by L. M. Reed
Chapter 4
“Ah, there you are Allison,” I held my breath as my mother enveloped me in a showy hug and expensive French perfume. “We were just talking about you. And Richard,” she held out her cheek as Richard dutifully kissed it “so good to see you.”
“You are looking ravishing as usual, Violet, designers should pay you to wear their creations,” he complimented her lavishly. “It’s a shame you’re already taken,” he added laying it on thickly.
My mother, as well as all of the other artificially pampered middle-aged women with her, twittered.
“You have such a suave and debonair son, Marianne,” she turned to Richard’s mother to complement her.
“He’s always been Momma’s little angel,” Marianne patted Richard’s cheek fondly.
“I’ll be so very happy to welcome him into our family when…” my mother began.
“Have you seen Nat?” I interrupted her shortly.
Usually I humored her, but after spending so much time with the epitome of motherhood, Mrs. Wilson, my mother’s inane twaddle grated even more than usual. The difference between Violet Tate and Elsee Wilson was so great it was a travesty to even attempt to use the word ‘mother’ to describe the woman who had given birth to me.
“Actually I did see her a few minutes ago somewhere over there,” she waved vaguely towards the buffet tables. “She had the best looking young man with her, too. Why if I were ten years younger…”
More like thirty or forty years younger, I silently snorted.
Not waiting around to hear the rest of her usual speech, which always started out with how many suitors she had before she married and culminated in commiserating with the poor souls who had failed to win her heart, I turned away abruptly and began searching for Nat.
I could hear Richard quickly excusing himself from the group of vain women as he followed me. We didn’t have to hang around our mothers to know exactly how the conversation would go. As soon as they tired of comparing former suitors, my mother and Marianne would no doubt predictably begin the story of the rattle.
Did they never bore themselves to death? I wondered in exasperation.
“What was that about?” he asked curiously, as he caught up to me. “I’ve never seen you quite so…impatient…with your mother.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of playing to their egos?” I fumed.
“Alienating the people in control of the purse strings is monetary suicide,” Richard replied lightly.
“You think the wives are the ones who control the money?”
“The husbands may hold the purse,” he conceded “But the wives pull the strings.”
“I’ve never looked at it that way,” I replied thoughtfully. “My mother is the one who usually decides how the money is spent. Interesting…”
“Are you really in that much of a hurry to find Nat or were you just looking for an excuse to beat a hasty retreat?” Richard asked wryly.
“You got me,” I admitted reluctantly. “Nat was just an excuse. I’m sick and tired of hearing all of those old bats go on and on about their conquests like it’s a competition to see who had the most beaus and who managed to snag the best one. It’s ridiculous. And if I have to stand around and listen to that rattle story one more time…”
“I rather like the rattle story,” Richard grinned, ignoring my snort of disgust. “And ridiculous or not,” he said in amusement “I know which side of the bread my butter is on and I plan to eat lots of buttered bread while I’m young and carefree. If we keep our mothers all nice and sweet I’m sure they’ll give us whatever we want once we’re married. Just remember, one day you’ll be one of those ‘old bats’ and I’ll be holding the purse for you. I’d like for there to be a lot in it.”
Rolling my eyes at him, I began searching for Nat.
“Oh, there she is,” I spotted her coming out of the ladies room, no doubt checking to make sure she was picture perfect as usual, joining a gorgeous blue-eyed blonde Adonis who was apparently waiting for her by the door. “Wow, wonder where she found him. I understand why my mother was lamenting her age.”
“He’s not your type,” Richard said tersely.
“Do I have a type?” I asked, surprised at his tone.
“Allison,” Nat called and waved. “You’re late,” she accused as soon as we drew level with her and her date. “I was afraid I’d be stuck here talking to over-perfumed old ladies and their stuffed shirt husbands all evening.”
“Definitely Allison’s fault,” Richard complained. “She wasn’t ready when I arrived to pick her up.”
“I had errands to run,” I said defensively. “Stefan cannot be rushed. You know my parents expect me to look perfect.”
Actually, I had stayed too long at the Fowlkes visiting with Elsee, but I wasn’t about to tell them that.
“And you always do,” Richard conceded. “But you don’t need Stefan’s help for that.”
“Richard,” Nat exclaimed in astonishment “a sincere compliment…from you?”
“Oh shut up already and introduce us to your current boyfriend,” he returned harshly.
“Jason Whitlock…my best friend, Allison Tate, and her annoying boyfriend, Richard Stover,” Nat introduced us while getting a dig in at Richard.
“Nice to meet you,” I offered my hand which he promptly shook.
“Same here,” he replied.
Jason was very similar in appearance to every other boyfriend she had ever had: blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect tan, and somewhere around six foot tall. They were always the total opposite of Nat, who at 5’2” with black hair and eyes, looked just like her petite Italian mother.
Usually Nat’s boyfriends only lasted three months…tops. I wondered if he realized his days were already numbered.
Richard simply nodded, suddenly in a bad mood. Jason shot him a quick questioning look and then turned his attention back to Nat.
I was vaguely disappointed. Every time Nat found a new boyfriend I kept hoping it would be someone with backbone who would stand up to her and not let her control the relationship but, by the worshipful look on Jason’s face, he was no different than any of the others she had dated. I sighed; he wouldn’t last any longer, either.
Nat and I spent the next couple of hours circulating, chatting up the important people, giving a good impression of dutiful daughters while Jason and Richard followed us around supplying the drinks.
Richard would have rather been outside smoking stogies with the men, but he knew I wouldn’t ride with him smelling like smoke, even though the Swisher Sweets he enjoyed smelled better than some of the other men’s cigars, and so he abstained whenever we were out together. He wasn’t likely to forget the one time he had broken our ‘abstain from smoking’ agreement and I had taken a taxi home.
The only other time I had called a cab was when he had broken our ‘alcohol limit’ agreement. Water was all I ever drank, but Nat and Richard who were both already twenty-one usually drank their allowed house limit of alcohol. Richard had a very high tolerance for alcohol, but I still insisted that he not have more than two drinks per evening and those had to be spaced at least two hours apart. He groused about my rules a lot, calling me a prude to my face and probably a lot worse behind my back, but for some odd reason generally followed them.
I noticed that Jason was drinking cokes and Nat had been uncharacteristically abstaining all night, drinking only water. She purposely ignored my puzzled looks.
Finally, deciding to have pity on me, Richard pulled me aside and whispered “Whitlock is apparently a teetotaler like you.” Seeing my complete lack of comprehension, he added in amused exasperation, “Nat is all things to all men…”
“You mean she pretends to be whatever they want her to be?” I asked in disbelief. “How does she keep it all straight?”
“Once she dumps them, she doesn’t care,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “By then it’s usually too late fo
r the poor ba… idiots,” he substituted quickly, aware of how I felt about that type of language. “They’re already hooked…and speaking of hooked, I have one on the line for tonight I don’t want to get away. Do you think we could make a graceful exit soon without arousing too much interest?”
“That depends.”
“On what…?”
“On how convincing you can be when you explain to our respective parents that we have papers due or tests to study for.”
“Just watch me,” he grinned slyly, rubbing his hands together with relish.
“We’re still on for the Christmas concert next weekend, right?” I asked anxiously. “You bought the tickets?”
“You love torturing me, don’t you?” he asked in a long-suffering voice making his hatred of classical music plain.
“If not you, then who…?” I asked teasingly.
“Who indeed…?” he echoed in an odd tone. “Come on,” he urged briskly, “let’s blow this joint.
By the time Richard dropped me off at my apartment, it was already close to eleven o’clock.
“It’s really late,” I said contritely, “Your date will probably be furious with you.”
“She’ll be fine,” he said unconcernedly. “If you’re really feeling guilty you could ask me in for coffee or something.”
“You know I don’t drink coffee and I don’t think you should keep your girlfriend waiting any longer,” I replied gently, trying not to sound critical.
“I’d dump her in a heartbeat if you gave me the slightest bit of encouragement.”
“I’ve told you before I’m not interested in that type of relationship with you.”
I was very tired of having the same conversations with Richard over and over again. He was only interested in one thing, simply because I was one of the few girls who had ever told him “no”. Most females fell at his feet.
“That’s hilarious coming from the woman I’m going to marry as soon as we graduate.”
“A lot could happen between now and then,” I hedged. “You might fall madly in love and elope or something.”
Richard laughed, “Now why in the world would I do that when I’m being handed the most beautiful woman in the universe on a silver platter?”
For Richard it was all about looks. He only dated gorgeous women and the fact that the majority of womankind considered him ‘hot’ meant that there was no shortage of volunteers. There were lots of reasons for his success in that area. Not only was he rich, which meant he could afford the best tailors as well as drive the most expensive cars, he was also a very smooth talker. Honestly, he was good looking with his medium length dark hair artfully arranged to give the impression of being casual and dark eyes with long thick eyelashes any woman would envy. He was like a dark version of Apollo in looks as well as personality with his penchant for beautiful ‘nymphs’.
“Haha…I’m a regular Venus,” I said sarcastically, pushing him out the door and shutting it firmly behind him. “Thanks for the ride home, goodnight.”
“You can run but you can’t hide,” he called from the hallway, laughing.
“I intend to try,” I murmured quietly at the closed door “And as soon as possible.”