Wrong About the Guy

“Yep. He’s a studio musician, and he already told me he remembers when I was three and visited the recording studio and ate four cookies and threw up. It’s going to be one of those nights—one of those ‘Oh, you’re Michael Marquand’s little boy!’ nights. And don’t get me started on the yold women here.”

“Yold?”

“Young/old. You know. They all have those smooth, unmoving foreheads and long hair and big breasts and tiny waists and dead eyes and bony necks.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“There are a lot of them here tonight and a couple of them are wearing very low-cut costumes and I can’t stop shuddering. And speaking of shuddering . . . look at Crystal.” He pulled on my sleeve to turn me in the right direction. “You understand why my father and I—and the house—all had to dress the way we did, right? It was all so she could look like that.”

She was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Her perfectly chiseled abdomen and narrow waist were shown off by a tight aqua-colored bandeau and matching hip-hugging harem pants. Her shining black hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail that was decorated with aqua ribbons, which matched her aqua headband. Her eyes were outlined in black and her lips were bright red. “She does look pretty amazing,” I said, staring in open admiration. “You have to admit.”

“Do I?” He considered her for a moment. She looked up while he was studying her and I saw their eyes meet. She pressed her lips together and quickly looked away. “Sorry,” he said, turning back to me and shaking his head. “I can’t. I just can’t. I mean, yes, I’m sure objectively she’s attractive. I just can’t get past the absolute Crystal-ness of her to appreciate it.”

“Well, I think she’s beautiful.”

“You are beautiful. She’s scary. Let’s see what’s on that tray. I’m hungry.”

The server holding the hors d’oeuvres was talking to someone in a plaid shirt whose back was to us but seemed weirdly familiar for a back.

We circled around.

“George?” I said, totally surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Pretty much the same as you,” he said. “Hey, Aaron.”

“Welcome,” said Aaron before turning to the caterer. “What’ve you got there?”

“Stuffed mushrooms.” She held out the tray so he could take one. “Finish what you were saying,” she said to George as Aaron considered his options.

“Nah, it’s okay,” George said.

“I wanted to hear the rest.”

“The rest of what?” I said. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m staff,” she said.

“Not you. Him.”

“Me?” George said. “I’m a farmer.” He was wearing jeans and that plaid shirt.

“That’s the laziest costume—you didn’t even get a hat!”

“I’m not into dressing up.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said. He was so out of context, it was weird. The girl was still gazing at him expectantly like she was waiting to hear what he had been saying when we interrupted.

“Jonathan brought me. He said it would be an amazing party. It is an amazing party,” he told Aaron, who shrugged.

“I can’t take any credit for it.” He pointed at the mushrooms. “What are they stuffed with?”

The server said, “Crab.”

“Weird,” Aaron said.

“They’re good. Try one.” She offered him the tray again, and Aaron selected a mushroom.

“I’m dubious,” he said, eyeing it.

“They’re delicious,” George said. “I ate like three, and I don’t like either mushrooms or crab.”

The server beamed at him. She was pretty. If you liked blonds with lots of makeup.

Aaron bit into the mushroom. “Ugh,” he said, and she held out the pile of napkins in her hand. He took one, wrapped the uneaten part in it, and carefully put the whole package on a side table. He turned to me. “Where to next, Ellie, my love?”

Before I could answer . . .

“Aaron!”

We all turned toward the new voice. Crystal approached us, her hands on her hips. “I was looking for you both. Ellie, your mother could use some help with Jacob.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, but don’t you think you should give her a break so she can enjoy the party?” She seemed a little disgusted with me for not having thought of that on my own. “I saw them out back.”

“Okay.”

Both guys started to follow me toward the French doors that led to the yard, but Crystal put her hand out to stop Aaron. “Hold on. I want you to talk to some of our other guests.”

“There’s only one person here I want to spend time with,” he said, which made me glance back. He caught my eye and winked at me.

I couldn’t hear Crystal’s response because she leaned in close to him and lowered her voice, but I could guess the tone of it from the scowl on her face. He dropped his eyes to the floor; it was probably impossible for Aaron to look sincerely contrite, but he did look a little less self-assured.

“Families,” I said to George as we walked away from them. “Am I right?”

“Yes,” he said. “You’re right. I have no idea what your point is, but I know you can’t be wrong.”

“It’s theoretically possible,” I said. “It’s just never happened.”

nineteen

We crept around the crowd, keeping to the edges of the room. I brushed my fingertips against the folds of silk lining the walls. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how long it must have taken to remove all of their paintings—they had a ton of art because Michael had once dated a very persuasive art curator—and cover the walls with all of this jewel-toned silk. Not to mention how much it must have cost.

“Oh, wait.” I halted. “Hold on a sec.” I crouched down and snaked my hand into my right boot.

“What are you doing?”

I stood up, now clutching my phone. “This is why slouchy boots were invented,” I said. “To hold cell phones.” I sent Mom a text asking if she needed my help with Jakie—and, if so, where I could find them—then glanced back up at George. “So were you enjoying your conversation with the server girl? You both seemed very into it. Sorry if we were interrupting something. Were we? Interrupting something?”

“Just a conversation,” he said. “Nothing important.”

“She was cute. You should totally get her number. Want me to get it for you? I could be very subtle about it.”

“Thank you, but I’m capable of managing my own social life.”

“Are you, though?” My phone buzzed and I glanced down at it. We’re fine. Enjoy yourself. “All’s well with Mom,” I said. I dropped the phone back into my boot. “Oh, look, there’s your brother and Izzy.”

“I found where the trays come out,” Jonathan crowed as we came up to them. Like George, he and Izzy had pretty minimal costumes. Theirs matched: cowboy hats, leather vests over white shirts, banda

“This is why I’m going to marry him,” Izzy told me. “He always figures this stuff out. I never go hungry at a party. Although I do go thirsty, because once he’s staked out a spot, he won’t let us leave it.”

“I’ll make a bar run,” George said. “What does everyone want?”

I asked for a Diet Coke, Izzy wanted wine, and Jonathan said he’d take a beer. I was happy to hang out with them, but Luke spotted me from across the room and beckoned, so he could introduce me to some guy in thick black glasses and a buzz cut—no costume—whose name I didn’t catch, but who asked me so many questions about school and my hopes for college that I felt like I was being given an oral exam.

The worst part was that someone else pulled Luke away, so I was stuck talking to the guy one-on-one, which made it hard to extricate myself. Fortunately Aaron suddenly appeared at my side.

“There you are!” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.” He slid his arm under mine. “You can’t monopolize her all night long, Samson,” he said, and my examiner held his hands up and said, “Wouldn’t dream of it—she’s all yours,” with an a