Eric and I arrived at the gala with Janette and Maurice, whose driver had picked us up so we could all travel together. Eric was decked out in a tuxedo that he actually owned. I shouldn't have been surprised. I often forgot about it, but his family was part of the same Upper East Side set that Janette came from.
"I just love Beth, your mother," Janette said once we were on our way. "She's a bit older than me, of course, but what a darling."
"I'll tell her you said hello," Eric replied with the subtle, practiced politeness of someone who had been having these kinds of conversations his entire life.
I listened curiously; it was possible I could learn something from Eric. Maurice, who hadn't stopped speaking on his cell phone once, ignored the rest of us as he prattled on in French. He had a typical Parisian accent and spoke very quickly; even with my mostly fluent French, I found him difficult to understand.
"Now, let's get a look at my gorgeous girl," Janette said, turning to me. "Well, I can't see a thing with that shawl on. Wherever did you get it, the Good Will?"
She tugged off the light, gold-threaded scarf I used to cover my shoulders. I sniffed. It was a hand-me-down from Bubbe, who had bought plenty of my clothes growing up from secondhand stores. The scarf fell around my hips, and Janette nodded in approval as she looked me over.
The Grecian-style, moss-green gown did fit perfectly. The satin fabric draped over one shoulder and left the other bare, while the gold-corded bodice cinched my waist smaller than it already was. A hidden slit in the skirt would tease my leg every now and then, but the dress's sex appeal came mostly from the way it made me look like I'd been wrapped in luxurious green sheets, leaving most of my body to the imagination.
Janette had insisted on a beaded gold clutch and strappy gold sandals to go with the dress, and we had spent several more hours that afternoon having our hair and makeup done. Janette had instructed the hairdresser to create barrel rolls out of my masses of red, which had then been pinned at the crown of my head and set with two thin, gold headbands, much like a Greek statue. The makeup artist had drawn subtle gold tints around my eyes, complemented by otherwise natural makeup. I felt a bit like a dress-up doll, but I couldn't deny the effects.
"Yes, I'm glad we went with that one," Janette said. "But something is missing, isn't it?" She reached down and fingered the pounded silver cuff on my wrist. "This is nice, but it doesn't really go with the dress, does it? The accents aren't silver."
Self-consciously, I looked at the sturdy silver piece Brandon had given me. The bracelet felt like an anchor against a pending storm.
"Luckily, I came prepared," Janette said as she reached into her small purse and pulled out a pair of thin gold cuffs and a set of diamond-drop earrings. "Put these on. They'll show off your darling little wrists. I'll keep your bracelet in my purse."
"That's all right," I murmured, reluctantly sliding it off my wrist and putting it in my own clutch.
Eric snorted. Janette had worn me down throughout the day. She watched with pride as I put on her jewelry.
"There," she said once I was finished. "Now you're perfect."
Beside me, Eric gave my hand a compatriotic squeeze. Obviously, he understood this weirdly superficial praise that seemed nested in tacit critique; if his mother was anything like Janette, he had dealt with it his entire life.
"Thanks," I said. Maybe I looked perfect, but as we pulled up to an event full of people whom I essentially had to hide from, I felt anything but.
The limo drove past a gatehouse onto an expansive, tree-lined estate, and I gawked openly.
"You'd better shut your mouth before we get there, dear," Janette said knowingly.
Eric chuckled. Maurice shot me a sideways glance and continued chattering in French.
We joined a line of cars dropping off pairs of glamorous attendees at the entrance. My palms started to sweat. The house––if you could even call it that––was bigger than my entire apartment building, and built in a style that would look more at home on an English manor than the middle of Brookline.
"Who lives here?" I asked incredulously.
"Oh, Rick Avery owns it now. He founded Nike, I think. Or was it Reebok? I really don't know, some enormous shoe company. Isn't that right, Maury?" Janette asked.
Maurice nodded, but didn't stop his chatter to answer. Our limo stopped in front of the mansion's grand entrance, and one of the several servants standing outside in tuxedos stepped forward to open the door.
"Onward and upward, darling," Janette said as she scooted out.
Eric and I followed, and Maurice shuffled after us, finally putting his phone away.
"You got this, Cros," Eric whispered, tucking my wrist into the crook of his elbow.
"Did you do this a lot growing up?" I asked quietly as we walked toward the entrance.
"Every freaking weekend," he muttered. "Stick by me. I'll keep you safe from the wolves."
We followed other well-dressed attendees into the house. It was the kind of place that looked more like a castle than a home. Massive double doors opened into a domed hall that could have fit Bubbe's entire house inside. A huge winding staircase curved around the space, and past that was a reception room for large events like these.
We followed the crowds there, where tables, a stage, and a live band were set up for the event. Black-tied servers scurried around with trays of food and champagne. Everything was elegant, tasteful, and bright, and also screamed of wealth.
Maurice almost immediately found someone he knew and quickly abandoned the three of us against the wall. I could see now why an event like this was more likely to be held at a private residence than a grand hotel room. These were some of the richest people in New England, even the world. Their homes were nicer than any hotel, and no doubt potential backroom dealing would require privacy that wouldn't be found at the Ritz.
"Are you all right?" Janette asked beside me.
My fingers clenched on Eric's sleeve, and I stood, frozen. Fitting, really, since I'd basically been styled exactly like several of the mock-Greek statues around the room's perimeter.
"I don't know what I'm doing here," I admitted.
It was like being in the showroom of Tiffany's, full of diamonds. That's what wealth actually did to people, I realized: it created a blinding veneer. It wasn't just the jewelry, although there was plenty of that. The diamond earrings I had borrowed from Janette were actually ridiculously understated.
Everything about these people seemed to glitter. Their clothes, sumptuous and tailored, weren't sewn from cheap poly-blends, but lavish silks and charmeuse. Their skin gleamed with high-quality skin products and dermatological treatments. Their nails were freshly manicured, their hair blown out, their teeth whitened and capped. Faces pulled taught, wrinkles erased, cheeks plumped. They walked about the room with the grace and confidence of people who know the world was under their control.
Suddenly I was very, very grateful that Janette had insisted on the shopping trip.
"Is that one of the Red Sox?" I wondered aloud.
Beside me, Eric nodded. "Johnny Caron. Solid stats this year."
"Brandon's a fan," I murmured, thinking first that I should get his autograph for him, then realizing how ridiculous that was when in this room, Brandon was just as famous as the man, or more.
Janette watched with a gaze that looked almost hungry. "Maurice is trying to get him to invest. I should go introduce myself." And with that, she disappeared through the crowd, slippery as a fish.
"You should drink something," Eric said. "Immediately."
He snagged me a glass of the cheap champagne that had been circulating on trays. I tipped it back in one go.
"There you go," Eric said after putting down his own and grabbing two more from another passing server. He handed me one. "Takes the edge off, doesn't it?"
"How did you do this all the time?" I gasped after downing the second one. The bubbles fizzed in my stomach, calming and amplifying my nerves at the same time. I needed to burp, but at least I didn't want to throw up anymore.
"Oh, my liver has built up a good tolerance over the years."
"No, I mean this." I waved my hand at the opulent buzz. "These people. Talking to them. Everyone judging."
Eric shrugged. "They're like cats. Act like you love them, they'll treat you like shit. Treat them like shit, and they'll worship the ground you walk on."
"Is that where you learned your game?" I wondered, noticing already how some of the younger women were looking at Eric. "I can go find our table. I don't want to cramp your style."
To my surprise, Eric scowled. "These are the last kinds of women I will ever get involved with again," he said vehemently. "They are the worst. Manipulative bitches, all of them."
"Wow, that's a first. I've never known you to pass on available tail." Coincidentally, I'd also noticed that he had spent every night of the last two weeks alone in his bedroom, home every night by ten. "I don't suppose that has anything to do with a certain best friend of mine, does it?"
The champagne was starting to get to me.
"Please," Eric scoffed. "I know where I stand there. Jane thinks of me as a walking vibrator. No more, no less."
I watched him thoughtfully, but his poker face gave away nothing. Hmm. Curious.
"So..." Eric looked down at me again with concern. "Your mother. What's she after?"
I blinked in surprise at his uncharacteristic directness.
"Cros," he said impatiently, "I grew up around people like these my entire life. I know when they want something, and your mother is looking at you like you're a piece of prime rib. What's she after?"
I shook my head, my face growing hot. "I really...I mean, you're probably right. But if I had to guess, I'd say redemption, maybe. She usually grows a temporary conscience about once every five years, pokes around my dad or me until she feels better about herself, and then splits."
Eric nodded, but his face was pensive as we watched Janette cozy up to a circle of attendees, most of them men.
"If you say so," he said. "I don't know. I just...I smell a rat."
"And what about you?" I asked, nudging his shoulder. "Do I need to be guarding you against all of these vicious predators?"
Eric just snorted and polished off his champagne. We gave our glasses to a server and went to find our seats. The Sterling tables had all been set with name tags. Brandon hadn't arrived yet, but he was placed next to several other names I recognized: Mark Grove, a few of the other equity partners at Sterling Grove, and some political heavy hitters around Boston. I, however, had been relegated to the table full of younger associates with Eric. I wasn't surprised by the arrangement, but it still hurt. A lot.
Across the room, I spotted Kieran, who stood with a small circle of men dressed in suits. Unlike most of the other women in the room, she had eschewed a formal dress in favor of a fitted white tuxedo with a blazing ruby brooch, the same color as her lips, pinned to her lapel. Her dark hair was pulled back as severely as ever. She stood out as much for her confidence as for her unusual formalwear.
She waved briefly, clearly surprised to see me, then returned to her conversation. I wilted a little in my seat. I don't know what I had been expecting. I wasn't Kieran's friend; I was her subordinate, and someone who should probably be at home studying for the bar, not socializing at fancy events.
Nearly three hours later, I was drunk. Dinner had come and gone, speeches and donations had been made, and Eric had finally left so he could get up early to study. I hadn't seen Janette and Maurice the entire evening; they were too busy hobnobbing with Boston's elite to bother. So much for seeking redemption. The most elite of them all, my "date" who wasn't really my date, was still nowhere to be seen.
Eric offered to share a cab, but I had demurred, saying I'd wait for another thirty minutes before going home. That, unfortunately, had left me little else to do but sip on continuous glasses of champagne. It had been an hour since then.
I'd left my phone at home, not having been able to fit it into the tiny purse, which could barely hold my lip gloss, some cards and cash, and my bracelet. Watching Janette dance with one of the lesser Red Sox after Maurice disappeared, I sat at my table, feeling very sorry for myself. I pulled the silver bracelet out of my clutch and toyed with it, running my fingers over the engraving. It only made me feel more alone. What was I even doing here?
"Skylar?"
I turned around to see another surprising, yet familiar face.
Dressed in black-tie attire, Jared looked a far sight from the preppy student from class. It actually made perfect sense that he would be here, considering his family's roots in Boston society and politics.
"What are you doing here?" I asked anyway, my words slightly slurring as I accepted his kiss on my cheek.
Jared, clearly having had a few drinks himself, didn't seem to care that I was so shocked. He looked me over with obvious appreciation.
"That's, um, a dress, Skylar."
I glanced down. Everything was mostly in place, but in my inebriated state, the slit of the gauzy fabric had opened clearly to reveal most of my left leg as it was crossed over my right. Maybe it was because at that point, I was fairly furious with being stood up, but the show of skin didn't bother me. I made no move to close the fabric.
"You look bored," Jared said as he sat down next to me. His glance flickered to my leg again, but came right back up to look me in the eye and didn't move. "I saw that you came with Eric, but then he left. Are you waiting for someone?"
He quirked an eyebrow, and it was obvious that he wanted me to admit that I was here for Brandon. But no one was supposed to know that. Plus, Brandon wasn't even here.
"No," I said finally and tipped back the remainder of my sixth glass of champagne. "I came with my mother and her husband too, but they seem to be preoccupied. I was actually going to leave soon."
I stood up abruptly, but had to grab the table as blood rushed from my head. I brushed out the creases of my dress, which fell more modestly around my legs again, then glanced around for my clutch to put the bracelet back in it. The movement caused my head to spin a little.
When I finally straightened up again, I found Jared standing too, looking somewhat amused.
"You all right there?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I said with enough effort that I swayed a little.
"Well, then you can't leave without giving me a dance first," Jared said, putting a hand at my elbow to steady me. "Do me the honor? I'll go slow, I promise."
I looked at the hand and then back up at him. Jared actually looked amazing. He wore a standard black tux and had brushed his light brown hair back, and the effect made him look a little like James Bond. He smirked at my obvious appraisal.
"Only if it's really slow," I agreed.
I set my clutch on the table and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor, which was starting to clear out. The more powerful people had adjourned for back room dealing, and everyone else was wilting from the champagne. Jared pulled me securely, but not indecently, against him, settled a hand at my waist, and began to lead me around the floor in a tepid box step. He wasn't a terrible dancer––certainly better than me.
"So, don't take this the wrong way," he said as he turned me under his arm. "But whoever decided to let you sit at that table by yourself was an idiot. You and Eric haven't..."
"No," I said quickly. "Still just roommates."
"And your mom doesn't seem too interested in keeping you company because..."
I rolled my eyes as he pulled me close again. Jared was taller than I realized: over six feet. Not as muscular as Brandon, but he still filled out his tuxedo.
"We're not close," I said. "It was sort of an accident that she was coming to this thing anyway."
"So...Sterling stood you up, huh?"
Now the elephant had been addressed. Great.
I leaned back so I could grin at him, hoping to pivot away from the question. "Do I stick out that much?"
"Well, yeah, but in a way that probably wouldn't be polite to talk about in public." Jared swung me around for another turn.
I shrugged. In my drunken state, the compliment felt good. Better than being stood up, that was for sure.
"So, why didn't you call me after our date last winter, Skylar?" Jared asked, changing the subject once again.
I raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember you being this direct."
He gave a good-natured wink. "I have nothing to lose. So what happened?"
I sighed. I considered the awkward night when Jared had run into Brandon and me at the symphony, on Valentine's Day, no less. I had blown him off to see Brandon, and Jared had discovered us there. Not my finest moment.
"I'm sorry about that," I said. "I...got wrapped up in...you know."
Jared nodded. "Yeah. I guess I can see that," he said, not without some bitterness. "The way my sisters talk about him, you'd think he was the second coming or the devil himself, depending on whether or not Miranda's around."
His hand tightened at my waist as he pulled me just a bit closer, so that my breasts grazed the front of his chest. Still not enough to be indecent, but the subtle maneuver didn't escape me.
"I'll say it again," he said into my ear. "He's an idiot for standing you up. If I got to be your escort tonight..." he leaned back again with a look that was more sharp than gentle. "I'd never leave your side."
We stared at each other for a moment, no longer moving with the music. Jared's brown eyes suddenly seemed more intense than I'd imagined him capable of. Safe, sweet Jared was gone. For the first time all evening, I didn't feel like abandoned trash, but I wasn't sure I liked this attention either.
Jared smirked. Then he closed his eyes and leaned in.
Wait, what?
I leaned back a solid six inches away from his face. I was drunk, but I wasn't that drunk. Jared opened his eyes, now darkened with something I didn't like at all.
"Whaaaat are you doing?" I asked, trying and failing not to slur my speech.
"That's an excellent question, Red."
At the sound of the familiar deep voice, I dropped Jared's hand and stepped away like he was made of fire. I whirled around, which made the room spin like a top. When it stopped, there was Brandon, standing in front of us, looking like every penny of his net worth.
"Hi," I said weakly, and fell into his strong arms.
~