Girl Act

by Kristina Shook

  I saw Tristan seated next to a freckle faced, pretty blonde woman in a pale cream strapless dress. Okay, so maybe it’s true, blondes do have more fun and get whatever they want, too. As I headed there, I could feel Deeda following me. Oh, God, I don’t need to be watched. I turned around, but she was talking to a guest behind me. If I could have walked any slower, I would have. As I approached table three, Tristan glanced over at me, and the pretty blonde stared at me and the lump in my throat grew.

  “Just a second,” Deeda said.

  “Do you need my help?” I asked, hoping to be whisked away.

  “The name settings are all wrong.”

  She pulled up the name card of the pretty blonde woman and put it across the table and plunked down my name card next to Tristan.

  “Mrs. Millar, have a seat next to your husband,” Deeda said.

  The pretty blonde sprang up from the seat and went around the table and sat next to her husband.

  “Sit down,” Deeda ordered me, and I did. I gave Tristan an apology shrug.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

  I couldn’t speak; I was too busy looking around for his date.

  “Don’t you know a Laurel gag when she plays one on you?” he asked.

  “What?” I asked, even more confused.

  “I told her I liked you, but I wasn’t sure if you liked me, and she said she’d prove it, one way or another,” he said proudly.

  My mouth fell open. Laurel had staged it all.

  “Kiss her,” Deeda said.

  And Tristan did better than that. He pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear, “I’m into you, and you’re into me,” and then he kissed my ear. Not with his tongue, but a soft kiss. I grabbed his hand and then I leaned in and pressed my lips to his and we kissed—it was fast and fun.

  The Italian singer Biagio Antonacci began singing, Vivimi. As Laurel and Anthony made their gallant, romantic entrance, everyone stood up and Tristan held me, and I glanced over to see Deeda giving me the thumbs up. It was magical watching them walk down the steps, passing all of us and entering the canopy. They had ‘In Love’ vows that they wanted to exchange in front of all of us, while an interdominational minister presided over the ceremony. Minutes later Nigerian-German hip-hop-soul singer, Nneka sang Do You Love Me. The lump in my throat was gone and I was crying; it was so unbelievable seeing Laurel and Anthony married. All of sudden I remembered back to when she had once asked me (in a very loud voice), “What is life, if you’re not in love? What is it?

  29

  INHERITANCE

  I woke at 7:00 in the morning from a kissing dream, it was so wonderful and yes, it was Tristan who I was smooching with. He had gone off to bunk with Gabriel at the Harvard Inn. He wanted us to date awhile, which was okay with me, because if Paloma was still waiting to have sex and Laurel had waited seven days—then I was going to copy them. I loved staying in the guest bed, staring at the sunflowers in the large, white, Italian-style vase.

  The night had flown by because of the dancing, the picnic meals, and the endless toasts. Everyone had wanted to give a toast, mainly because not everyone was going to fly to Italy for the ‘official’ traditional wedding. I was with Tristan the whole time—my left hand in his right. He had to learn pretty quickly how to use his left hand to eat and drink with. I had floated into the house and up to the guestroom, and he had followed. We made out for twenty-five minutes. Oh, wow, I could have torn his Italian grey suit off with my teeth, but I didn’t.

  “Vivien, telephone,” Laurel’s mother hollered. I jumped up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and threw on one of Laurel’s sexy mini Victoria Secret bathrobes and raced out into the hallway.

  “Be here by nine; we’ve got an appointment to see the lawyer right away,” my bookish father said with no enthusiasm in his voice. I didn’t bother asking why he hadn’t called me on my cell phone.

  “Okey dokey artichokey,” I said, playfully.

  I playfully stomped back into the guest room and pondered over what to wear. God, I just wanted to make out with Tristan again. How could my dear father go on so long without love? No more, I’m not going to allow him to live a passionless life, a single unattached life, with no hugs, and no kissing. No more! I looped my finger around the Tiffany love necklace Paloma had bought for me, because it had worked. So why couldn’t I help my father? I sat there and then I decided to say a prayer. It went like this: “Please God, and the powers of the universe, let my father find the right woman, let him have profound love or just simple sweet love,” I got goosebumps on my arms after I said it.

  After that, I got dressed and dashed to his place. There he was, a handsome man, with a mouthful of bookish, overeducated words and two rescue dogs. Shadow barked when he saw me. I knelt down and let him give me a warm tongue lick on my hands.

  “How was last night?” he asked, which was odd, because he never asks those kind of questions.

  “She wore a Vera Wang wedding dress, and Anthony wore a dark, dark blue suit with a silk white scarf around his neck and expensive shoes without socks. He looked ultra-European. It was beautifully romantic,” I said.

  My father chuckled.

  “I’ve met someone who’s probably the one, the real one,” I said. I couldn’t help it; I was in the babble of ‘truth’ mode.

  “Better be the British woodworker,” he said.

  My mouth dropped open, I couldn’t believe it.

  “Tristan?” he asked. I nodded as I tried to close my mouth, because it was so strange. My father is never in the loop. Never.

  “I can agree to that. Now let’s walk the dogs,” he said.

  “I thought we were in a rush?” I asked, wondering if my father had tricked me into rushing over, just to walk the dogs with him.

  “Come on,” he said, as he leashed them both and out we went. He wanted to walk along the Charles River because my father never tires of its tranquility.

  “Whatever she’s left, it won’t be much,” he warned.

  I told him that I didn’t care, because I suddenly felt as if I had everything I needed in my life.

  “I’m happy you gave me Twist, even if he wasn’t injured,” he said with a serious grin.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “But I wish you had told me how important having a dog was before, I might have done it sooner,” he said.

  Ugh. I wasn’t about to remind him how I had called from Los Angeles a dozen times telling him to get a dog, but he had just balked at the idea. Besides, he always brought up the loss of Bridge, our family mutt-dog, whom we had all loved.

  “Right,” I said, and then we didn’t talk during the rest of the walk, we just watched Twist and Shadow. How could anything be better?

  The lawyer’s office was straight out of the film The Maltese Falcon (my father’s other vintage favorite). The lawyer, Mr. Urbansky, was in his seventies, and had on a 50s style suit with a bow tie; he was old school all the way. I swear it felt like I was on an old MGM movie set. We sat across from him, and he spent the first few minutes consoling us on our recent loss. We both missed her, but we also knew she’d lived a long, good life, and at the end of it, she was content. Then he withdrew her Will from a faded file folder. He sat back down and looked at us in a very grandfatherly manner. It was impossible not to think I wasn’t in a 1950s film. He spoke to me first.

  “In her last Will and Testament, your Aunt Helen has left you the deed to a six bedroom, three bathroom house located in Rye, New York, just a twenty-five mile commute from New York City. The house is paid off; you’ll only ever have to pay property tax on it, and she left you twenty-thousand dollars to fix it up with.”

  “A house? For me?” I asked, interrupting his very polished reading. It was a total, amazing, thrilling, unbelievable shock.

  I stared at my father, who gave me a wink. Mr. Urbansky cleared his throat.

  “It needs work. Now, I can only give you the house keys. The deed will be turned over once you have brought her a
shes to Panama and spread them in a circle around your mother’s house,” he said.

  “PANAMA? My mother?” I jumped out of my seat. Now I wasn’t happy.

  “Are you crazy? My Dad and I want to put her ashes in the Charles River,” I shouted.

  Then I glared at my father, wanting him to protest for once in his life.

  “My dear, this is her last Will and Testament, and we must all follow the wishes of your Aunt Helen. After all, she is giving you a house,” he said, scolding me.

  “Mr. Urbansky, you don’t understand, the point I’m trying to make is that I don’t know my mother anymore. She has her own life and it’s in Panama, which is not in America,” I said, hoping he’d finally get it.

  “My dear, I’m well aware of where Panama is located, and if you don’t know your mother, than perhaps you will, after you have brought your aunt’s ashes there,” he said.

  Then he picked up the Will and continued on. My father’s head was down, and he seemed suddenly small, (which for a tall man is not impossible, I saw it happen).

  “When I receive proof of your flight there and back, then the deed will be given. As for you, your sister Helen left you a collection of first edition books, twelve in all, and they are very rare. She had plastic coverings designed for them,” he said, as he pointed to a stack of cardboard boxes that sat on the floor to the left of his mahogany desk. I looked at my father who nodded, but didn’t smile.

  “Dad, rare books, how special is that.” I said, jumping into sounding positive and cheerful, something I always do.

  My father just continued to nod. The phone rang. Mr. Urbansky took the call, and then he got up from his desk.

  “Please excuse me for a moment,” he said, and he left us alone in his office.

  The silence fell. My mother’s abandonment had left its mark on my father, and now I was being forced to go visit her, which was clearly my Aunt Helen’s last attempt to reunite us.

  “I can buy you the ticket, and we can pretend you went,” my father said.

  “Not with that lawyer. It’s all right, I’ll just go, but only for a weekend,” I answered.

  He nodded. I eyed the cardboard boxes, thinking about lifting the first lid and flashing my father one of the rare books, just to cheer him up.

  “A weekend’s not so long,” I said, hoping to make it less painful for him.

  “She wanted to take you with her, but I told she couldn’t have it both ways, a new man and my daughter,” he said staring out of the lawyer’s window and away from me.

  “I’m glad you kept me,” I said. I felt sad, as I always did.

  My mother had followed the beat of her heart, but she had left a heart broken in doing so. Love can be like that. Go figure.

  Mr. Urbansky returned. He had us look over the Will and Testament, and then he gave us papers we had to sign. After that, a young guy dressed like a bellhop appeared and strapped the card board boxes onto a small rolling dolly. He followed us out and down to my father’s parked car. Once the boxes were loaded in, we drove off.

  My father told me how he had taken Aunt Helen on a drive through the city of Rye and how she loved how close it was to Manhattan, but he had never guessed that she would have bought a house there—but that was his sister, always doing something good for some member of the family.

  I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of going to Panama, but having a house of my own was exciting, and I knew Tristan would be pleased. After all, it was an old house and it needed—carpentry work. We could make it ours. My heart started beating and I felt like screaming, “I’m happy! I’m truly happy,” but I didn’t, because my father had become somber.

  “She didn’t get everything,” I said, “I mean, yeah, she got a new guy, a new location, but she lost me,” I added.

  “I couldn’t lose you,” he said in a quiet voice that made me catch my breath.

  “A weekend won’t change us,” I said.

  He nodded. There was silence after that as he drove me to Laurel’s, where Tristan was waiting on the porch. I got out and waved for him, and he ran over. We hugged, and then he went around the side of my father’s car and started talking with him.

  I walked over to Laurel’s front steps and sat down, and that’s when I remembered that Leah Bloom’s mother had placed a Craigslist ad asking women to marry her son. And it had worked! So why couldn’t I ask a woman to date my father and like his dog? I could! I would!

  Tristan raced over, “I’m going with your father to put the books in his place,” he said. I grinned, because he was so totally cute I couldn’t believe it.

  “Goody,” I said, and I watched them drive off.

  Laurel’s mom came out front, “Bet they’re having a romantic morning walk along the beach,” she said.

  “Hand-in-hand,” I added. She smiled. Laurel was her one and only and she doted on her too much I used to think, as in ‘spoiling’, but now I just thought, why not? Why not spoil the ones you love?

  “Would you know how I could find my father a girlfriend?” I asked.

  Laurel’s mother Lynn was ultra-chic and ultra-hip, and she knew a lot of people. She was also very private and could keep a secret. After all, my father is known around Harvard and with the NYU crowd, and if someone saw my ad about my dad, they could tag it on Facebook or worse, it could go viral.

  “I know a terrific matchmaker, but would your father be willing to meet with her?” she asked.

  “Lynn, my father doesn’t know how to get started unless it happens to him, but I’ll meet with her. Is it expensive?” I asked.

  “She owes me a favor. I’ll set it up, so it’s free for you,” she said.

  “Really? I mean, are you sure?” I asked; shy to take a gift.

  “Just say thanks, and I’ll make the phone call now,” she said. That’s why Laurel was always able to travel, to fall in love a hundred times, and to finally end up with Anthony, because she was taught to say ‘yes and thanks’.

  “Thanks! I want my father to be happy,” I said. She nodded, and we went into the house together.

  That night I met with Madge the matchmaker at her home in Jamaica Plains. She lived in one of those old Victorians that are stunning on the inside, but left unkempt on the outside. She was Laurel’s mom’s age, and was happily married to a man she’d met through a newspaper ad (pre-internet days). I had to bring two pictures of my father, and I showed her the write-up that Harvard had printed about esteemed faculty—he got top billing. She thought he was very ‘dashing’. I told her his faults, and about Twist, his new dog. I also told her it couldn’t be a ‘date’. It would have to be set up as a chance meeting. She found the “undercover dating’ style of it exciting, and knew she could find the right woman to meet him in a ‘pretend’ way. I got goosebumps just hearing her talk about my father falling in love again.

  “How long have you wanted this?” she asked, catching me off guard for a second.

  “I think it hit me the hardest during my second year at college, because I wanted him to have love. Of course, I had wanted it after my mother left, but that was too soon and he was too bruised and heartbroken.”

  “Leave it to me, I’ll see that love happens,” she said as she took my contact info, and that was that.

  “Thanks so much,” I said, hugging her.

  Then I raced outside to find Tristan still sitting in his Land Rover, waiting for me.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  And I told him the truth because I felt that Madge the matchmaker was the real deal.

  “I’m glad I’m not female,” he said with an extra-smug British tone.

  I laughed. I mean, women do think about falling in love more than men, at least in my opinion they do—I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.

  We went out to eat at an Indian restaurant in Central Square. It was our first official date and I was so aware of that fact—only it felt good that we had already shared so much: Cassidy, Gabriel, Laurel’s wedding and now my father�
��s love life.

  “Would you want to move with me to Rye, a beautiful section of New York State, because my Aunt Helen left me a fixer-upper house with six bedrooms?” I asked nervously, over a plate of curry.

  “Absolutely, but is that before or after Panama?” he asked as he passed me the computer printout of a round-trip ticket that my father had booked for the following weekend.

  “Yikes, that was fast,” I said.

  “He said you don’t have to use it.”

  “Let’s go to Rye right away. I’m not crazy about going to Panama, but a promise is a promise and I owe that much to my aunt, even if it’s family-style manipulation,” I said.

  “Let’s go tonight,” he said, and we clinked our cups of Indian tea as a toast to the fixer-upper, Panama, and us.

  Before eleven, we swung by the Harvard Inn and asked Gabriel if he wanted to drive with us; we were leaving right away.

  “I was ready yesterday,” Gabriel said, as he started packing his stuff.

  I called my father to tell him that we were heading to Rye and that we would grab Shadow on our way.

  “You don’t have to go to Panama,” he said.

  “I do, but it won’t change a thing between us,” I said.

  “All right, I’ll change the ticket to fly out of JFK,” he said and hung up.

  We went to Laurel’s and got our stuff. Laurel’s mom wanted us to wait, but we couldn’t. It was too exciting to hit the road and travel. Tristan and Gabriel stayed in the Land Rover in front of my father’s place, while I raced up to get Shadow. He was surrounded by his new books, while Twist was on the floor, relaxing, and Shadow was barking at me.

  “I’ll call you when we get to Rye,” I said. My father glanced up from his book, but said nothing.

  “I never would have left you for Panama,” I said.

  “They will email your flight confirmation to your Smartphone,” he said.

  “Email, I didn’t think you knew mine,” I teased.

  My father nodded. His emotions were under lock and key, but I knew I could reach him.

  “I never would have left you for Panama and her new life. NEVER,” I hollered as I headed to the door with Shadow on leash. I heard what I thought sounded like a slight crack in his emotions—but maybe that’s what I wanted to hear. I mean if it had been a movie scene, the script would have read: father cries loudly.