"It's so nice to meet you Miss..." he hung on the "Miss" hoping I'd give my last name. I wasn't about to go there.
"Just Charley is fine," I clipped. I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did but I was coming unglued under Andy's stare and his hands on mine. I'd hoped that leaving it at my first name would be enough, though it didn't seem to be. He opened his mouth to say something else when a taller version of Lacey (if you can believe it) carrying a wine glass came up to us and addressed Teddy. At the sound of her voice Andy dropped my hand like it'd bit him.
"My Teddy, you look handsome as always."
"Thank you, Claire," he said in that same shy teenager voice he used with his mom earlier. Unconsciously, his hand gripped mine tighter. Andy took the glass out of Claire's hand, which was odd because it already had her lipstick on it, pecked her on the cheek, and made his way outside to the group of cigar smokers. Claire seemed not to notice him disappear, though I did. Instead, she kept right on, "Not like I'm surprised. Lacey told me about your little run-in yesterday," and she gave him a little wink and a nudge.I don't get it. Does she really not see me? I'm holding his hand for God's sake. As if he'd read my mind, Teddy cut in: "Claire, this is my girlfriend Charley." Claire blinked twice then followed the line of his arm to where it tangled with mine and then up to my face. Except for the eyes, Lacey could've been a clone of her mother. Same tall, slender build, same bone structure and high cheek bones, same glacial glare. Though where Lacey was a novice, her mother was an expert at the stony stare. She could take down dictatorships with that look; the ice in it sent shivers down my back, but I did my best not to let it show. I smiled widely and held my hand out to her in greeting but she stood stock still with her perfectly manicured hands clasped at her front. I could feel Teddy tense and wasn't sure if he was getting angry or getting ready to say something or both. I'll never know because a man with a tall chef's hat and white coat commanded everyone's attention.
"So sorry for the delay, everyone," he said, "Dinner is now being served."
*****
The entire party, eighteen people in total, made their way to the grand dining room. A dining room that I could not believe people actually would have in their home. From the vaulted ceiling painted with a mural like we were in the Sistine chapel hung another ornate chandelier which cast a glow over the supremely long table, big enough to accommodate then entire party. The table was expertly lined with votive candles and low arrangements of blood red roses. Each beautiful table setting, fit with gorgeous china, crystal glassware and silver flatware, sported a placard on each plate with a name. Careful not to let go of Teddy's hand as I searched for my name I breathed a small sigh of relief that we were placed together near the end of the table. Mrs. Holmes would be next to Teddy at the head (or was it the foot) of the table. Unfortunately, next to her and within my direct line of sight was Claire, Andy and Lacey. Lacey, thank God, was still pretending neither Teddy or I existed, but Claire still had her stare fixed on me. At the other end sat, I assumed, Mr. Holmes and next to him on the same side of the table as Lacey, Mickey and Shelley were seated. In between were all the Stepford Wives and their husbands that I'd seen in passing before. I marveled at how, despite it being such an enormous table and room, the setting was rather intimate and cozy. I sipped my water glass compulsively because I didn't know what to do with my hands. When everyone was seated Mr. Holmes stood up and raised his wine glass, thus everyone did the same.
"Thank you all for coming," he boomed. His voice was so rich and full and loud I actually felt it vibrate in my chest. "It's always nice to get the family together," he snickered and the rest of the party gave a little laugh, too. I wasn't sure what the joke was but I smiled anyway because Mr. Holmes demanded it. "As always," he tipped his head and his glass to the other end of the table at Brooke. "Thank you, darling, for putting together this magnificent party." The wealthy had an irritating way of overusing the endearment "darling" but from his mouth it sounded genuine. At the compliment Brooke raised her glass even higher and blushed like they were still teenagers; like they were truly in love. Mr. Holmes ended with a hearty "here, here" and we all took sips from our glasses, though I noticed Claire’s was empty much sooner than the rest of us. The first course was then served.
Served. As in eighteen waiters materialized silently and served all eighteen party guests at the exact same time. I'd never experienced food like that. Paul and mother would have their "networking" dinners catered as well, but of course, I was never allowed. Mom would make sure to send a plate up to my room with whatever they were serving but it was most always cold and the different dishes were heaped all together so I couldn't tell them apart. Most of the time I didn't know what I was eating. This was entirely different. Mrs. Holmes obviously had a hands on role in choosing the menu because before each dish came out she would enthusiastically describe what it was and how it was prepared. She got her guests so excited for the meal that when the dish finally arrived there would be a low, "ooh, ahh." I appreciated that. It was clear that she had a hand in what went on in her home and in her life. She was interested in her boys in a way I'd never experienced and it made my heart turn over in a way it never had.
Since I'd never been allowed to attend any fancy dinners, I knew my table manners probably needed work. I tried my hardest not to look too out of place or too daunted by the myriad of silverware next to my plate. My plan going in was to not take a bite before I saw what fork Teddy and his mother were using. The tactic seemed to work for the most part; I don't think anyone noticed me start eating a little later than everyone else. After a crab cake course and then a grilled prawn, a sorbet looking dish came out. I felt Teddy's hand squeeze my thigh and I looked up, surprised his face was as close as it was to mine.
"Intermezzo," he whispered. His closeness, the dim lighting, the good food and the subtle din of conversation all around us made me feel, for a moment as if we were the only two people in the room and I began to feel lightheaded. I wasn't sure what he meant, so I assumed it was some Italian endearment and my face flushed. Then he pointed with his little spoon, "It's a palette cleanser before the entree" and I'm pretty sure he saw me visibly deflate.Stupid, Charley you're such a baby. I took a careful bite and was delighted with how refreshing it was. It was cool and sweet but had an effervescent bite to it like ginger ale. I had to control myself from inhaling the tiny portion in one bite.
"It's grapefruit-champagne," Teddy said in my ear. "Are you sure you can have it, baby?" I was positive that was a dig at my age, though I wasn't sure if he was teasing or not. Could he be mad? I hadn't ever come right out and told him how old I was, but I didn't hide it either. I mean, I did show him my acceptance letters. He can't have thought those were for graduate school, could he? He squeezed my thigh once more and was smiling broadly at me like he'd won. I didn't know we were competing but...whatever. I'd Let him have that one, but not without a fight.
"I'm not a baby," I protested, though the minute it came out of my mouth I realized how much I sounded like one. Stupid. Teddy seemed unfazed and simply chuckled lightly to himself and shook his head. Then pressed his mouth to my ear and whispered, "No. You're my baby." Not too discreetly he grazed his lips across my ear and my cheek which made me blush. Do it again! I thought but didn’t say. Not here, Charley. Later. I chanced one more quick look at Teddy who, in profile, was spooning the intermezzo in his mouth. Watching his pink lips pucker out and slurp the cool sorbet, his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, his tongue dart out and lick his lips, the memory of the flavor of his tongue made me flush. Just as I was going to look away I caught sight of Mrs. Holmes looking dotingly on her son. Our eyes met and she gave me a warm smile and approving nod which made me smile. Something about Mrs. Holmes made me want to impress her -maybe that's the wrong word. I wanted her to be proud of me, so I sat up a little straighter. When I did I had a horrendous feeling.
I had to go to the bathroom. Badly. I'd drunk an entire bottle of water and sipped t
wo glasses just during the first two courses. I hadn't seen anyone get up from the table and I didn't know the etiquette but I really had to go. I tapped Teddy's hand, which was still on my thigh, under the table to get his attention as discreetly as possible. He turned to me and I pressed my lips to his ear, "Teddy...I...I have to go to the restroom" and looked wearily into his eyes. He simply laughed quietly to himself and ran his hand through his hair. I didn't think it was very funny -actually it was beginning to get to emergency status. He'd removed his napkin from his lap and turned to his mother.
"Mom, I'm going to show Charley to the restroom." Before she could reply a voice from across the table piped up.
"Nonsense," said Claire in a tone that was two notches away from sweet. "Don't be silly, Teddy, I'll take her. I have to make a trip anyway." It took me longer than it should have to respond because Teddy was squeezing my thigh to the point I figured would leave a bruise, but I couldn't say no. Claire had already stood up from the table and was waiting for me. As if that wasn't enough, we'd garnered an audience. Lacey and Andy were watching the exchange with more than a little interest. As calmly as I could, I smiled widely and excused myself from the table to follow her. "Don't hold up the next course for us, Brooke. We'll only be a minute," Claire called over her shoulder and I dutifully followed her out.
Claire took me on an impromptu tour of the first floor. The home was extravagant and impeccably designed however in each room there were little touches that were uniquely Holmes. Funky throw pillows, fresh flowers on the end tables and photos. Everywhere photos of the family. Mickey and Teddy when they were boys, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes making silly faces. Candid shots of the family on vacations. (Clearly the Holmes' were into personal documentation.) The house was a home, so unlike where I lived. I imagined this to be a gathering place for Mickey and Teddy's friends and my heart squeezed thinking of such an inviting place. A safe place. A place that at twenty-three, after traveling around the world and attending three universities you could still call home.
After snaking through the house we reached a small powder bathroom. Claire insisted that I go first so I entered, locked the door and did my business. When I came out Claire nabbed me by my elbow, reeled me around and cornered me against the wall. Instinctively I reached my free hand up to cover my face because I really thought she'd strike me. She grabbed my wrist and yanked my arm away pinning it to my side. The look in her eyes was was cold, malicious and dark. There was something so unyielding and desperate that I started trembling but I couldn’t look away.
"I don't know what game you're playing with that boy," she hissed, "but it needs to end. Tonight." All I could do was blink. What is she talking about? I didn't really have to wait to find out. Seemingly without taking a breath she continued: "Teddy is spoken for. You?" and she looked me up and down as if she were going to spit on me, "You're nothing but a diversion and a trashy one at that. I don't know what he's thinking bringing you out tonight, but you don't belong here. Even you've got to see that."
I found my voice just enough to say: "How dare you. You don't know anything about my relationship."
"Oh," she sneered, "I know plenty. I know girls like you are all the same. Come sniffing around, think you've hit the mother lode; well you haven't because he'll never pick you over Lacey. I've known that boy since the day he was born. You're nothing special. He can dress you up in fancy clothes, but I see you. We all do. It's a costume. You don't fit into this world. You think he loves you? Please, you're a pet project. Charity case. Something to keep his mind occupied while he wanders around lost in his life. When he comes around, which will be very soon, he'll drop you. The longer he's with you, the more he's going to be derailed and we can't have that," she let go of my hands and leaned back only slightly more composed. "He needs to get back on course with his real responsibilities. So if you care about him at all, you'll see to it that it ends tonight. Do we have an understanding?"
"And if I don't?"
"You’re a smart girl. Don’t kid yourself. It may be weeks, it may be months, but he'll scrape you off just like all of the previous flavors of the week. He'll realize how out of your element this life is. How incompatible you are in the grand scheme of things and he'll trade up anyway. Why delay the inevitable?"
"What makes you so sure?"
"I know my boy and I know my daughter. Trust me little girl, you don't stand a chance. You don't belong here and you most certainly don't belong with Gunther Holmes." Claire turned on her heel and headed back to the party. I had no choice but to follow her, I wouldn't be able to find my way back alone but that left me very little time to pull myself together.
Returning to the table I didn't get as much attention as leaving because Shelly had most of the guests hanging on story of how she and Mickey met. Apparently it was sweet and romantic and I missed most of it. The story was coming to an end when I regained my seat next to Teddy. I plastered a smile on my face which seemed to work because Teddy gave my thigh a quick squeeze under the table. In order to make him believe nothing was wrong I didn't remove my leg from his hand, though I really, really wanted to.
I was in such a state of shock over what had transpired and over the fact that, even after she'd said everything she wanted to, she was still glaring at me from across the table. I was doing my best to hold it together but failing miserably. I'd completely lost my appetite and even though it looked like it would be the best meal I'd ever have, I couldn't get myself to eat it. I was forcing myself not to look like I'd been socked in the gut when I felt Teddy squeeze my leg again. When I looked up at him his brow was knitted together in silent question and he was gesturing to his mother.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, what was that?"
"I said is there something wrong with your fillet? Is it too tough? We can get you another..."
"No ma'am, everything is superb." It was only a half lie. Everything up until I'd been verbally accosted was superb but the look of that fillet mignon was turning my stomach. “I’m just not used to such rich food.”
"Alright," though she didn't seem convinced. "So Charley, tell us about yourself." She placed her elbows on the table and laced her hands together underneath her chin.
"There isn't much to tell," which was a whole lie. There was a lot, but nothing that these people cared to know. I just needed to get through the rest of this dinner as invisibly as possible and Brooke Holmes was not making it easy.
"I see you're going to make this difficult on me," she stated with an air of lightness. "That's okay, I enjoy a challenge. So, Charley, is that your given name?"
"No ma'am, it's short for Charlotte," I mumbled.
"I'm sorry, did she say harlot," Claire had piped up. Decided to get some more licks in, I suppose. Little did she know that was the reason I preferred to go by Charley. Charlotte rhymes with harlot was a daily, painful reminder of how I came into the world.
"Claire," Brooke warned then smiled widely at the party and gaily announced, "that's it, honey, Claire is cut off!" which elicited a smile from those around us and a huge guffaw from Mr. Holmes. He, as if practiced, got up from his seat and in four quick strides was behind Claire taking her glass and setting it at the end of the table near his wife. He placed an easy hand on Brooke's shoulder and she placed one on his and smiled in my direction.
"Charlotte is a beautiful name," she said warmly. I would've accepted that warmth as just that, but I kept hearing Claire's biting message from earlier, her words playing on every insecurity I had about Teddy and I. You don't belong; you've got to see that. And I did see it. It was so obvious that I didn't belong. Yes, I was in a pretty dress and had new shoes but underneath I was still me and I would never fit in here. I would never be good enough for designer clothes, lavish parties, high end vehicles. I would never be good enough for Teddy and so ultimately, it didn't matter that he thought he loved me. There would be no future with Teddy. I was his charity case. He would, as Claire put it, eventually see that we weren't compatible and move on. Trade up. He was ju
st slumming it with me because he was lost; he'd just told me as much. That realization is what freed me. It freed me to be myself that night.
"I prefer Charley," I said as respectfully as I could.
"So, Charley" Claire taunted, "what diet are you on?"
"Pardon?"
"What diet are you on that you can't have a glass of wine?" She lazily pointed to my, now empty, water glass. "Whatever it is, clearly it’s working," she scoffed. I sat up straighter in my chair.
"Claire," Brooke said in an even firmer tone but it was as if she hadn't heard.
"Tell us Charley, what do your parents do?" I winced. I did not want to talk about this but now, it seemed, the entire table was staring at me. I silently begged Teddy to cut in but he did nothing, either because he forgot what a fucked up situation I dealt with at home or he just didn't think it was a big enough deal to be worried about in this crowd. Either reason infuriated me which was all the fuel I needed after stewing over Claire's words. I jerked my leg from underneath Teddy's hand and sat up straight.
"My mother stays at home."
"And you father?"
"He's a trumpet player at the Sinatra Bar downtown. Perhaps you've seen him?"
"Hmm...is he an African American gentleman?" there was a note of achievement in her voice, like she'd just discovered I have a hydroponic pot garden in my bra.
"Yep, that's the one."
"Must be a damn fine trumpet player if he can afford to keep your mother at home."
"We don't live with him. We live with her husband."
"And what does he do?"
"He's a lawyer for a pretty large corporation."
At this Mr. Holmes piped in, "Which corporation? Maybe I know him."
"Yours, sir."
"Pardon?" said Brooke.
"He works for yours sir, so I'd hope that you knew him."
"I don't understand..." said Mrs. Holmes.
"My mother is Iris Feinman. She's married to Paul Feinman, head of HCI Legal."
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