Kissed by an Angel

area, hoping to distract her. Then she yelled, 'Waller!' as Tristan went into his last turn. 'I think I'm getting into this,' she said, but it appeared Suzanne's thoughts were on Gregory now. This time, Ivy feared, Suzanne was in deep.

'He's looking at us,' Suzanne said excitedly. 'He's coming this way.'

Ivy felt herself tensing up.

'And the Chihuahua is following him.'

Gregory Why? Ivy wondered. What could have to say to her now after almost three months of ignoring her? In January she had learned quickly that Gregory would not acknowledge her presence. And as if bound by some silent agreement, neither he nor Ivy had advertised that his father was going to marry her mother. Few people knew that he and Ivy would be living in the same house come April.

'Hi, Ivy!' Twinkie was the first to speak. She squeezed herself in next to Ivy, ignoring Suzanne and barely glancing at Beth. 'I was just telling Gregory how we always sit near each other in music class.'

Ivy looked at the girl with surprise. She had never really noticed where Twinkie sat.

'He said he hasn't heard you play the piano. I was telling him how terrific you are.'

Ivy opened her mouth but could think of nothing to say. The last time she had played an original composition for the class, Twinkie had shown her appreciation by filing her nails.

Then Ivy felt Gregory's eyes on her. When she met his look, he winked. Ivy gestured quickly toward her friends and said, 'You know Suzanne Goldstein and Beth Van Dyke?'

'Not real well,' he said, smiling at each in turn.

Suzanne glowed. Beth focused on him with the interest of a researcher, her hand clicking away on the ballpoint.

'Guess what, Ivy? In April you won't be living far from my house. Not far at all,' Twinkie said.

'It will be a lot easier to study together now.'

Easier?

'I can give you a ride to school. It will be a quicker drive to your house.'

Quicker?

'Maybe we can get together more.'

More?

'Well, Ivy,' Suzanne exclaimed, batting her long, dark lashes, 'you never told me that you and Twinkie were such good friends! Maybe we can all get together more. You'd like to go to Twinkie's house, wouldn't you, Beth?'

Gregory barely suppressed his smile.

'We could have a sleepover, Twinkie.'

Twinkie didn't look enthused.

'We could talk about guys and vote on who's the hottest date around.' Suzanne turned her gaze upon Gregory, sliding her eyes down and up him, taking in everything. He continued to look amused.

'We know some other girls, from Ivy's old school in Norwalk,' Suzanne went on cheerily. She knew that Stonehill's high-class commuters to New York City would have nothing to do with blue-collar Norwalk. 'They'd love to come.

Then we can all be friends. Don't you think that would be fun?'

'Not really,' Twinkie said, and turned her back on Suzanne.

'Nice talking to you, Ivy. See you soon, I hope. Come on, Greg, it's crowded over here.' She tugged on his arm.

As Ivy turned back to the action in the pool Gregory caught her chin. With the tips of his fingers he tilted her face up toward him. He was smiling.

'Innocent Ivy,' he said. 'You look embarrassed. Why? It works both ways, you know. There are plenty of guys, guys I hardly know, who are suddenly talking like they're my best friends, who are counting on dropping by my house the first week of April. Why do you suppose that is?'

Ivy shrugged. 'You're part of the in crowd, I guess.'

'You really are innocent!' he exclaimed.

She wished that he would let go of her. She glanced past him to the next set of bleachers, where his friends sat. Eric Ghent and another guy were talking to Twinkie now and laughing. The ultra-cool Will O'Leary looked back at her.

Gregory withdrew his hand. He left with still bright with laughter. When Ivy turned back to the pool again, she saw that three rubber-capped guys in identical little swimsuits had been watching her. She had no idea which, if any, of them was Tristan.

Chapter 2

'I feel like a fool,' Tristan said, peeking through the diamond-shaped window in the door between the kitchen and the dining room of the college's Alumni Club. Candelabra were being lit and crystal stemware checked. In the large kitchen where he and Gary were standing, tables were laid out with polished fruit and hors d'oeuvres. Tristan had no idea what most of the hors d'oeuvres were or if they were to be served in any special way. He hoped simply that they and the champagne glasses would stay on the up side of his tray.

Gary was struggling with his cuff links. The cummerbund of his rental tuxedo kept unwrapping itself from his waist, its Velcro failing to stick. One of his shiny black shoes, a size too small, was tied with an emergency purple sneaker lace. Gary was a real friend, Tristan thought, to agree to this scheme.

'Remember, it's good money,' Tristan said aloud, 'and we need it for the Midwest meet.'

Gary grunted. 'We'll see what's left after we pay for the damages.'

'All of it!' Tristan replied with confidence. How hard could it be to carry this stuff around? He and Gary were swimmers. Their natural athletic balance had given them the right to fib about their experience when they interviewed with the caterer. A piece of cake, this job.

Tristan picked up a silver tray and surveyed his reflection. 'I don't just feel like a fool-I look like one.'

'You are one,' said Gary. 'And I want you to know I'm not that much of a fool to believe your line about earning money for the Midwest meet.'

'What do you mean?'

Gary snatched up a spaghetti mop and held it so its spongy strings flopped over his head. 'Oh, Tristy,' he said in a high-pitched voice, 'what a surprise to see you at my mother's wedding!'

'Shut up, Gary.'

'Oh, Tristy, put down that tray and dance with me.' Gary smiled and patted the mop's spongy head.

'Her hair doesn't look like that.'

'Oh, Tristy, I just caught my mother's bouquet. Let's run away and get married.'

'I don't want to marry her! I just want her to know I exist. I just want to go out with her. Once! If she doesn't like me, well…' Tristan shrugged as if it didn't matter, as if the worst crush he'd ever had in his life might really disappear overnight.

'Oh, Tristy-' 'I'm going to kick your-' The kitchen door swung open. 'Gentlemen,' said Monsieur Pompideau, 'the wedding guests have arrived and are ready to be served. Could Fortune be so smiling upon us that you two experienced garcons would be available to help serve them?'

'Is he being sarcastic?' Gary asked.

Tristan rolled his eyes, and they hurried to join the other waiters at their stations.

For the first ten minutes, Tristan occupied himself with watching the other workers, trying to learn his job. He knew that girls and women liked his smile, and he used it for all it was worth, especially when the caviar he was serving leaped like a fully evolved fish into an older woman's lap.

He worked his way around the large reception hall, searching for Ivy, sneaking peeks while big-bellied men unloaded his trays. Two of them went away wearing their drinks and muttering, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was Ivy. If he came face-to-face with her, what would he say? 'Have some crab balls?' Or perhaps, 'May I suggest le bailee de crabbe?'

Yeah, that would impress her.

What kind of guy had he turned into? Why should he, Tristan Carruthers, a guy hanging up in a hundred girls'