Deborah’s house reflects the personality she displayed on our playdate last weekend. It’s bright and cheery. All the furniture is inviting. There are toys stacked in brightly colored bins.
And the entire place smells like lemon cleaner and Lysol. Seriously. There is not a speck of dirt in the place, and I’m afraid to drink anything for fear I put the glass down without a coaster and mess up something.
It’s a very conflicting vibe. Like she wants people to feel welcome in her home, but not so welcome that they mess it up.
Considering how much inventory Callie and I lugged in tonight, it’s too late to worry about clutter. She’s just going to have to deal. Judging by the tight smile on her face, she’s barely holding it together. Especially since we’ve been here for a couple of hours and clothes are pretty much strewn everywhere.
Most of Callie’s RowRow Apparel parties have had a really good turn-out. The company as a whole is the hottest thing out there, and when you add Callie’s personality and fashion knowledge, people get excited.
Tonight, has been no different. Right now, there are no less than a dozen women looking through racks of clothing, commenting on patterns and material. It’s a really relaxed atmosphere, affording us lots of time to interact with people on a more personal level. I admit, I was leery about it when Callie started this venture last year, but she really has made it work. I’m proud of her for it.
“So,” she begins, plopping down next to me on the couch for the first time all night. I’ve been lucky that she’s been distracted all night since I know what she wants to talk about. I’m not ready, though.
So I do my best to deflect. “I think that one woman, with the dark hair, I can’t remember her name…”
“Kathy.”
“Yes!” I say, snapping my fingers as the name rings a bell. “She’s trying on a couple of dresses, but I want you to look at the style. I think she might look better in the longer version.”
“Ok. But hey, yeah, I don’t care. Let’s talk about Greg.”
Dropping my head back on the couch, I know I’m not getting out of this one. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” She nudges my leg with hers. “You’ve been missing him for nine long months, and now he’s back. And he lives next door. Why haven’t you jumped his bones yet?”
Deborah happens by right as Callie says that and her eyes widen slightly, but she never loses that tight smile. I’m starting to get a really weird vibe from Callie’s new friend.
“Because I’m not going to run right back to him the second he knocks on my door.”
“Oooh!” An evil grin crosses her face. “You’re playing hard to get. This I can get on board with.”
I’m not having this conversation now, I think to myself.
“I’m not having this conversation now.” I jump up from the couch and pretend to sort through the discarded clothing, putting them on hangers. “And I’m not playing hard to get, so please let it go.”
Thankfully, Kathy walks around the corner and asks for help deciding if the dress she’s wearing is the right size. Callie immediately goes into Project Runway mode, which gives me a breather from her incessant badgering. She’s done a decent job of letting me stew for a few days as I get my bearings straight. But now that there is wine and clothing, she’s letting her guard down, which means I have to talk to her about it, whether I want to or not.
“Elena?” I turn from the rack and see another one of the party goers standing in front of me. Once again, her name escapes me, so I refer to her as “snack girl” because she has refilled her plate no less than six times since we’ve been.
Seriously. I can barely remember my own kids’ names. It’s unreasonable to think I can remember the people at these parties, too.
“What kind of skirt are you wearing? I’ve been eyeing it all night and I think I need to try one on.”
“You definitely do,” I exclaim, switching into salesperson mode.
Callie was right about that, too. People ask me about the outfits she puts me in all the time, and then they buy them. Usually, though, I’m not the one to help them decide what size works for their body. Tonight, I make an exception, just to keep my bestie off my back. “They’re right over here. What size do you normally wear?”
As I work with “snack girl”, I notice Callie glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. She knows this is my least favorite part of these parties and the only reason I’m being overly helpful is to avoid Greg talk.
Unfortunately for me, I’m better at this stuff than I thought. Before I know it, Snack Girl is loaded down with different options to try and is headed for the bedroom, also known as tonight’s dressing room.
Callie takes advantage of the vacant spot by my side and immediately sidles up next to me. “You can’t avoid me.”
“I can try,” I shoot back, hanging up more discarded clothes.
“Elena, stop.” She puts her hand on my forearm, so I do as she says. I’m not getting out of this. With a look of concern, she lays it all on the line. “Did you at least agree to be friends with benefits?”
“Ohmygod,” I groan, which really, is the only appropriate answer to this line of questioning. I should have known better than to think Callie would have any sympathy to my concerns. She’s way too excited that Greg is back, which I should have anticipated, and thinks she’s going to live vicariously through me again.
She follows me around the rack, doing exactly what I knew she was going to do… pester me. “Maybe you two should start dating again. You love him, you know you do. Are you afraid you can’t separate your emotions? Come on. You can be fuck buddies for a while first.”
We hear a gasp and look over. Once again, Deborah chooses this opportune moment to walk by. We stare at her and she stares at us. We’re all staring until I finally break the silence.
“The short dress with leggings combo looks really good on you, Deborah.”
She blinks once and turns away from us, shaking her head as she walks into the kitchen, probably to gather more organic pâté. Pâté by itself is pretty gross. Rest assured, the organic kind is a zillion times worse.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now,” I suggest, partially for poor Deborah’s benefit, but mostly for my own.
“You’re right.” She claps her hands together, which is never a good sign for me. “Let’s talk about Tripp.”
I groan. “Let’s not.”
“Oh come on, Elena. He’s hot and he’s young.” She sighs dreamily like what I need in my life is another kid. “This is your one shot at being a cougar! Take it!”
“Oooh,” another random shopper, this one I refer to as “the drunk” stumbles up to us, yet doesn’t spill a drop of her wine. Impressive. “Who is a cougar?”
Callie doesn’t miss a beat. “Elena is hopefully.”
The Drunk’s eyes widen and mouth opens in delight. “You haven’t gone for it yet? Younger men are the best. They have this,” she sucks in a horny-sounding breath, “stamina that men our age don’t seem to have any more.”
Callie quirks an eye at me. “Did you hear that Elena? I bet Tripp has stamina.”
“His name is Tripp?” The Drunk slurs. “That even sounds sexy. Tell me he’s sexy.”
“Oh he is,” Callie answers for me, even though she’s never seen him. “He likes to put his hands in his pockets when he walks away from her.”
The Drunk gasps. “I love it when they pull their pants tight across their ass. It’s my favorite move.”
Callie looks at me and gestures to The Drunk like she just proved her point. I roll my eyes and continue with my sorting. “I’m not going to go out with a twenty-five-year old because he has a nice rear.”
“You’re going out with a twenty-five-year old?” Snack Girl says, popping out from nowhere to enter this very humiliating conversation.
“No!” I shout at the same time Callie yells, “Hopefully!”
The Drunk is fingering all the clothing while mumbling, “Hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave.”
“I’m twenty-five and I date older men,” Snack Girl shrugs. “What’s the difference?”
“Stamina,” The Drunk answers. Someone really needs to take the booze away from her. And maybe hide all their teenage boys.
“I’m just saying, those gender and age roles are so antiquated,” Snack Girl continues. “If you have common interests and are attracted to each other, why not?”
Callie tilts her head, eyeing me as if to say Yeah. Why not?
I sigh in defeat. “Ok fine. You win. If he asks me out again, I will say yes.” Cheers erupt around the room and I’m finally aware that this conversation has been more public than I first realized. Holding my finger up in the air, I make it a point to add, “But there will be no finding out about his stamina!”
The women all laugh and side conversations about former dating escapades pop up all around us. As much as I didn’t want to discuss my own dating life, at least it made everyone around us relax and is giving them something fun to talk about amongst each other. Even The Drunk and Snack Girl are trading stories.
The only one who doesn’t seem amused is Deborah. Her teeth are clenched together, and I’m afraid she’s going to shatter that tray of celery and almond butter if she squeezes it any tighter. Seconds later, she stomps over to Callie and me, fire in her eyes. But it’s venom that comes out of her mouth.
“I love how easygoing you guys are when we’re hanging out, but can we please stay professional during this party? I am getting ready to launch a RowRow business. I don’t want to be known as the woman who has raunchy parties!” And she turns and stomps away.
I look over at Callie who has a stunned look on her face. She finally looks over at me, still seeming very unsure about how to respond. “I think… I think I would normally tell someone to buzz off after that. But I know she has been nervous about this party all week, so if being more professional will help her feel less anxious, we should do that.”
I shrug and reply with, “She’s your friend. You do what you think is right.”
Thankfully, another customer, who I call “Shorty” due to her lack of height, interrupts us to ask a question about getting her items hemmed. The distraction throws Callie right back into sales mode, but doesn’t do quite the same with me.
I’m just as much of a hot mess as the next gal, but yelling at me for acting the exact same way I always do irks me. What you see is what you get with me. If that’s not enough, there’s nothing I can do about it, and I’m not going to try.
But Callie is my best friend and if defaulting to professional me for the rest of the night makes her feel better about the situation, I’ll do it.
Deborah, however, doesn’t get as much grace from me. I still have my eye on that one.