one.
“Hell
o, Tyler,” Steven said. “This is the second time we’ve seen you this week.”
“Yes, it is. An unexpected pleasure.” Ty shook hands, all charming, drawling friendship.
Steven turned to my dad. “Dan, can you make sure Grace gets out of here okay? Help her get a cab?”
“Hey, man, I’ll take care of her,” Ty said. “That way Dan doesn’t have to leave his party.”
Dan smiled at Ty as if he was his new favorite person. “Thanks, Tyler.”
“Uh, okay. Thanks,” Steven said. Looking not all that grateful.
Ty smiled ultra-sincerely. “No problem.”
I could not believe my ears. “I cannot believe my ears,” I said. I was standing in the middle of what had to be the three most upsetting men in the world. “I can get my own cab!”
Steven pulled me away a few feet and whispered. “Don’t be mad. I don’t want you standing outside by yourself trying to get home, dressed like this.” I felt like I was wearing Day-Glo pasties with tassles.
“Steven. Look around. Plenty of women here are practically topless.”
“Grace. For my sake. Will you let your friend get you a cab?”
“I guess. I’m going home soon, anyway. My stomach is starting to hurt.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll call you when I get to Munich.”
He kissed me and I watched him leave.
I supposed the expectation now was that I would turn around and politely return to my dad and Tyler for more chitchat. Instead, I slipped into the flow of people and moved smoothly into the next room of paintings. Just two more large rooms to shove through, and I’d be at the coat check.
There was an irritating clump of beautiful, entitled people creating a bottleneck at the next doorway. I knew the odds that I could successfully slip away and get my own freaking cab were very small, but I would not look back. I just needed to keep moving. I shook a mental fist. Damn you, Debbie Harry and Julian Schnabel, move!
“You know these paintings are about you.”
I stopped pressing forward and pretended to study the nearest sadly beat-up old doll head. It had only one sleepy blue eye.
“Are not,” I said, not bothering to look at him.
“I asked your dad.”
Clever. Made me look. “What did he say?”
“He smiled.”
I shook my head sadly at his naiveté and returned my gaze to the painting. “That doesn’t mean anything. Was that the question he referred to?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Yeah.”
Okay, so maybe no cahoots, just Tyler being intrusive.
The people pileup dispersed and the path to the coat check was now clear. He stayed right with me.
“How ya been?” he asked.
“Okay. You?”
“Good. Looks like I’ll be going out to California in January to make my record.”
I found the coat-check token in my bag and handed it to the attendant. I knew I really should look Ty in the face while we were on this subject, given the momentous nature of his achievement.
I did a half-turn to face him and raised my eyes. “I am so happy for you,” I said. “I know how hard you’ve worked.”
When had he become so strikingly good-looking? His pale skin and warm eyes shone in contrast with the dark blue velvet of his jacket. And he knew it. I expected him to dazzle me with the smile, but he just studied me thoughtfully.
“I mean it,” I said.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
The attendant handed him my wrap. I took it from him and gave the guy a few dollars.
We walked outside. He went to the curb and raised his hand. I let him.
A taxi pulled over and Ty opened the door for me. I had learned earlier that standing up, sitting down, and getting in and out of cars was dangerous in this dress. I tried to sit gracefully and sort of recline/ slide my way into the backseat in such a way that I wouldn’t find myself needing those Day-Glo pasties.
“Thanks,” I said, and reached for the door handle, but he held on and leaned in. The streetlight was behind him and his face was in shadow.
“Would it be okay if I call you? I want to ask you about something.” He sounded neutral, almost businesslike.
“All right,” I said cautiously.
He straightened up and took out his wallet, and before I understood what he was doing he opened the front door, overpaid the driver, and told him my address.
“Ty!” I protested.
“ ’Bye, Grace.” Now the smile, quick and friendly.
He shut my door firmly and walked into the gallery without looking back.
songs of love or concealing the bling
My dad IM’d me the next day.
DanB: So it was Tyler Wilkie who called you on New Year’s Eve, yes?
SueGBee: Yes.
DanB: I take it he saw you into a cab?
SueGBee: Yes.
DanB: Could you be a little more terse? How did you become best friends?
SueGBee: I don’t know why he said that. He must have been a little drunk.
DanB: He didn’t seem drunk.
SueGBee: Hollow leg. Hey, it was nice to see Tori there with you. That’s been going on awhile, huh?
DanB: Two years.
SueGBee: Wow, that must be a record. I guess you really like her.
DanB: I love her.
SueGBee: I’ve heard that a few dozen times before, Dan. You give your heart away so easily. And temporarily. LOL.
DanB: That hurts.
SueGBee: Sorry. I’m sorry.
DanB: You could try giving your heart away once, Susannah Grace.
SueGBee: Okay, I have to go, Dan.
DanB: Okay. Peace.
I tried to immerse myself in work, which at the time consisted of writing student ancillaries for a series of middle school textbooks on ancient world history. In ordinary times I would have eaten this stuff up; making up study questions about Egyptian political leaders during Graeco-Roman rule was my idea of a good time. I would have become totally absorbed in creating exercises about the metaphorical meaning of “Achilles’ heel,” or the importance of clay-pot-making technologies in ancient South Asia.
But I was not having fun. I was troubled. Because Tyler never called.
I was bundled up on the couch on a Saturday afternoon watching a classic Meredith Baxter Birney movie on Lifetime (SPOILER: the one where she kills her own kid and then kidnaps someone else’s son from a playground but he gets older and remembers who he is and the police find out and she ends up throwing herself off a balcony) when I heard someone come up the stairs, whistling. I flew to the peephole.
It was Tyler, letting himself into Sylvia’s. I heard his low murmurs mingle with the sounds of doggy ecstasy. Now here he came, with Biz and Blitz on their leashes. When he passed my door he looked right at my peephole, rubbed the top of Blitz’s head, and said, “You sure do have big ears!”
I pulled on jeans and a tee and washed my face.
When he came back I waited till he was coming out of Sylvia’s and opened the door.
“Hey!” I said nicely.
“Oh, hey.”
His hair had been cut a little but was still longish and wavy.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Good! Do you want to come in for coffee? I have banana bread.” Steven had made it.
“I’m sorry, I’d like to, but I have to be somewhere in half an hour.”
“Okay. Another time.” He was about to say good-bye. “I’m surprised to see you—I didn’t think you walked dogs anymore.”
“Oh, yeah. Sylvia called the agency, said the dogs were pining for me and could I just come once in a while.”
I laughed. “You’re such a softy.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “And she’s paying me triple.”
“Hey, you never called,” I said. “To ask me about something.”
“Oh, yeah.” He took out his vibrating cell phone a
nd looked at the screen. Slipped it back into his pocket.
“Well, what was it?”
“Nothing. Just a thought I had that night when I saw you. And then I decided against it.”
“Well, can’t you tell me what it was?”
He shook his head at my tenacity, or his foolishness, or something. “All it was, was it’s my grandma’s eightieth birthday coming up and my parents are throwing a big party for her back home, the weekend before Thanksgiving. I’m supposed to bring someone. I had this idea that it would surprise everyone if I brought a smart woman like you with me. Not what they would expect. And it would please my grandma.”
He rubbed at something on the tile with the toe of his Converse, then smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, Grace. I was totally thinking of how I might use you to make me look good. I thought better of it the next day. That’s why I didn’t call.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, you must have been wondering all this time.”
“Well, no. It’s just . . . hearing you this morning reminded me.”
“Anyway, I’m sorry. I gotta go now. It’s great seeing you.”
“Yes, you, too.”
My curiosity was piqued. I was dying to see where Tyler grew up, see his parents again. I wanted to see their house, and their big garden, and where he played as a kid. Where he fell off the roof. I wanted to see if there was something in the water or air that had made him grow up to be so very different from other people, so . . . interesting.
He probably knew that I could go with him to his grandmother’s party as his friend, and people would make their own assumptions about our relationship. I could do something like hold his arm a time or two to help the illusion.
And I had never been to the Poconos. And Steven would be in Munich the weekend before Thanksgiving. I could go on a short road trip and be back before he got home. And I wanted to help Ty. How unimpressive, indeed, if he took someone like Roberta. And I wouldn’t even need to tell Steven that I’d gone anywhere . . . though why wouldn’t I tell him? I would, of course. Eventually.
Grace Grows Page 11