After Lois raced off to play nine holes of golf, my time at my desk crawled by. Henry’s invitation nagged at me like an itchy mosquito bite that I swore I wouldn’t scratch.
Of course I won’t go, I told myself. But five minutes later, I found myself contemplating what I might wear if I changed my mind.
Around three, my phone line lit up. I picked up the receiver to hear Tim tell me how much he’d enjoyed spending the evening with “such an incredible lady.”
“Have you changed your mind about coming over to my folks’ for dinner?” he asked. He was still helping his father clean out the garage while they listened to the game on the radio, but when they finished I could drive over for some of his mother’s fried chicken. The invitation sounded awfully dear. Another example of what a nice guy he was. But I wasn’t ready to be scrutinized under a parental magnifying glass.
“My art teacher’s throwing a party,” I said. “I think I’d better put in an appearance.”
“Then you’ll have to come over another time. They really want to meet you.”
“You told them about me?”
“Sure.”
After I hung up, I called Laurie to ask if she was going to Henry Marsh’s party.
“No can do,” she said. “Dave and I are off to a black-tie fund-raising auction. I wish you were here to tell me if my favorite little dress still looks good after all the food I’ve been devouring the past few weeks.”
“I could come over.” I enjoyed looking through Laurie’s wardrobe. She owned more clothes than any woman I knew, and the figure to show them off.
“That’s sweet of you, but no. Spend the time getting yourself prettied up and go to the party.”
“What if Phil and Darla are there?” Of course, they would be. My stomach clenched at the thought of seeing Darla. “I couldn’t face them again without a date.”
“Isn’t he your ex? Don’t let that guy have so much influence over you. Go.”
If I didn’t run into someone I knew from class, I could always leave, I promised myself while driving to Henry’s studio. Once more, I was obliged to park my car a block away. As I neared the studio on foot, I could hear music and voices. Recalling my last visit there, I froze for a moment. No, this would be different. And mingling was a great way to meet new clients.
I figured no one would hear my knocking. I pulled the front door open and a billow of warm air smelling of sweet-and-sour sauce and shrimp floated out. Ahead loomed a crowd of strangers. Nobody seemed to notice my entrance. Forgetting my pep talk, I felt small and alone—like an outsider who had no business being there. I backed out and slowly shut the door. Descending the first step, I saw Phil coming up the walkway.
“Hey, this is great,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. You’re not leaving already, are you?” He wore a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, giving him the carefree look of a man on vacation. He reached past me, opened the door wide, and made a gesture for me to enter.
There was little free space for us to wade in. Most of Henry’s paintings were stacked out of the way to accommodate the gathering of fifty or so people. An old wooden door set on two sawhorses served as a table and lay heaped with trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.
Phil, walking ahead of me, exchanged hellos with several people. Across the room I spied Henry, who stood chatting with several young women, among them Rhonda from class. Besides them, I recognized no one. My first impulse to leave had been a good one.
Phil slowed his pace to speak to me. “Margo, I’m worried about Rob,” he said, but he appeared too happy to be worried.
“A few days ago, he told me everything was going fine.” That was a slight exaggeration. Rob rarely spoke in superlatives, and our most recent conversation lasted two minutes. “He said he’d just taken a math exam. He could be worried about his grades.”
“Maybe. But the guy seems mighty homesick.”
I tried to recall Rob’s tone of voice. “He didn’t sound that way to me.” My son had yet to tell me he missed me, or home.
“I think he’s more Andrea-sick than anything. He misses that girl terribly.” In other words, Rob opened up to Phil and not me.
“He’ll find a new girlfriend,” I said. “Eighteen is too young to be in a serious relationship.”
A woman wearing black-rimmed glasses swooped by carrying a plate piled high with goodies. “I love your new work,” she told Phil. “Give me a call or stop by the gallery so we can talk.”
“Thanks, I’ll do it.” He turned back to me, but his attention seemed to be elsewhere. He was probably anticipating his honey’s arrival.
“Where’s Darla?” I asked.
“She had something to do tonight.” He waved at a man just walking in. “Sorry, there’s someone over there I need to talk to. I’ll see you later.”
He took off, leaving me standing alone. I searched for an opening in a conversation, but all the tight circles of people appeared impenetrable. Working my way between groups, I came to the food table. I selected two shrimp puffs and an egg roll and arranged them on a plate like a happy face. I clunked several ice cubes into a tall glass and filled it with diet Pepsi until the bubbles threatened to topple over the side. Hands full, I wandered to the window and stared at the darkening bay. After several minutes of forced appreciation, I allowed my eyes to casually find my host.
Henry now stood with his arm around the shoulder of a pretty blonde. Out of nowhere, a strange sadness engulfed me. The room was sweltering, and my forehead felt damp. I set down my plate of uneaten food and
