Hip to Be Square

by Hope Lyda

  Now I see her in the pristine setting of Majestic Vista, with its marble walkways and jade fountains, where people sip espresso from tiny cups and nod to each other on their way to the sauna, the salon, one of the six pools, or the vast system of naturally lit corridors that weave their way to expensive guest suites with private balconies and Jacuzzis and where fresh papaya juice and organic bran muffins are delivered with the morning paper, which is delicately rolled and tied with a black silk ribbon. She greets her coworkers…no, her teammates…with a genuine smile and a healthy glow from the free sugar-rub massages she gets weekly as a perk for being a part of the team.

  The only time Rae has used the word team was to describe what it would take to drag her to participate in a round of Scrabble. A team of rabid oxen, I believe was the complete phrase. Though I have never heard of or seen rabid oxen, I figured the disturbing news stories of mad cow disease were an accurate reference. I liked the idea of them running down the hall, drooling as they knock over precious collectables on their way to collect Rae from her leather chair and drag her to the Scrabble table, where her little wooden letter shelf would contain only vowels.

  “Mari?” Sonya looks concerned for my well-being and mental state.

  My train of thought has derailed more than a little. This is what coveting does to you. First you have a physical sensation and then your mind starts to wander and wish bad things on the people who keep you down. I snap out of it and focus my eyes on her very well-proportioned facial features. Everything is in the ideal place.

  “Wonderful. I do hope you will make this your home…or second home.”

  “I’d love the chance to work with you. I like your style and manner. I find it refreshing.” I am liked by this goddess. I find that a little hard to believe, yet…

  You are hired.

  “At first I was afraid that my slight connection with Beau would not open this door, since he has not been here for…” she pauses.

  Beau? Beau? Sorry…b-bye. Thanks for coming in to flaunt your résumé and shiny hair, but we are already overflowing with Beau worshipers.

  “Beau?” I cannot help but repeat his name out loud. My luck is so consistent.

  “Oh, yes, I thought that was why you were interviewing me. You see, I knew Beau from my undergrad years at Arizona State and Camille… Mrs. St. John…knows Beau from her former retirement home in Phoenix. He’s the director there now. I’m very flattered that my name even came up between them. Did you know that he also finished his PhD and is heading some studies for the Aging and Movement organization?”

  “Of course he is.”

  “So you know him?”

  “No. Just of him. He’s quite…” I want to say successful and accomplished in a way that has a negative connotation.

  “Amazing,” she says, smiling at me, and I am thankful she cannot read my dark thoughts.

  I really don’t want to keep discussing Beau. My stomach feels sour…as if I just overdosed on French fries with malt vinegar. But I have to ask out of sick curiosity, “So, were you two close?”

  She blushes, which on an average person reveals skin flaws. She radiates an immaculate, blemish-free complexion. A thin, strong hand brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “No. Just friends. But I have always been fond of him.”

  I don’t know if it is courage gained from the mention of my opponent or my overall desperation, but I turn the direction of the interview drastically in my favor. “Sonya, I probably shouldn’t bring this up, seeing as how I am interviewing you and trying to sell you on the wonders of Golden Horizons, but I wasn’t expecting you to work where you do and…well, I have recently applied to Majestic Vista.” I cover my open mouth showing my “oh, my gosh” mind-set while Sonya opens hers with mutual surprise. I finish my explanation quickly before my courage subsides. “They posted their guest recreational coordinator position, and I sent my résumé.” Just like that I cross a professional and probably ethical line.

  And it feels tremendous.

  She doesn’t look appalled, afraid, or around for an exit. She poses her arms up in the air as if she is about to yell “goal!” “I would love to put in a good word for you. After all, you’ve honored an out-of-nowhere referral just to visit with me. And like I said, I felt a connection to you right away. You’d fit in perfectly.”

  I would?

  Her enthusiasm almost makes me believe her.

  “I’ve got an idea. If I am not mistaken, you are interested in what I can offer the residents here. So how about we serve two careers in one day? You come to the Majestic to watch me lead a class, and I will just happen to introduce you to the director. It can’t hurt to meet the man in person. Lionel Richardson is everything you’d imagine a successful entrepreneur to be, and he is also very personable. I happen to know that he reviews all hiring candidates for every position. It’s his way to keep the team working smoothly. I’m sure he’d take to you right away.”

  I should tell her that she would have to pretty much light one of her students on fire for me to not give her this position, but I decide that it feels incredibly good to have her think that she needs to prove herself to me.

  We look at our respective calendars. I cover mine with the length of my arm so she cannot see how available I am. As she jots down the day I plan to visit her class, I notice that her bracelet has a single charm and it is a cross. I resist inquiring about her faith, considering I have already broken half a dozen interview etiquette rules.

  We are just about to leave the office when Sonya doubles back. “Is it just me or is there something strange about this room?”

  “You, me, and anyone normal considers this to be a freaky room.”

  “Would you mind if I had a pistachio?” She eyes them as her hand goes to her flat stomach to indicate hunger.

  “Take them all.” I extend the silver bowl to my new friend gladly.

  You are so hired.

  Lady Luck

  I’m telling you, my breakdown has led to a breakthrough. It is as if my efforts to put myself out there have placed a universal welcome mat for Lady Luck.” I stir my diet soda with a thin red straw while Angelica examines the menu from Nonconformity, a newer club downtown intended to help revive the commuter city by bringing patrons back into its fold after the usual five o’clock hour of exodus.

  I look around at the stucco walls and take in the framed black-and-white photographs of different mob scenes from the pages of history. They all represent bad collective gatherings so the trendy restaurant can state its case for individuality. Waiters and waitresses are each dressed differently except for hats that have working, flashing lightbulbs on the very top.

  “Angelica, isn’t this more of a Caitlin kind of place?”

  She looks at me with a wounded expression; I have stripped her of her individuality.

  “This happens to be the newest, hippest spot in the downtown revival movement, which means it is completely an Angelica place to be. Thank you so little.” She unfolds the menu toward me and points to the coconut prawns as her appetizer of choice. Then the calamari. Then the nachos.

  “Don’t you want to wait for your friends?”

  “Nobody gets out of the office on time. They could be a while.” She motions for the waiter, who is wearing a toga. “We are unfashionably early for a Friday night. To be anywhere before seven, even at your starter club, is socially useless.”

  “If you desire to be here because it is trendy, wouldn’t that be a sign of dangerous conformity?” I point to a nearby portrait of Hitler.

  “Mari, get over it. You aren’t going to generate this level of conversation the entire evening, are you? I have invited some very fun people. Please don’t ruin this by sucking everyone into your philosophical, overanalyzed world.”

  Nothing like a compliment to help one feel good about oneself. I’m already self-conscious about this get-together. Angelica pulled one of her sly moves by telling me she was taking me to her reading group. It turns out this is her usual Fri
day night group from work, a case study of my generation that I have always managed to avoid…until tonight.

  “Prawns then. And you are buying since I thought I was going to discuss Silas Marner.”

  “I lied a bit. You needed this, Mari. This is all part of that Lady Luck mind-set anyway, so just sit back and have a good time with people who know how to live.”

  By “live” she means “live it up.” I’m already judging how badly this evening could turn out. But maybe she is right. This could be a part of my new Lady Luck lifestyle. I check my watch and set a timer. Tonight is the start of the countdown challenge on Castaways. I plan to make up a story about meeting up with another group of friends at nine-thirty. Lady Luck wouldn’t insist that I give up all my socially uncouth behavior, would she?

  “What are you doing?” Angelica looks at me struggling to push the small buttons on my functional watch.

  “Hey, Angel!” A guy at least six foot five struts across the restaurant floor and arrives at our table in three steps.

  “That’s a first.” I whisper his take on her name with a measure of sarcastic shock.

  Dirty look from Angel.

  “Angus! I didn’t know you were going to join us.” This, of course, meant that he wasn’t really invited.

  “Peyton mentioned the group was meeting up here and I’ve been dying to try it. My brother-in-law is the sous-chef and says it is the place to eat.” Angus looks at me and smiles, but I don’t reciprocate because my mind is replaying the name Peyton. He didn’t seem to get sucked into the Angelica charm vortex at the golf course. Why would he be a part of her group? Now my throw-caution-to-the-wind attitude is interrupted by the nervous jitters that signal a mild case of infatuation.

  “Angus, this is Mari.” Angelica looks at me a bit worried about my lack of response and nudges me. I notice she does not say “my friend Mari.”

  I stand up like a polite guy and shake his hand. “Mari Hamilton…Angelica’s dearest friend.” Take that.

  “Fantastic. May I?” He motions to the seat right next to me. I am relieved. My theory is that if a guy liked me, he would want to sit directly across from me, not beside me. He probably wants to fawn over Angelica “Angel” all night.

  The prawns come and Angus mentions once again that he is related to the sous-chef. Our waiter acts thrilled but could really care less. “I’ll tell him you are here,” he offers limply. We watch him head back to the kitchen with his lightbulb flickering.

  “Mari Hamilton, eh? That sounds so familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” This sounds like a line, but he actually looks perplexed trying to figure out when our paths might have crossed.

  “Not likely,” Angelica and I respond simultaneously, and I give her a dirty look this time. She rolls her eyes and offers Angus a clarification. “It’s just that even though we are dear friends, Mari doesn’t get out much. She’s sort of a shut-in…a social shut-in.”

  “Well, too bad for us. You probably have some guy who doesn’t want to share you, right?” His flattery is flat from overuse and insincerity.

  “You got it.” I point at him like a game show host.

  Now that I am sitting in this lie of a boyfriend, I immediately feel more confident. How warped is that?

  “I’m going to go say hi to Rob. You two want another round of…” he looks at our empty glasses.

  “Diet Coke,” I say.

  “She means scotch on the rocks. Make that two.” Angelica does a parade princess wave as tall boy makes his way to the bar, which is covered in Christmas lights.

  When he is out of earshot, Angelica looks at me. “Look, we don’t have to drink it, but please…Diet Coke? At least order an expensive seltzer or something.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of pretending, Angelica?” My fatigue and anxiety over Peyton’s possible appearance combine into a truth serum.

  “I’m not pretending.”

  “I think you are. It’s as if you are always challenging yourself, tempting yourself to return to your old life. When are you going to give yourself a break by stepping away from all of this? How do you know who you are apart from this scene?” By now there actually is a scene as twentysomethings come in herds to the watering hole. For most, this is their first stop of the evening, so they head for the bar. A few groups order appetizers and pitchers of beverages and settle into booths around us.

  “Overanalyzing again,” she singsongs. I see her checking out the male and female populations. In her world, they are all competition for attention. It must be exhausting. She sees something she likes and stands up partway to wave toward the door.

  My fear and my hope rolled into one person approaches the table. Peyton maneuvers through the crowd with ease. I see women turn to check him out. Some don’t wait until he passes to be so obvious with their admiring stares. He seems oblivious, but there is no way he could be.

  “Well, what a great surprise. Hi, Mari.” Peyton doesn’t see Angelica point toward the seat immediately across from her just for him, so he moves around beside her and sits squarely and amazingly across from me. He is genuinely pleased to see me. And he remembers my name.

  “Peyton, right?” I say trying to act coy, but my lower jaw is shaking.

  Angus returns to the table with our drinks. The one I won’t be drinking is placed right in front of me. “Peyton, bud. Can I grab you something while I’m up? I’m kinda making a move on the female bartender, so it wouldn’t be a bother.” His dimples cut into his baby smooth skin. The guy probably only has to shave once a week.

  “I’ll take a seltzer with lime, man.”

  “You know, that sounds so much more refreshing,” I eagerly push my drink and my opinion toward Angelica. She looks as though she wants to join me on this choice but holds up her hand in an “I’m fine” gesture.

  She isn’t, though. I forget about Peyton for a moment to consider the state of my friend’s life. I don’t know if she is falling, tempting fate, or carving her way through this time in her life the best way she knows how.

  Maybe Angelica invited me here not only as a way to force me into our generation, but also as a way to hang on to the faith she commited to back in college. Our paths crossed just when she was diving into religion with a vengeance. There was a time when she was going to Bible study four nights a week and leading a sorority-run chapel service on campus. Her weekly rounds of the dorms to witness put my faith to shame. She challenged me to grow during a time when I was falling toward mediocrity. And now maybe I am here to do the same for her.

  Angelica scoots her chair up next to Peyton and rests her chin on his shoulder. He has no choice but to acknowledge this.

  “Long day, Angelica? You had to go through those training reviews, didn’t you? Those are so harsh.” He starts to explain what these are for my benefit, but Angelica interrupts.

  “Could you hand me a prawn?” She bats her baby blues, and when Peyton places the prawn on her plate, she awkwardly opens her mouth wide like a baby bird starving for affection and coconut shrimp.

  Peyton looks at me and smiles as if we share a sense of reality and pops the tip of the prawn between Angelica’s Bobbi Brown-lacquered lips. He lets go as soon as it barely touches her tongue and only her fast reflexes catch the appetizer before it can mar her Dolce & Gabbana shirt with a grease stain. She looks insulted when she should look embarrassed.

  Angus breaks the awkward silence by bounding up to the table along with several other folks. I assume they are people he met in the bar, but it turns out they are the new arrivals of Angelica’s group.

  Two scantily clad women, Lorna and Wanda, and a guy who looks a lot like Danny DeVito in hiking boots take up the remaining chairs. Thank goodness it is Peyton that I get to look at.

  As Angelica introduces me around the circle, Danny Devito, whose name is Roger, reads from the same boring script that Angus did. “I know your name from somewhere…” a smirk is evident beneath his confusion.

  “That is what I thought!” Angus,
who now has a few drinks in him, overreacts to this coincidence.

  Peyton speaks up this time. “She is the one who introduced me to that Garden Glove stuff. I’m telling you, Mari, that is amazing. Look.” He holds out his hands for me to check like a kid proving he has washed before mealtime. Sure enough, every bit of the rash is gone.

  “She’s the one?” Angus asks.

  “No, I’ve heard her name somewhere else. But that garden stuff is pretty cool.”

  “Whatever are you talking about? You don’t garden…any of you?” Angelica struggles to find her way back into the conversation.

  Peyton explains so I do not have to defend myself. “That day at the golf tournament, Mari told me about this great ointment that basically cured the rash I get from wearing the golf glove. I told everyone about it.”

  Angelica looks at me with a mix of newfound respect and reluctant belief. “That was your idea?” This news seems to be as hard to swallow as the prawn tail she just inhaled by accident.

  “To Mari!” Even the women who only seem to be there for decoration raise their glasses to toast me. Angelica raises hers and promptly drains it with one gulp. By being accepted into her circle, rather than ostracized as she had expected, I have driven my friend to break the only commitment she has kept for three years…to abstain from alcohol.

  At that very moment, five cell phones ring in unison. Wouldn’t you know that all of the folks at this table have set their phones to ring to the tune of the song of “Call Me” by the eighties band Blondie.

  Angus looks at his text message and announces, “It’s a flash.” He reads it for those of us who know restaurant etiquette and turn off our phones during dinner. “Meet at the courthouse at 8:05 wearing a hat and carrying a Pez dispenser to leave on the edge of the fountain. Pass along to five people.”