chapter eleven
IT WAS ALMOST NOVEMBER, and the black-tie gala to launch the capital campaign was fast approaching. Tiffany was now sending almost daily e-mails full of updates and pep talks. She ran the campaign like a telethon host, and I might as well have been a robocaller, dialing up alums for dollars, giving my canned sales pitch, and, 90 percent of the time, being hung up on.
“I feel like I’m working at a call center, not a university,” I complained to Larry.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Larry said. “Someone’s got to sing for their supper, and I’ve got tenure.”
I invited Rick to attend the gala with me, and he leapt at the invitation. “A chance to have steak and wine on the college’s dime?” he said. “I’m in!” He joked about how he’d wear his motorcycle jacket and jeans instead of the black tie stipulated on the invitation.
“I can’t wait to piss off some posh trustee,” he said. “These parties are just an excuse for rich people to dress in monkey suits.”
At the last minute, though, Rick was called away to New York for a meeting and Larry stepped in as my date. Larry was the only person I knew who actually owned a tuxedo—and not just a tuxedo, but a complete set of tails.
“You don’t have to go overboard,” I warned him. “It’s a college fund-raiser, not the Oscars.”
“I love fancy balls,” he said.
“It’s not a ball. It’s like a really bad prom.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “My prom took place at the local Howard Johnson. This gala is taking place at the Bel-Air. The Bel-Air!”
Through some magic or connections, Tiffany had managed to book the Hotel Bel-Air for our Fairfax College gala. Lauren and her crowd were the type of people who frequented the Bel-Air—for weddings, for baby showers, for brunches. I’d never been, but Lauren talked endlessly about how intimate and tasteful it was, how Oprah could take meetings there without being hounded by the hoi polloi, and how the lake had actual, real-life swans paddling about.
“I can’t wait,” Larry said. “Should I get you a corsage?”
“No,” I said. “But you can help me find a dress to wear.”
The day before the gala, Larry dragged me to Saks on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, where tourists mingled with well-manicured locals and people hardly batted an eye when a bright yellow Lamborghini or tricked-out Ferrari roared by. Inside the store, I gravitated toward the cocktail dresses, but Larry sniffed disapprovingly at my selections.
“Long,” he said. “You need to wear a long gown.”
“I’ll be overdressed,” I said. “And besides, I’m not dropping a ton of money for a dress I’ll only wear once.”
Larry refused to listen to me, selecting several floor-length dresses and pushing me to the dressing room. He sat on a tufted brocade bench outside as I tried on each dress and modeled for him.
“Too busy,” he said when I tried on a gown in a bright floral print.
“Too mother-of-the-bride,” he said to a pale pink gown with elbow-length sleeves.
“Too pageanty,” he said to a gown with sequins and illusion netting.
“I kinda like this one,” I said, sucking in my stomach in the three-way mirror. “It’s giving me Mariah Carey vibes.”
I practiced striking a classic Mariah pose, hair flung back, hands placed on my hips for the illusion of slimness. I gave my best paralyzed Mariah smile. “Lambily, what do you think?” I asked.
“Meh,” Larry said. “You’re no elusive butterfly.”
“I’m tired,” I complained, exhaling and stepping off the pedestal. “Can I just get a plain black dress and be done with it?”
“That’s so boring!” Larry said. He mused for a second, his hand at his lips. “I see you in Valentino red,” he decided.
“Larry, I can’t afford Valentino. In case you forgot, I’m a professor, not an heiress.”
“I’m talking about the color, not the couturier.” He dashed out of the dressing room and came back carrying an armful of bright red dresses. I blanched, looking at them. “They’re so . . . look at me,” I said. “What is this? Pretty Woman?”
“Please,” Larry said. “You’re no hooker with a heart of gold.”
“Yeah, and I’m no Julia Roberts, either,” I sighed, and reluctantly took one of the dresses and tried it on.
“Now that,” Larry said when I emerged from the dressing room, “is a real gown.”
I contemplated myself in the mirror. The dress fit remarkably well, making me look somehow taller and leggier than I was. It was more formfitting than what I was used to wearing, but it still looked like my style—simple and understated. My biggest fear—that I’d look like one of the fashion victims in Glamour magazine, a black bar of shame over my eyes—subsided as I modeled the dress, checking it out from all possible angles. I looked good, I thought, feeling unexpectedly delighted.
“Practice smizing,” Larry said, and I obliged.
“It’s perfect,” Larry said. “You have to get it.”
I looked at the price tag and practically choked. “I can’t,” I said. “I’ve never spent so much money on a dress in my entire life.”
“Charge it!” Larry said. “As Oscar Wilde once said, ‘Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.’ ”
“I guess I have no imagination.”
“And I, alas, have too much. I’d buy the dress for you, but I’m still paying off my imaginative excesses at an extortionary annual percentage rate of 21.5 percent.”
“Well, my birthday is coming up . . .” I reasoned.
“There you go,” Larry said. “It’s a sign. The universe wants you to buy this dress. Live a little! How old are you turning?”
“Thirty-three,” I said.
“Jesus died at age thirty-three, you know,” Larry pointed out. “Jesus would want you to buy the dress. Come on!”
I started laughing so hard that Larry began fretting that I might split the dress. A saleswoman appeared as Larry was trying to unzip me from my gown.
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
“I’d like to buy this dress,” I said, handing her my credit card before I could change my mind.
*
THE NIGHT OF THE gala, Larry picked me up in his Mini Cooper for the hour-long drive to Los Angeles. I’d plucked a white camellia from the bush outside my house and tucked it behind my ear, leaving my hair loose and wavy and keeping my makeup simple except for a deep red lipstick.
“Va-va-va-voom,” Larry said as he opened the door to his car and helped me in. As promised, he was wearing his tails, a green carnation in his lapel, and he looked dapper and handsome.
“Too bad Rick isn’t here to see you,” Larry said. “His eyes would fall out of his face.”
“I can’t move,” I groaned. “I’m wearing two pairs of Spanx and I can barely breathe. How the hell are you supposed to go to the bathroom in these?”
“You’re not supposed to,” Larry said, pulling away from the curb as I tried to sit in such a way so that my dress didn’t wrinkle.
“I’m starving,” I said, opening up Larry’s glove compartment and rummaging around. “Do you have any food?”
“Why didn’t you eat before we left?”
“I forgot. Oh, wait, I did eat. I had half a box of Girl Scout cookies.”
“And you didn’t share? Why do some people get all the cookies?”
“Come on, Larry, can we please stop by In-N-Out? I’ll just order some French fries and then we can hit the road again.”
“Anne—you’re supposed to get In-N-Out after the party, not before. Besides, In-N-Out French fries suck.”
“Not when you get them animal style.”
“You are not ordering French fries animal style. You’ll get sauce all over your dress!”
But after listening to me moan pathetically every time we passed an In-N-Out on the side of the freeway, Larry finally relented and took me to a drive-thru. I covered my entire dress with white paper napkins and happily munched on fries for the rest of the trip, occasionally feeding one to Larry, who kept complaining that his car was going to smell for days and that I better not drop any fries between the seats.
As we made our way to the hotel, I started to recognize the winding streets and wooded hills from when we’d visited Bex’s house for book club. The Bel-Air wasn’t quite as far up the hill as Bex’s home, nestled into a quiet street among residential homes. An old-fashioned green-and-white awning with “Hotel Bel-Air” printed in cursive script marked the entrance to the hotel. As we pulled in, Larry said, “Look!” A handful of paparazzi, cameras poised from across the street, scanned inside our car to see if we were anyone important.
“Unbelievable,” Larry said, sounding excited. “I wonder if there’s someone famous staying here!”
The gala was being held outside in the hotel’s famed gardens, surrounded by its distinctive pink Spanish-style buildings. A waiter greeted us with crystal flutes of champagne. An old-fashioned big band was playing in the background, and the whole soiree had the feel of an old Hollywood party.
“Where are the swans?” Larry asked, walking toward the lake. “I read that there’re three of them: Athena, Hercules, and their baby, Chloe.” He teetered on the edge of the water, pushing aside some thick ferns and flowering daylilies.
“Careful!” I said, holding Larry back by his tails.
Larry cleared his throat and began to recite Yeats’s “The Wild Swans at Coole” into the night:
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
“There are only three swans, Larry,” I pointed out.
“But it’s still an uneven number,” Larry said mournfully. “Swans pair off for life, but one poor swan is stuck alone. Poor Chloe. Where is she going to find a mate?” He sighed dramatically.
He caught his breath and pointed. “There they are!” he whispered. Hidden in the rushes were Athena and Hercules, little Chloe trailing behind them, the three of them glowing white in the dusky darkness. Larry whispered to me:
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
We watched as the three swans drifted away. I felt a pang as they disappeared.
“You know, I first read that poem in Dr. Russell’s class a million years ago,” I told Larry as we made our way back to the festivities. “I understand it so differently now.”
“Your heart’s grown old,” Larry said sadly. “So has mine.”
A crowd of people were gathered around cocktail tables, drinking and laughing and greeting one another. I hardly recognized anyone. Everyone looked flushed and prosperous, decked out in their best clothes. Here and there, I spied a faculty member or an administrator, looking lost, wearing an ill-fitting tux or a cheap dress and too much makeup. I self-consciously smoothed down my own dress, checked my hair, craned my neck to see if I’d missed delinting a patch of Jellyby’s hair.
“Do I look OK?” I asked Larry. “I don’t look silly?”
“You look fine,” Larry said. “But you smell like French fries.”
He suddenly stopped to stare at someone across the courtyard.
“Oh shit,” he said. “Jack’s here.”
I followed his gaze and saw Bex and Jack standing beneath a wooden gazebo spangled with lights. Bex was dressed in a creamy silk slip dress with delicate straps crisscrossing her elegant back, her hair pulled back with a feathered comb. Jack stood next to her, his arm cradling her waist, dressed in a beautifully tailored tuxedo that looked blue-black under the light.
“I thought he wasn’t coming,” Larry murmured. “She must have insisted on dragging him along.”
Bex and Jack were talking to Adam and Tiffany, who was wearing a hot-pink taffeta gown with an enormous bow on one shoulder. Tiffany seemed to have some sort of sixth sense because she caught sight of us looking at them and motioned us over with an enthusiastic wave. “Larry! Anne! Great to see you!” she called out. “Come join us!”
Bex and Jack had turned around and seen us, and now we had no choice but to go over. “You look so pretty,” Bex said as I approached. “I’ve never seen you so dressed up!” I felt like a fraud in my new red dress and lipstick, looking like a fire hydrant next to Bex’s tall, slender frame. I shouldn’t have worn such a bright color, I told myself. Only someone like Tiffany, who already had a loud personality, could pull it off.
“Bex, Jack, you remember Larry,” I said. “He was at the book club with me.”
“Oh, yes!” Bex said, giving Larry a kiss on the cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you again!”
“Yes, it’s good to see you, Larry,” Jack said, shaking Larry’s hand. I could see sweat springing to Larry’s forehead, but Jack was relaxed and unperturbed, greeting Larry like a passing acquaintance. I was impressed. Maybe he was a better actor than I gave him credit for.
“I can’t believe you all knew each other in college!” Tiffany tittered to me. “Such a small world! And now here we are, getting ready to announce Bex’s incredibly generous gift to the school! Can you believe it? Twenty million dollars?”
Larry choked on his champagne, and Jack leaned over to pat him on the back.
“I know, isn’t it incredible?” Tiffany asked. “Apparently Adam here was so persuasive in his vision for the school that Bex decided to double her gift at the last minute.” Tiffany beamed at Adam.
“You know, Anne here was really great in helping me figure out my role in Jane Vampire,” Jack told the group. “She gave me a lot of historical background and even talked me through Jane Eyre. The movie’s coming out over Thanksgiving, by the way,” he said, turning to me. “You should check out your name in the credits.”
“Honey, you should see if you can get Anne tickets to the premiere,” Bex said. “It’s going to be held in Westwood. You and Larry should both come!”
I looked at Larry, who opened his mouth in seeming protest.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jack said, and I swore I saw him wink at Larry.
Bex turned to me. “I never got a chance to thank you personally for putting me in touch with Tiffany,” she said. “And for helping Jack with all his questions. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure,” I said. “It was no big deal.”
“You know, I’d love to know more about what you’re working on,” she said. “I heard you tell Marni at the book club that it’s not a novel. What is it about, then?”
“Oh,” I stammered. “It’s not that interesting. I mean, it’s pretty academic.”
“Please—indulge me. Let me live vicariously through you.” Bex gave me a disarming smile.
I launched into a description of my book project and was struck by how genuinely interested Bex was. She’d read most of the novels I worked on and wanted to know more about my research and writing process. Once again, I thought of how she really would have made a wonderful teacher and scholar.
While I was engrossed in conversation with Bex, I tried to keep an eye on Larry, who had flagged down a waiter for another flute of champagne and looked like he was well on his way to getting drunk. Over the din of the party, I could catch bits and pieces of his conversation.
“Really? I didn’t realize you and Curtis used to work together!” Larry was saying to Adam. “He just got married and moved to Ohio. He’s running for state attorney general . . . Yes, to a woman named Susan. She’s perfectly nice . . . but let’s be honest, she’s no Anne Corey.”
Adam said something I couldn’t catch.
“Oh, Curtis dated Anne for over a year, back when he was in law school,” Larry continued. “He was head over heels for her, wanted to marry her and everything, but she made it clear she wasn’t interested . . . she wanted her own career. Can you believe we could’ve been sister and brother?”
Jack interrupted and said something. I cringed as I heard Larry respond, “She kind of broke Curtis’s heart. I mean, you know—you used to date her, right? Anne’s tough. She’s got high standards.”
I stole a quick glance at Adam while pretending to be listening to Bex. I’d never seen him in a tuxedo before. We’d never attended a formal or house party together in college—neither of us had joined an eating club, and we’d broken up before the wave of weddings and holiday parties that might have required such formal wear. Adam was fiddling with his cuff links distractedly and leaned over to whisper something in Tiffany’s ear.
“It looks like we should probably get seated,” Tiffany announced. “They’re about to serve dinner and get the program started.” To Bex and Jack, she said, “You’re at our table—come follow me!” The four of them walked toward a round table decked with flowers and situated in the place of honor next to the podium.
Larry and I were seated in a far corner of the garden, along with other faculty members and employees who didn’t fit neatly into the guest list. I vaguely recognized some of them from working at the phone bank or attending campus meetings, but after quickly introducing ourselves to each other, we all fell back to chatting with our dates.
“Oh my God,” Larry moaned. “I had no idea he was going to be here. Was I a total mess? Seriously—tell me. Was my face bright red? Was I sweating like a beast?”
“I won’t lie—you were a little sweaty—but Jack’s a celebrity. Everyone probably assumed you were just nervous.”
“Ugh, I haven’t seen Bex since that book party. Do you think she knows? Do you think she hates me? I could barely look her in the eye.”
“I thought you said they had an open marriage,” I said.
“That doesn’t mean she wants Jack to shove her face in it! Oh God, I’m terrified of her.”
“She seemed completely gracious,” I said. “Seriously, Larry, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
The salad course was served, while various university officials and trustees got up to speak. Just before the main course was brought out, Adam took the microphone and announced Bex’s gift, sending a loud gasp through the crowd. He invited her to the podium, and she glided up in her silken dress, pausing to exchange an affectionate kiss on his cheek before taking the microphone.
“God, she’s a knockout,” one of our tablemates whispered. “Did you know she’s married to Jack Lindsey? He’s over there sitting at the table.” Everyone craned their necks to get a look. Larry quietly whimpered beside me.
Bex’s speech was short and modest. She spoke of her cousin who had graduated from Fairfax, pointing to a silver-haired lady in pearls sitting at her table, and she briefly touched on her family’s long commitment to education. “I feel incredibly privileged to join President Martinez and the entire board of trustees in opening this new chapter in the life of the college,” she said. “I look forward to seeing what great things are on the horizon.”
There was a tinkling of glass as everyone toasted Bex, followed by a phalanx of waiters sweeping in to serve us our filet mignon or roast chicken. My Spanx were cutting off my circulation, and I was starting to regret the fries. I wondered if I could convince Larry to leave early and let me shimmy them off in his car. From the corner of my eye, I could see Tiffany’s bright pink dress moving from table to table, making sure all the donors were happy, that no one needed a refill of wine or an extra napkin or a vegetarian entrée. The night felt like her own personal triumph. I could hear people congratulating her on choosing such a fine venue and organizing such a lovely gala, and she barely seemed to sit down the entire night.
“I’ll be right back,” Larry whispered to me, standing up, his burner phone in hand.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “Are you going to call Jack? Are you crazy?”
“Calm down,” he said. “I promise I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Hold on—are you coming back soon?”
“Of course! Could you make sure I get an espresso? And don’t let them forget my dessert!”
I watched him walk away, tapping on his phone. Please, God, I thought. Please let him not make a scene. Please let him not humiliate himself—or me—publicly.
I picked at the rest of my steak, not bothering to make small talk with my neighbors, who were debating whether or not they’d have to pay for the valet. Across the garden, I saw Adam leaning over to talk to Bex. She had her hand clasped under her chin and was gazing intently at him, nodding her head, breaking into a smile at something he said. Tiffany’s seat was empty—she was chatting with guests at an adjoining table—and Jack’s was, too. I looked around the party to see if I could locate him, but people had started milling around and it was hard to make anyone out.
The big band struck up a dance number, and some people started to gravitate toward the dance floor. I looked around for Larry, wishing he’d hurry up and get back. Behind me, the lake was now shrouded in complete darkness, and I wondered if Chloe the swan was peeking through the rushes, watching everyone pair off. I glumly watched the festivities, trying to keep my face neutral even though I was feeling unspeakably lonely. A couple of guests from my table got up to leave. “We’ve got a long drive to Fairfax,” they said, wishing us a good night. The table was now half empty, so I decided to get up and find Larry.
I made my way across the grass, wishing I’d brought a wrap now that the sun had set and the night had turned cool. I paused in front of a round stone fountain decorated in pretty blue-and-yellow Spanish tiles and lit from within so that the water glowed like lava. I stood for a moment, mesmerized by the sight and sound of the burbling water. Rubbing my hands along my arms, I shivered.
“Are you cold?” someone asked. Startled, I looked up and saw Adam a few feet away, half veiled by the darkness.
“You scared me,” I said.
“Here,” he said. “Take my coat.” Despite my protests, he took off his tuxedo jacket and draped it around my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I said, the jacket swallowing me up like a blanket. The lining was silk and still warm from his body.
Neither of us talked for a minute. The jacket smelled of wool and the faint, familiar scent of Adam’s body, mixed with a perfume I didn’t recognize. Probably Tiffany’s, I thought.
“This was a great party,” I said lamely. “And what great news about Bex’s gift!”
Adam nodded. “It’s all Tiffany’s doing,” he said. “She organized the whole gala, and she really deserves the credit for cultivating Bex. I just closed the deal.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. Adam was so close to me that I could feel the heat from his body.
“Is that a real flower in your hair?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s a camellia,” I mumbled. He leaned toward me, and I felt his hand graze my hair as he touched the petals. Involuntarily, I turned my face toward him and felt his palm brush my cheek. Adam was now so close that if I just bent forward slightly, we would be kissing. I caught his eye and felt my breathing stop.
“Very pretty,” he said.
Then he abruptly let his hand drop and stepped away.
I was stunned. Was he messing with me? Testing to see if I still had feelings for him? I felt a sudden flare of anger.
“Where’s Tiffany, anyway?” I asked. “She’s probably looking for you, you know.”
I saw that my question annoyed Adam. Still, he responded smoothly, “She’s talking to some donors, the last I checked. What about you? I thought you’d be here with Rick.”
“He was called out of town at the last minute,” I said. “I think it had something to do with the Booker.”
“I see,” Adam said. He paused for a moment. “I knew him when I was at the University of Houston.”
“I know,” I said. “He told me.”
Adam looked surprised. “He did?” he said. “Then you know he and I had our differences.”
“Yes, I know all about it.”
“I wanted to warn you to be careful. Rick’s not—How do I say this? He’s not trustworthy.”
“He’s been nothing but a gentleman with me,” I said testily. “You don’t have to slander him just because you don’t like him.”
“He’s an opportunist, Anne. I’ve seen him do things—”
“What things? Unionize workers? Defend academic freedom? Resist the corporatization of the university?”
“I don’t know what he’s told you, but he wasn’t some champion of the people. If anything, he only looked out for himself.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe from up there in senior administration, you think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t. You’re totally out of touch.”
“I know more than you realize, Anne.”
“Don’t condescend to me, Adam!” I said. I pulled his jacket off. “Thanks for letting me borrow this, but I should get going.”
“Anne,” Adam said. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Could you stop being so patronizing?” I said. “You don’t know me anymore. You know nothing about my life. A lot’s happened since we were togeth— since we were in college. I mean, look at you. I barely recognize you anymore, talking about ‘cultivating’ donors and ‘closing deals.’ ”
“I don’t understand why you’re getting so upset, Anne—”
“Just—just leave me alone. You do your own thing—raise money, hobnob with donors, whatever it is you do. Don’t butt into my life!”
I pushed the jacket into Adam’s hands. He took it from me but didn’t put it on, standing there in his shirtsleeves and cummerbund. I was freezing, but I clenched my teeth and stood up straight, trying to look dignified.
“Annie?” I heard from one of the hallways running along the buildings. It was Larry, looking tipsy and flushed. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said. Spying Adam, he doffed an imaginary top hat but lost his balance and had to steady himself on a pillar.
“Is he OK?” Adam asked.
“He’s fine,” I said shortly. “We were just leaving.” I marched up to Larry but nearly toppled over when one of my heels caught in the grass. The only way I avoided a complete wipeout was by grabbing Larry by the arm. “Ow!” he said as I tried to right myself. He smelled like scotch, and his eyes fluttered as if he wanted to go to sleep.
“What happened to you?” I whispered fiercely. “Where’d you go?”
“I want to go home,” Larry said, smiling sweetly and slumping against my shoulder. Without looking back to say good-bye, I helped walk Larry down the corridor and to our car, where the valet helped me load him into the backseat and where he promptly vomited all over himself and fell asleep.