Chapter 8

Lilly

I didn’t hear from Bolt for several days. I was beginning to look at the car keys and consider returning them. The car seemed to be the only tie that binds, and I knew if I were impetuous and angry, returning the car would be like returning an engagement ring. It would all be over, and I’d never see him again. I couldn’t bring myself to that hell quite yet. I hoped it would never come.

Natalie happened to be at the studio with me when the mail came. There were two engraved invitations in the pile of bills. These caught our attention, and we excitedly opened them up.

Our lips were mouthing the words and Natalie finished first. “We’re invited to a Derby party!”

“Uh huh,” I said, less enchanted with the idea than she was.

“I’ve never been to one—well, not a real one, anyway. There was always the neighbor’s barbecue and that greasy Petey Samalski who took bets but wanted payoffs in sex. I hated that guy. But this…” She held out the cream envelope. “This is a real party with people who really know about horses, and maybe there’ll even be a jockey. Wouldn’t that be exciting? What will we wear? We have to get one of those big, floppy hats with huge flowers and stomp around in the lawn in spiked heels. You know, like the women we see at Churchill on Derby Day.”

I listened with half an ear. I was trying to read some message into the invitations. Was he telling me he was ready to open up? After all, he’d be introducing me to people who were important to him in his life. I’d made it pretty clear that I wasn’t fond of the secret side of him. Was he finally going to tell me the truth?

“Lilly, are you listening to me? What are we going to wear?”

“Huh? Oh. Well, we’ll come up with something. Maybe we can borrow something. We have to RSVP these, so I assume you’ll be accepting?”

“You bet your ass I will.”

“Listen, Natalie. This is the guy I’ve been seeing. He comes from old money, big money. He rescued you the night you passed out in the alley… Well, at least the last time you did. He’s important to me, and he has important friends. You’ve got to behave yourself, and you have to swear to me, or I’ll turn down our invitations.”

“What? The hell you will! You’re talking to me like I’m trailer trash or something. I’m going and so are you and that’s the end of it.” She’d finally put on her big sister panties and was trying to take charge, but my relationship was not the thing I wanted her in charge of.

“Look, you stay clean and sober between now and then and we’ll go,” I bargained, hoping it would give her an incentive. “But you have to promise me you’ll stay away from the liquor at the party, OK? Just this once can you enjoy yourself soberly?”

“Yeah, yeah, lay off, will you?”

I frowned, still not convinced she wouldn’t give in and make a scene. I would be mortified, and it would likely spell the end of any relationship I could ever build with Bolt.

“I’m going home to go through my closet,” Natalie announced.

I gave her a half wave goodbye and filled out the RSVP cards, slipping them into the small envelopes intended for their return. It was going to be an interesting party, to be sure.

* * *

Derby was always the first Saturday in May. It was for Louisville like Mardi Gras was for New Orleans. Most of the world thought of it as the world’s fastest two minutes in sports, but it was far more than that. There were two weeks’ worth of events, beginning with Thunder over Louisville, a spectacular fireworks demonstration shot off from barges floating in the Ohio River, to the post-race Kentucky Colonels’ barbecue. There were hot air balloons, riverboat races, and contests, and the day itself was ten or more races long with locals celebrating from the first race, which was run around noon. You couldn’t book a hotel room within two hundred miles on Derby weekend—a fact that kept the event from losing its traditional foundation. Once Derby was over, the state settled down into the doldrums of summer.

Natalie and I had scraped together Derby-ish clothing with the help of friends, secondhand stores, and a little ingenuity. Natalie was surprisingly crafty and made both our hats herself. I was proud of her and happy to see her excited about something for once. I took it as a hopeful sign that perhaps at last the gray of grieving was giving way to a happier outlook for her future.

We arrived about two in the afternoon at Bolt’s farm. The grounds were filled with beautiful people, fountains, tents that covered tables laden with food and drink, and a host of servers in white jackets circulating among the guests. Bolt had evidently posted someone to watch for my car, and I was immediately directed to a special parking spot near the house. We were escorted to what was obviously the “head of the table” tent where Bolt was engaged in conversation with two men. I went to stand at his elbow until he’d concluded and gestured to Natalie that she needed to stay with me long enough to greet the host.

Bolt seemed to have a second sense for me because he turned around immediately. “Here she is,” he smiled, taking me by the arm gently to pull me forward. He kissed my cheek and put his arm around my waist. “And Natalie, so glad you could join us,” he greeted her, and although his words could have been interpreted as catty, he was absolutely authentic. Natalie nodded and immediately wandered off. I was praying she’d stay out of trouble.

“Come in out of the sun and have some champagne,” Bolt insisted, leading me to the most elaborate table where place cards included my name. He drew a flute of champagne from the fountain and held it out to me. “Drink it slowly. It’s pretty strong, and it will be a long day,” he murmured.

Large cinema screens were mounted throughout the grounds featuring the festivities from Churchill. Crowds gathered before them as each race commenced, and tickets littered the grass as losing groans dissolved into laughing conversation. I watched this with an almost disgusted feeling. How could these people be so careless with so much money? I overheard many placing bets in the tens of thousands of dollars.

The big race was run and once again, confetti of rejected tickets floated onto the grass. The party organizer moved everyone into a large tent with rows of chairs, and a bachelor auction was held for charity. Bolt had warned me of this in advance. “It’s nothing—just taking the winning bidder to lunch. Very open and appropriate. In fact, you can have lunch at the same time across the room and keep an eye on me, if you like,” he offered.

“It won’t be necessary. If I can’t trust you, we really don’t have much of a relationship, do we?” I said, more for my own benefit than for his. He looked at me strangely, but said nothing. It wasn’t the place or time.

Naturally, as host, Bolt was the focus of the highest bid of the day. A young woman in a cranberry-colored hat that swooped low over her blonde hair and perfect face was the winning bidder. She triumphantly waved her checkbook over her head and went up to the microphone, looping her arm through Bolt’s and kissing him on the cheek. He was good-natured about it but I saw him glance at me to see my reaction. I would have liked to have bid on him, but there wasn’t much two dollars was going to accomplish except to entertain the guests. So I hung back quietly and looked around for Natalie.

“You’re holding up rather well, considering the circumstances,” a voice said to my right, and I turned to see a man about Bolt’s age, smiling at me. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Kenneth Rogert, but you can call me Kenny. I’m Bolt’s right-hand man, in a manner of speaking. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I’ve already heard about you,” he concluded as I shook his hand.

“How do you do? I’m Lilly, but I guess you know that?”

“I do, indeed. It’s nice to meet you.” He nodded toward a row of chairs against the tent wall. “Shall we?”

I followed him and sat down, wondering whether I was about to undergo my second grilling from someone on Bolt’s team.

“You know, I’m not sure if my girlfriend would let me in that auction, charity or not,” he observed and toasted me briefly before emptying half his flute. “You must be a very secure woman.”

I rolled my eyes a little and looked upward. “I’m about the most insecure person I know, actually. But, this is Bolt’s world, and it’s not for me to judge or grudge.”

“What a refreshing way to look at it,” he complimented, and I realized I liked his casual, offhand manner. “I’ve heard Bolt say nothing but nice things about you, you know. In fact, I’m not sure when I’ve heard him rave about any girl, and I’ve known him since we were throwing M-80s into his father’s pond to watch the fish rise to the surface.”

“You did that?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, and a lot more that I won’t admit to. Bolt’s one of the good guys, but I’m sure you already know that. He’s had his hands full with his father, and now that his mother isn’t here to mediate… Well, you see my point.”

“Is that what she did, keep them from fighting?” I’d assumed that from what Bolt had mentioned in passing, but here was an outside opinion.

“Oh, she absolutely did, and that’s one of the reasons that Bolt adored her so. Dallas is an ass, no two ways about it. Bolt is embarrassed and angry with him. She made his life tolerable.”

I nodded, smoothing my skirt. “I have a similar situation, but there is no one to moderate us,” I said and then realized that in a sense, Bolt was doing that between Natalie and me.

“I understand you have a sister?” he asked in a casual voice.

I’d spotted her at the opening to the tent, laughing overly loud with a paper cup of something in her hand. It was obvious she’d been drinking, and I wondered whether her behavior was becoming noticeable, and this was Kenny’s way of calling my attention to it.

“That’s her,” I responded with resignation. “Looks like I’d better get over there and see what she’s up to.”

“Why don’t I go with you?” Kenny offered, and I found I liked him very much. Bolt couldn’t have a more congenial best friend. They were extremely different men, but perhaps that’s what kept them close.

I looked toward Bolt, who waved at me and smiled from within his circle of friends. I nodded in acknowledgement and headed toward the crowd Natalie was entertaining.

Her voice was overly loud, and she was leaning on the tent’s doorway. “So, I told the guy, ‘Look, if you want to fuck me, why don’t you just throw twenty bucks on the bed and see what it buys you?’”

I felt my face flush, and when I looked at Kenny, he was kindly looking somewhere else, pretending he hadn’t heard, but I knew he had. I set my own glass down and slid between the bodies of men who were eyeballing her. “Nat, let’s go down and see the ponds, shall we?” I cajoled her, taking her by the arm.

“Don’t want to. These are my friends,” she slurred and swept her hand wide to indicate the growing crowd. The motion caused whatever she was drinking to slosh out of its cup and over her dress. “Oops!” she squealed. “Look what I’ve done now!” Then, without skipping a beat, she leaned sideways and vomited onto the grass and over the skirt of her dress. I was so embarrassed, and forcefully guided her out of the tent. The odor was overpowering, and I heard recuperating coughs in our wake. I stood in the open, Natalie vomiting freely, and wondered how I would escape that hell.

Kenny must have gone in search of Bolt, because he was suddenly on Natalie’s other arm. He smiled at people and looped her arm through his as though the three of us were on an afternoon’s stroll. “Let’s get her inside where someone can clean her up and put her to bed,” he said between his teeth.

I nodded and took the dead man’s walk with him, knowing that I’d get my goodbye papers as soon as the day was over. I’d known better than to bring her along, but hope sprung eternal. Bless his heart, Kenny had stepped in, summoned a couple of workers to tidy up behind us, and was now entertaining Bolt’s circle of guests with a series of lightly off-color jokes. I heard this all behind us, and I felt like we were twelve years old and being made to leave the circus while it was still going on.

The house was cool inside, and between Bolt and myself, we were able to get Natalie up the staircase and into one of the guest rooms at the end of the long hallway. A young woman dressed in a starched blue shirt who I assumed was staff followed us. We got Natalie to the bed and put her feet up. “This young lady will take it from here,” Bolt said in a quiet voice and drew me outside the room.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s not the first time she’s disgraced herself and me,” I admitted.

“Not what I’m talking about. You looked so lost. I saw Kenny talking to you. I think he noticed you looked left out, as well.”

I nodded. I didn’t say, Of course I felt left out, because I had been.

“Come with me, and let me introduce you to some of my business associates,” he decided as we descended the staircase. “Don’t worry about Natalie. She’ll be seen to. Let her sleep it off. She’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Oh, I can’t let her spend the night,” I objected, stopping mid-stride and facing him. “She’s my problem, Bolt, not yours.”

“She’s part of who you are, and therefore, I will look after her as well. Anyway, she’s not a problem—she has a problem. Those are two different things.”

I’d never thought of it in that way, but I supposed he made a good point. “I’ll go home now and come back in the morning to get her,” I told him, wanting away from this world of excess and superficiality.

“You’re staying with me, Lilly. I’d already planned on it.” He took charge, and while it felt good, it was also a little controlling. I looked at him sidelong, but he was oblivious. “Come on, I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

“You go on. I think I’ll sit here in the family room and get out of the sun for a while. That way if Natalie comes looking for me, I’ll be close at hand,” I announced, making a turn for the family room. I knew Bolt wasn’t happy at that moment, but I wasn’t sure if it was with me for avoiding the crowd outside, with Natalie for making a scene, or with himself for having made the mistake of inviting us in the first place. He hesitated a few moments and then left me there.

Dallas Symington might be a crude blowhard, but he was right about one thing: I didn’t belong in that world.