“We did.”
Zack did not explain why he had driven past the party, and I decided to pretend that all the guys I dated found me so fascinating that they drove past their destinations.
The pink “Happy 17th Birthday” balloons led us up a stairway to the second floor of the restaurant. Zack was carrying a square package wrapped in pink and gold.
“Was I supposed to bring a present?”
“I’ve got us covered,” he said.
I wondered what he had selected and so thoughtfully wrapped in what appeared to be Erika’s favorite color. In the restaurant pink roses wreathed a pink candle at the center of each table. Men in white jackets were setting up a long buffet with pink tapers and flowers. Close to the buffet sat a table of relatives — at least that’s what they looked like: some middle-aged parental types, plus an old man and a youngish woman with a toddler. A DJ was working a soundboard close to a dance floor on the opposite side of the room from the relatives. Erika’s friends were also staying as far from “the relatives” as possible.
At the center of the room was a table with a mound of gifts. I hoped we didn’t have to sit and watch Erika open each one — she had invited maybe sixty of her closest friends.
“Let me get rid of this,” Zack said, moving toward the pile.
It reminded me of an altar, with a portrait-size photograph of Erika sitting on an easel in the center of the offerings.
As Zack placed his gift in the pile, I heard the girl next to me say, “I can’t believe all the people she invited. I can’t believe she invited me.”
“Don’t be naive,” her friend replied. “Erika doesn’t like us any more than she used to. She’s scared, that’s all. We weren’t cool enough to be part of her game, and now she’s afraid that somebody she snubbed is going to snitch. This is bribery, nothing else.”
“It’s expensive bribery.”
“So? Daddy’s paying for it.”
“But does anybody who wasn’t part of the game actually know enough to snitch? Does anyone have proof, anyone have a copy of the riddles she sent?”
At that point Zack returned. He smiled and said hello to the girls, then pulled me away from the information I had come for. I glanced back over my shoulder.
“Sorry. Did you want to talk to them?” he asked.
“No. No thanks.” Not with him around.
“It will be cooler outside,” he said.
The party had spilled onto a wide deck that faced the river. As Zack and I worked our way toward the deck, I became increasingly aware of people turning to look at me. I reminded myself I was in a town small enough for everyone to know everyone else; naturally, kids would notice a stranger. And maybe my arrival with Zack had given me celebrity status. Perhaps everyone was wondering what was going on, since it was Erika’s party and she was obviously interested in him. My wry enjoyment of the moment ended abruptly, when I turned my head and met the gaze of my stalker. He smiled — if stretching your lips in a way that lacks any humor or friendliness can be called smiling.
“Let’s get something to drink,” Zack said, steering me away from him.
The guy next to the stalker whispered to his friend, then said aloud, “That’s got to be the old psycho’s niece. Look at the hair.”
A nervous titter followed his “accidentally” loud remark.
“Ignore him,” Zack said quietly.
At that moment someone tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned around.
“Hi, I’m Erika.” Without waiting for me to say hello, she slid between Zack and me, and, raising her arms, looped them around his neck. She kissed him on the mouth, lingering there longer than just-a-friend would. I watched the way her dark, silky hair fell straight down her long back until it brushed Zack’s hands. When she turned to face me, she leaned back against him, just enough that he would have to be aware of her hair, her shoulders, her butt, and whatever else those things made him think of. I stared at her, not because of the way she had moved in and kissed him, but because I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that three nights ago, while being invisible to her, with my body home in bed, I had looked at her face as closely as I was looking now.
“I’m Erika Gill. It’s my birthday,” she said, as if I didn’t recognize her as the most important person there.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Oh, it was Zack who invited you,” she replied. “He likes you. He really likes you.”
I nodded, careful not to look at him and trying hard not to get mad. “I get along with just about everybody.”
“He keeps talking about you, so I said, ‘Zack, just ask her, ask her.’” Erika, who was wearing heels to die for, was taller than I by six inches and had the body of a model. She made a show of leaning down to whisper to me. “He can’t take his eyes off of you.”
I was ready to deny it, then got a better idea. Making a show of standing on my toes, I whispered back, “I know.”
She stared down at me; I cheerfully smiled up her nose.
“Why don’t you get her something to drink, Zack?” she said coolly, and moved on.
“So what would you like?” Zack asked, his voice neutral, as if he had not seen or heard any of what had just transpired between me and Erika. Guys can be so weird.
“Anything but spring water,” I told him. “I just saw a tray of crab balls heading out to the deck. Do you want me to catch a few?”
“Sounds good,” he said. “The drink line is long. I’ll meet you back here.”
I took my time getting to the waiter. It occurred to me that I might be spending the evening chasing down men with trays if I was to get myself free enough to eavesdrop.
My first two efforts turned up nothing but a lot of useless info about who was dating or cheating on whom. When Zack and I were on the outside deck, which under other circumstances would have been terribly romantic, and I went after the third tray of hors d’oeuvres, Zack said to me, “You know, we’re getting dinner.”
“I don’t usually eat this late,” I replied, and hurried off.
Since there were plenty of girls willing to take my place with Zack, it wasn’t that hard to escape.
For the last hour I had been secretly watching the stalker, who, when I had Zack by my side, was not as interested in me. I had just caught the look he had sent to a guy across the deck, the slight flick of the head, and the catlike way he moved toward a railing as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him, before he dropped out of sight — down a set of steps, I realized. A minute later the guy across the deck headed for the same stairs. Then I did. I had no idea what I was going to do if they turned and confronted me. Jump in the river, maybe.
I took off my heels at the top of the wooden steps so they wouldn’t click. Halfway down to the first level, I was relieved to see there were people sitting on the lower deck, and beyond glass doors there was a dining room. My eyes swept the deck. I positioned myself behind a waiter’s station and looked more carefully a second time. The guys must have gone inside.
The doors and windows on the first floor of the restaurant were closed, which meant I’d call attention to myself entering the dining room from the deck side. I walked to the end of the deck, climbed over the railing, and jumped three feet down to the lot below. After slipping my heels back on, I headed for the restaurant’s main entrance and followed a group of diners inside, a man and woman with little kids who kept poking each other. Standing behind them at the hostess desk, I saw my stalker and his friend in a booth against a wall. The wall was about four feet tall and decorated with bushel baskets and nets, orange crabs climbing all over them, which looked dumb because crabs are blue when they’re still able to move. But I was grateful for the decor, especially when I saw that a hallway to the restrooms ran behind that wall.
“May I help you?” the suntanned hostess asked me.
“Where is your ladies’ room?”
She pointed to the hallway.
“Thanks.”
