Alice: “How long is forever?”
White Rabbit: “Sometimes just one second.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Dare
“Stop doing that,” I told her, slapping her hand out of her mouth.
She was biting her nails.
“I can’t help it,” she said. “I do this when I’m nervous.”
“If you don’t cut it out, I’m going to hold your arms down. You know what that means.”
Ingrid’s whole face contorted. It wasn’t that she thought I smelled, per se, but she wasn’t a fan of anything masculine. She said that even when men were freshly showered, she could still smell what she called our ‘man-stink’ which was a combination of testosterone and cortisol.
I should mention that to Alice. She’d get a kick out of it.
Then I remembered, she broke up with me. We were done.
Alice wasn’t mine anymore.
Yeah, I was feeling a little sorry for myself.
Then I felt a slap on the side of my head.
“Jesus ‘grid! What’s your problem?”
“Snap out of it,” Ingrid said. “I know you miss her. And I miss you being . . . happy.”
I rubbed my head for a couple of seconds, but took the hint.
“This is your night,” I told her. “And you’re right. I am here for you,” I took her hand in mine. “So, you’re going to have to deal with my man-stink for a little while because: one, I need to prevent you from eating your whole hand and, two, I want you to lead me through this crowd and show me where your work is before I get lost.”
We were at her group show, Thirty Artists Under Thirty, and the place was packed. I had taken Ingrid out shopping for a new outfit and made her get a haircut. The results were stunning. Her electric blue hair was in a smart pixie cut and she wore a metallic red jumpsuit with matching red lipstick.
The press was going crazy for her look and her work. I felt like a proud papa.
Eventually, I noticed her nerves had calmed, and I let go of her hand and stepped back, so she could do her thing all on her own. Once I did, I saw all three of her paintings had been sold, each with their own little red dot.
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
She did it. She’s on her way.
I took a few photos of her as she was talking with the art critic of The New York Times. They were chatting like old friends.
“It wasn’t that long ago you were standing there, just like she is now.”
I knew that voice.
I turned around.
“Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said, taking her in.
“That’s the kind of greeting I get?” she balked. “What’s the phrase your mother taught me? ‘Come in for the real thing.’”
I bent down and gave her a tight hug. It had been too long.
She broke away, but held both my hands in hers, giving them a squeeze.
“Where is your mother, by the way?” she asked.
“She’s in Italy, taking cooking lessons and drinking wine without her son telling her to take it easy.”
She smiled. “Well, good for her. She deserves it. But I have to say . . . you look like complete and utter shit.”
I busted out laughing. “Thanks, Mrs. Grangeworth. Way to kick a man when he’s down.”
She threw her hands up, followed by a little shimmy. “It’s the one advantage to being old. I can say and do whatever I want.”
“Please, you’ve been this way for years. It’s not age, it’s moxie.”
She winked while shooting a finger gun at me. “Right you are,” she said.
A flash blinded my eyes. The press had descended and were taking photos.
Then came the questions.
“Are you here with your elevator hook-up?”
“Is it over?”
“Who is she anyway?”
I was ready to lose it, but Mrs. Grangeworth patted my lapel with her hand.
“I’ve got this,” she muttered under her breath.
“My stepson Dare, was kind enough to be my companion for this epic art event. I am sure he will reveal the identity and status of his relationship with the young lady when the time is right. But for now, don’t spoil an old woman’s fun. Back off and bother Iris Apfel over there. She actually thinks she’s Tweetie Bird in that yellow feather disaster.”
They scattered, just like that.
“You haven’t lost your touch,” I said.
“You better believe it,” she said, her gaze scanning my face. “Walk me outside. My driver should be arriving any minute.”
I offered her my arm, which she took.
“Did I ever tell you how I met your father?”
That was out of left field, but fine, I’d bite.
“Nope, I missed that bedtime story.”
She let out a throaty laugh. “Don’t be cute. My heart can’t take it,” she said. “Anyway, he was vacationing with his family in Cape Cod, where I was working for the summer. He said he knew right away he was going to marry me. I worked at a hot dog stand, by the way. He must have bought over fifty of those awful things before I agreed to go out with him.”
“So you knew then?” I asked, making sure she wasn’t getting crushed by the crowd.
“All I knew was that I found him intriguing and that he scared the heck out of me. He was a Grangeworth. You know what my maiden name was? Polinski. Doesn’t exactly scream money or connections.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
We were finally outside, but her driver hadn’t arrived yet.
The check girl ran out, with her fur. “Mrs. Grangeworth! You forgot your coat!”
I took it from her and gave a tip. I helped her put it on.
“Thank you, darling,” she said, beaming up at me. “I wonder who taught you to always have a few extra dollars in your pocket?”
I chuckled. “You did,” I said, smiling down at her.
She nodded. “You know, I loved my husband very much. And he loved me and he loved your mother. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
You’re an incredible lady. He didn’t deserve you.
She wasn’t done. “He loved me so much, he thought it would hurt me to know about you, because I couldn’t have children . . . what a schmuck.”
“Excuse me?”
“He would’ve gotten such a kick out of you,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Men can be short-sighted. But so can young girls who feel out of their depths, especially in a new city.”
I met her penetrating gaze.
She leaned closer. “Don’t give up on her. She’s scared out of her mind. Alice has had to work for every scrap she’s gotten and she’s afraid one mistake will make it all go away.”
I stilled. “Wait a second, how do you know her name? How do you know anything about her?”
The driver pulled up, rushing to open her door.
She patted my cheek. “Because I look after those I love, but don’t tell anybody. I have a reputation as a raging piece of work to uphold.” She winked and got into her car. “And bring her by. I’ll pretend she’s my daughter and show her off at the club. I love it when I make Kathy Hilton feel so bad she eats her feelings.”