Jack With a Twist

of my left shoe.

“That would be correct,” Vanessa says.

“Then what am I paying you for?” I ask, as we start walking to the door.

“You’re not paying me,” Vanessa reminds me.

“It’s just an expression,” I say. “I just can’t believe you don’t have any dirt at all.”

“What am I paying you for is not an expression,” Vanessa says to me as she holds the door open for me to leave the ladies’ room. “It’s a nasty way of saying—”

“Well, hiya, ladies!” Miranda says, her Southern accent milked for full effect, strolling into the ladies’ room. “How are y’all doing? This is quite a bridal shower, Brooke. Where I come from we don’t have bridal showers like this.”

“Me, neither,” I mumble under my breath. I wanted my bridal shower to be small, but Jack’s family insisted on inviting nearly every woman that’s invited to the wedding to the shower. We either had to hold it here at Mega, or at Madison Square Garden.

“Jack’s sisters must really love Brooke if they threw a shower like this for her,” Vanessa says with a smile. “We really should be getting out of here, though. We’ll see you out there!” Vanessa grabs me by the elbow and leads me out to the party room.

“Here she is,” Jack’s sister, Lisa, announces as soon as Vanessa and I enter the room, “the woman of the hour, Brooke!”

Everyone turns around and oohs and aahs at me, and all I can think is, who are half of these people? My idea of the perfect bridal shower is a couple of friends and tons of family gathered together in someone’s home. Vanessa had wanted to throw a small tasteful shower in her apartment, but that idea was quickly vetoed by the sisters Solomon. Instead, in grand Solomon tradition, they have made for me the mother of all bridal showers, the bridal shower that ate Cleveland. Actually, the party room here at Mega is so incredibly large that most of Cleveland could probably fit inside. When I first walked into the party room, I noticed a sign announcing that the room’s capacity is 325. I’m quite certain that we are pushing that limit today.

So, I didn’t exactly get the shower I wanted, and I most certainly didn’t get the guest list that I wanted. When Jack realized what a large-scale affair the shower was becoming, he quickly decided that he had to make sure that his female work colleagues were invited so that no one would take offense. Which really makes no sense to me since Jack’s already a partner and once you’re a partner in a law firm, can’t you just do as you please?

Well, Jack doesn’t seem to think so. Which is why Miranda Foxley, the man stealer, was invited (and had the nerve to show up and no, I do not think that she came just to try to be my friend, I think that she came because she is undoubtedly trying to steal my man and lull me into a false sense of security just before she pounces on said man). Along with a bunch of other female partners and associates who I really wish weren’t here, either.

I survey the twenty-something tables that have been set up, each with an ornate floral arrangement floating on top.

It is a total and complete sensory overload. The smell of the peonies overpowers me and makes me sneeze. Vanessa doesn’t seem to notice as she meets and greets various Gilson, Hecht associates and partners, along with some of our girlfriends from law school. But for me, the room is a swirly mess, from the forty-foot-high ceilings, to the bright orange linens dressing the tables, to the massive table of multicolored presents. I can barely get my eyes to focus.

Mega’s party room has a Cirque de Soleil theme, so the chairs are dressed in a deep magenta and the carpet is purple and yellow. At the end of the bar, there is a giant martini glass (with the requisite giant olive placed inside) and the wait staff are all dressed as court jesters in hot pink and teal.

“Let’s leave our bags on our chairs,” Vanessa says, “okay, Brooke?”

As Vanessa leads me toward our table, my eyelids begin to droop. It dawns on me that for the last two weeks, the most sleep I’ve gotten on any one given night was about three to four hours. Now, this should have been because Jack and I were making up the whole time after the debacle at the Pierre, and to be sure, that’s partly it, but what’s really drawing my eyes downward is the fact that I’ve been working nonstop. I’ve been working on the Monique case for fourteen hours a day, weekends included. I’m exhausted all day long, just praying, waiting for the moment when I can get into bed, but then when I finally get under the covers, I’m too exhausted to actually go to sleep.

Even Vanessa noticed it this morning, when she picked me up for our hair appointments, not-so-subtly suggesting that I get my makeup done to hide the circles under my eyes. (“You can’t show up at your own bridal shower looking like the Bride of Frankenstein.”)

We get to our table and Vanessa puts her place card on top of her plate and her gold Chanel clutch on her chair. I pull my chair out and plop down in it.

“Are you okay?” Vanessa asks, leaning down to whisper into my ear.

“I’m just so tired,” I say, putting my hands over my eyes. “And this Technicolor Dreamcoat mess is not helping me to relax.”

“It’s fun,” Vanessa says, trying to sound optimistic. “The decor is fun.”

With my eyes still closed, hands over my eyes, I hear Vanessa call over a waiter and order an iced coffee for me. So, basically now, in addition to her maid of honor duties of spying on the groom, Vanessa also has to rally the bride at her own shower. I’m sure at Vanessa’s own shower she was a happy, well-rested bride who did not look like she was about to pass out. I’m sure she was a gracious bride who knew all of her guests.

“Rocket fuel is on its way,” Vanessa whispers and I hear her pull out her chair and sit down next to me. She takes my place card out of my limp hand and puts it onto the table.

“So, you must be Vanessa,” Jack’s middle sister, Elizabeth, says. I manage to pull my head off my hands and open my eyes.

“I am,” Vanessa says, with a smile, standing to shake Elizabeth’s hand.

“I’m Elizabeth,” she says, “Jack’s sister.”

“Yes,” Vanessa says, “Middle sister, married to Alan. Did I get that right?”

As I look over at Vanessa in her bright orange Milly dress chatting effortlessly with Jack’s sister, actually remembering who she is and which brother-in-law she corresponds to, I realize that I hate Vanessa. I hate my best friend. Jack’s been briefing me on who’s who for months now, and I still can’t get it straight. Jack told Vanessa who everyone was last night at dinner and she’s already a pro.

But then the waiter brings me my iced coffee (my fourth of the day so far), with two Sweet-n-Lows and skim milk, just the way I like it, and I love her again. I love my best friend. I drink the iced coffee in two big slurps, careful not to spill any onto my white shift dress, and then move in on the ice water at my table setting. Picking it up (I was instructed by Vanessa that I cannot walk around with anything but clear-colored beverages while wearing a white dress), I walk over to Vanessa and Elizabeth, ready to start acting like the charming bride-to-be that I know I can be. If only I weren’t quite so tired.

I notice that Vanessa is smiling at Elizabeth with her lawyerly I’m-so-excited-to-work-on-this-lame-ass- case-with-you face and I realize that she’s just making nice with Jack’s family for me. I guess she really does deserve to be my maid of honor. Or matron. Whatever.

“We worked really hard on those,” Elizabeth is saying to Vanessa, just as Lisa, the youngest sister walks over to join us.

“Yes,” Lisa says, “we wanted them to be evocative of the flowers we’ll be having at the wedding, but not the same exact ones, so that the real flowers will be a big surprise!”

Vanessa already knows, in painstaking detail, what flowers I’ve picked out for my wedding. She’s segued into the classic you-are-so-funny-and-clever-in-the-way-that-you-handled-that-judge/witness/child-under-the- age-of-five! face and I do the same. Yes, you were so clever with the flowers, sisters Solomon!

“Are you Lisa?” Vanessa says, eyes squinting as she waits to hear if she’s guessed right.

“Yes!” Lisa says, “you must be Vanessa.” Vanessa will later tell me that everyone guessed she was Vanessa since she was one of the only black people there. I will take this not as an indictment on me and the types of friends that I have, but as an indictment of Gilson, Hecht, and law firms in general, and how they really need to make more affirmative action initiatives in terms of hiring.

“There you are!” my mother says, rushing over to Vanessa and me. “I’ve been