by Michele Hart
“Graceful waif you have here, Greg,” Allen commented. He righted her to her feet, and she gave an apologetic smile.
“You could only be Allen,” she said, recognizing his voice from the loud phone call at the restaurant bar. “I’ll spare you a handshake.”
“My health insurance company thanks you,” Allen replied with a devious smile, and rolled his eyes over to Derek who broke out a smirk.
Sissy smacked Allen in the chest, then she took hold of Elissa’s arm like a girlfriend. “Ignore the Neanderthals, Elissa. They’ll grow up one day. Welcome.”
“I’m growing up,” Allen proposed.
But Sissy cast him an awful glare in debate of the statement. “You’re the king of stalled development, Allen.”
He cocked a dishwater brow to her. “You only say that because you love me. At least, I’m king. You know I’m the man for you, Sissy. Give in, and life will be easier. We can’t possibly conceive our children with this obstinate attitude of yours. I’m already practicing in my head.”
Sissy cast him a crooked lip of horror. “Can’t you be arrested for that?”
“I’m going to surprise you one day, Sissy,” he told her, serious undertones in his voice.
Sissy stilled for a second, as if the words had disarmed her, as if she had no good reply or smart retort that fit the moment. Elissa wasn’t sure what Sissy’s hesitance meant and didn’t know her well enough to take a guess if it indicated a dislike of Allen or the exact opposite.
Then Sissy pulled Elissa over to their own part of the wall to hold up, taking abandoned stools from the bar and planting them in a low-traffic area of people discussing the displayed art, a subject on which Elissa drew a blank.
“Stick next to me,” Sissy told her, granting her great relief to be under the watch of a trustworthy soul. “I’ll walk you through this. Let’s hit the buffet and get some grub. When word gets around you’re Greg’s date, they’ll come to snoop you out.”
Sissy caught a server passing by and snagged two crystal flutes of champagne, and Elissa was thankful for mind-numbing booze, fearing they didn’t have enough in the place to relax her.
“Do you think I look bad enough?” Elissa asked, nervous at appearing far from her best among cultured people. She pushed the fish-eye glasses further up her nose, hoping the lenses would blur most of her view.
Sissy gave her a lookover, reflecting a bit of dread. “If you can stand for a month to pull this charade off, you’ll be a grand richer. As you look now, you could never pass for Greg’s type. I expect there to be backdoor bets throughout the crowd.”
Elissa exhaled in doom, fisting her flute and hanging shirttails as people in designer clothes and authentic Rolex watches passed by, casting snobbish glares. Not that she could identify a real Rolex. Well, not yet.
“That’s a yes, I look bad enough. I’m glad to help a few fatten their wallets. This looks like a destitute crowd. I’ve never been dared to look my worst. It just always came so naturally. So, what’s Greg’s type?”
Sissy smiled. “The style of woman who walked into Rubia’s the other night and saved him from death-by-olive.”
Elissa tried not to smile, but it was difficult. She couldn’t be his type if he hung out with people like these. This was a Macy’s crowd, and she was a K-Mart girl. A K-Mart Blue-Light Special girl.
Elissa smiled and smiled to uncountable strangers, some despite their unspoken disapproval, as Sissy and she helped themselves to an amazing buffet of tiny and pretty appetizers and desserts. What Sissy called grub was a feast of White House status. There was a lasagna that knew no end to the layers of cheese, black olives, and sausage, an antipasto with unrecognizable ingredients, and grilled portabello mushrooms stuffed with a shrimp-and-cream filling.
“Look at this spread,” Elissa exclaimed low, doing her best not to pack her cheeks full of delectable food like a chipmunk. Greg hadn’t requested she disgrace herself. “What a wonderful assortment of delights. The caterer is an artist.”
Tossing thick locks of raven hair full of brown highlights over her shoulders, Sissy delivered a chocolate-dripped petit-four into her mouth and closed her eyes to savor its flavor. “Julian Rubia, a master chef. The man’s won more culinary titles than he can list in conversation. If they were medals pinned to his chest, he’d tip over.”
“Rubia?” Elissa sputtered, licking her fingers of a white chocolate-dipped strawberry. “As in Rubia’s Restaurant, where you work? That’s who catered this shindig?”
“Always,” Sissy announced, as though Elissa should know such a fact. “Who would dream of using another caterer? Who doesn’t want Julian’s magic at their every celebration?”
Veal parmigiana so tender, it fell apart at the flash of a fork. Italian meatballs with a savory sauce like nothing she’d ever tasted. Tiramisu worth bank robbery, five-to-ten in the pen. She thought every morsel uncommonly delectable, every tiny dessert decorated as elegantly as a wedding cake. The edible works of art gave her something to do with her hands instead of shoving her fists in her pockets obtusely.
“I see an old friend,” Sissy whispered. “You think you can hack it alone for a few minutes?”
Elissa sent her eyes around the room. “No one looks poised for attack. I can do it.”
She watched Sissy disappear down a hallway, and Elissa stood in front of a colorful Van Gogh-ish painting of flowers and bees, deeply wishing she hadn’t passed up art history in school. She’d taken ballistics instead. And chances were small she’d come across a party guest eager to discuss trajectory theories. Yeah, that was a long shot. Luckily, no one in the room knew she was an art idiot, and staring at the painting made her appear occupied instead of standing there like she was waiting for a bus.
She studied the color mixes, the brush strokes, and wondered what style it was, in case she needed to throw out some technical term in conversation. She knew she was better off boring people with space-babble than attempting to carry on an art conversation with anyone knowing the slightest bit more than her, which was most likely everyone in the room.
If someone questioned her, she’d just toss Van Gogh’s name about as though he were an ancestor.
“Good evening,” she heard from a mellow male voice beside her, and she looked over to see a tall, middle-aged, and balding man standing beside her, dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a plain shirt. He had dark eyes and a very warm smile. “I’m Joseph. I saw you speaking to Natalie.”
Elissa smiled back and offered her hand. “Hello, Joseph, my name is Elissa, and yes, I’m a friend of Sissy’s and Greg’s.”
“Greg!” Joseph exclaimed, lighting up like dawn at the mention of him. “I haven’t seen him.”
She turned toward the bar to see Greg gone. “He was here a moment ago. I’m sorry you missed him.”
“I’ve just arrived. I’ll run into him, I’m sure. I’ve been a friend of his family’s all his life. His father Sergio and I coached the boys’ baseball teams when they were kids.” He must’ve been strolling through good memories from the glow in his eye. “They all seemed like my kids back then. Greg’s grown into a good young man.”
It was nice to hear such an endorsement.
A moment later, Sissy stepped in between them, a smile of surprise on her face to see who’d joined them.
“Father!” she said with affection. She gave the man a hug and placed a familial kiss on his cheek, causing him a blush. “You look well.”
“And you look more like your mother every day, Natalie. Have you had the pleasure to meet Magdalina, Elissa?”
“No, sir. I haven’t.”
“Well, you’ll know her the moment you see her. Natalie took her face from her beautiful mother. The resemblance is unavoidable.”
“What a kind thing to say, Father,” Sissy replied, her fondness for the man in her gaze and her arm locked in his. “I saw Momma in the kitchen, and I’m sure she wishes for your advice on the charity drive. You’re the voice of experience in managing
such complicated events and have such a good business mind.”
“I’m happy to lend a helping hand. I’ll seek her out.”
Joseph then put a pretended stern expression on his face. “Natalie, I’m looking forward to the day I can walk you down the aisle. When will Allen and you finally stop circling one another?”
“Sh! Father!” Sissy’s eyes swept the room for any witnesses to the question. One would’ve thought she’d been accused of treason in the Capitol. “I’ll not go until Greg is ready for me to leave. He still needs me.”
Joseph tapped on his wristwatch expectantly. “Let me know when to clear my schedule for your wedding, young lady.”
“It would be unwise for you to hold your breath, Father.”
Joseph took up Sissy’s chin and inspected her features. “Isn’t it funny how people can deny what’s in front of their eyes?”
Her father lifted Sissy’s hand, placed a cultured kiss upon it, and walked away with the most devious grin on his face.
Elissa sucked in her cheeks and shot Sissy an interrogating eye. “You and Allen, Server of Sardonic Sting?”
Sissy snorted a denial and looped her arm through Elissa’s, claiming an ally. “Don’t listen to that saboteur. He just wants to see everyone settled down and married like old fuddyduddies. Allen recruited him to his evil mission long ago.”
Curious people approached them, and Sissy introduced Elissa as Greg’s date, and most gained uncomfortable expressions on their faces as they contemplated Greg dating a girl who appeared plain. Sissy talked her up like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. Pushing her sagging glasses up the bridge of her nose, Elissa felt the awful psychic intuition that Greg regularly brought home cover models. The temptation to medicate her nerves with the tasty cuisine was near-overwhelming.
She did as he’d recommended, talked space-babble to anyone who would listen, and was thankful for her college minor of astronomy, a layered subject behind which she could hide. Big words, even bigger topics. She pretended to appreciate the art on the walls, and she nodded at Sissy’s every educated word like a bobblehead.
People walked away from her with baffled looks on their faces, probably wondering what Greg’s attraction to her might be. She was relieved when they gave up and moved on to other guests for more stimulating conversation about stock prices and the newest happenings on Forbes list.
The home was beautiful, everything white and each room as sterile as a showroom. Though clearly rearranged for the party, the place didn’t look as if anyone really lived there, though pictures of Allen, his family, and half the neighborhood hung in the hallway, denying the theory.
The two of them alone again, Sissy pointed out people and told her a little of the neighborhood gossip, who was married to whom, who was possibly cheating on whom. Who ran thriving businesses, who sank as much as swam, and who planned to file for bankruptcy Monday morning. Apparently not much was secret in a close-knit tapestry of neighborhoods and generations of families.
Elissa couldn’t help but watch Allen, Derek, and Greg standing at the bar again across the big room, their elbows and backs to the arm rail behind them, chatting with debutantes, bleached-blonde bombshells probably just out of high school, fluttering for their attentions. Allen wore a sour sneer on his face, unentertained, and Derek shook his head in some negative answer.
Greg spotted her surveillance, lit up with a smile for her and winked. He curled a finger to her, requesting her presence, but she shook her head, sure she would destroy less if she kept her distance. Appearing disappointed, he went back to the conversation with Derek and Allen.
“What do you think they’re talking about, Sissy?” Elissa asked low, pretending to appreciate a bust of someone famous beside her. “Men are a bigger mystery to me than Pluto.”
“The cartoon dog or the planet?”
Elissa laughed, having spoken in astronomical metaphors for the last hour to anyone beside her. “Pluto’s not a planet anymore.”
Sissy sent her vision over to the men, and her mouth took a discouraging dive. “I know how you feel, especially when it comes to the Amigos. I fear their diabolical minds.”
* * * *
“I’m sure you chumps plan to pay her the three hundred dollars you agreed to,” Greg hinted with all the subtlety of a freight train. He’d not let them out of their foolish commitments. There was a lesson to be taught here. He held his hand out in expectation.
Allen and Derek groaned, but dug into their back pockets, exchanged some bills in and out of wallets. When they whined that Jerry owed a hundred and wasn’t present to cough up his share, Greg told them to suffer, and they finally passed him the money to pay Elissa for their first date.
“You gotta admit, you can’t get much blander than her,” Allen put in, watching Elissa and Sissy from afar as they chatted back and forth, enjoying a laugh.
“You mean Sissy?” Greg put in.
Allen gave him a back-handed thump to the chest in revenge. At least Greg didn’t have to worry about Allen moving in on his woman.
Greg folded the bills and put them in his own wallet, then tipped his head Elissa’s way. “You can’t always look at someone and see all there is to know, you know. Elissa has hidden parts that are amazing.”
Allen’s expression suddenly turned to macabre elation. “That’s right! You bedded the little ragamuffin, you dog! I’ll bet that wasn’t worth the condom!”
Derek stuck his head into the conversation. “Or the wisest use of a condom in the history of mankind.”
“Derek,” Greg scoffed at his kid brother. “With your good breeding, I’d expected you to know fine wine when you see it. I understand Allen’s diminished capacity.”
Derek turned to Allen. “Betcha fifty bucks Greg’s learned his lesson and doesn’t go back for seconds.”
“You’re on,” Allen exclaimed low, and let Greg know with a look he’d noticed Greg watching her from the corner of his eye. “I’m betting Greg’ll go back, probably just to prove he can. He looks like he’s still interested.”
“He’s always had a longer attention span than me,” Derek admitted, his eyes roaming the open glass doors to the backyard and checking out the bikini-clad girls gathered around the pool, its light casting an interesting glow to the torch-lit patio area.
Greg just laughed a dismissal at them, and he elbowed his little brother. “You’re leaving Monday, aren’t you?”
“Yep. I’ll land in London Tuesday morning, then ship out to Paris for my student-exchange time.”
“You’ll enjoy it,” Greg replied. “I had a blast when I went. But that means I’m stuck with Allen.”
Allen grimaced at the mention of hard time.
“Where’s Jerry tonight?” Greg asked. “I didn’t know the three of you could separate and live. I hardly see Jerry anymore.”
“Something about the family business,” Derek replied, disinterested. “Something’s gone wrong at Fortunate Imports, but Jerry hasn’t said what.”
Greg tossed down the last of his drink. Jerry’s family owned Fortunate Imports, the shipping company Rubia’s used to receive all their European supplies. That Fortunate had problems right now tickled Greg’s ear. It was unfortunate Jerry and he weren’t all that close anymore. The childhood friends hadn't managed to respark their once-close friendship upon Greg’s return from college the way Allen and he had done.
Jerry often didn’t join the Amigos whenever Greg caught up with them, always busy with the company. But then again, so often was Greg the missing one, it never became a question mark.
“The port robbery must’ve caused hard times for Fortunate. They’ve some explaining to do to customers and an insurance claim to file, I’m sure.”
Allen and Derek regarded each other, and sang in unison, “Loo-see! You got some splainin’ to do!”
Greg rolled his eyes. “You guys created originality.”
“Jerry doesn’t much leave the office anymore,” Derek supplied. “He doesn�
�t talk a whole lot about it. He hasn’t been happy since he joined the business.”
Allen revealed, “We met Jerry for lunch today, and he threw another hint the business might be in trouble. He’s never really specific, and mostly quiet on the subject. He asked about you, though.”
Greg gave an interested hum. “His company must’ve lost several more important pieces than just our order. He probably needs to speak to me about Rubia’s loss, but hasn’t called yet.”
Derek’s brow rose to the possibility, then sent his vision back to swooping the party for chicks. “Didn’t your mother invite Kappa Kappa Psi?”
“Oh, yeah,” Allen replied. “It’s not a party without the Kappa girls. Mary Beth’s a legacy so she’s a shoe-in at Dartmouth. I saw Karen and Trisha here already. I think they’re out by the pool.”
Greg sputtered a chuckle, remembering the sorority well on his campus back in his times of wilder days. “Kappa girls, aye? Don’t forget your shot of penicillin, boys.”
Chuckles rounded the circle.
Greg glanced back to his favorite ladies to spot Elissa looking like a duck target of a carnival shooting game. He felt for her, immersed in a room full of strangers, looking a bit under-glamorized. He’d tried three times to entice her back to his side, but she refused, loathing to be any person’s focus, he’d guess.
Neither the fashion or distance kept him from appreciating her. He could gaze at her from here, and remember how good she’d looked on their blind date. He could see around those preposterous glasses and appreciate lively blue eyes often seeking him out during the party. He could imagine her paprika hair down and decorating her shoulders, bouncing with her every expression, and her shapely legs beneath pants too baggy, the ones that had been sticking out of the black throw of shiny material she’d worn that first night. Sometimes she gazed back at him with the most appealing smile.
Just tonight when he’d gone to pick her up at her apartment, she’d opened the door, dressed in the pretty rose-patterned slip of a dress that made her look smart, preppy, full of life, and adorable. No man would’ve thought twice about showing her off to his family and friends. He’d hated to tell her to ditch the cute look. He couldn’t wait to see their faces the first time he showed up with Elissa on his arm, looking like herself.