The non-band is a hit in more ways than one. Everybody is dancing, loving the music, and it seems the gathering of young men in ill-fitting tuxes is enough to inspire swooning. Within forty minutes of the program there is actually a gathering of groupies that sways like a cluster of reeds in front of the musicians. I see Haley toss her handkerchief on the stage. Tess later tells me that Haley’s email address is written on it in lipstick.
Family members of current and former residents also join in the fun, taking in the displays and sharing their memories. As a nod to the system, I have placed my suggestion box on the exhibit table with a note encouraging folks to write down a favorite story or incident at Golden Horizons. For once maybe I will receive happy reading material.
Much of my time is spent tending to details and troubleshooting. We run out of seating, so Lysa and I headed to the storage room to round up old folding chairs and benches. Twice, the sparkling cider fountain clogs from the pennies thrown in by people mistaking it for a wishing well. The caterers almost serve Perry the fish platter, which surely would have killed him. The man collects live fish because he cannot dine on them.
The evening is almost over before I have a chance to see Tess in her incredible Versace dress. Spectacular. She is the belle of the ball. The color of her cheeks gives her an adolescent glow. The men keep asking her to dance, and the classy dame keeps accepting. She snaps her fingers to favorite tunes as her partners lead her across the entire length of the room. And though this evening is a mere shadow of her glory days in New York, it is more than enough to give her joy.
Breathless, she saunters over to where Lysa and I stand. “Picture time, my dear, before this old woman faints.”
“Yes. I almost forgot. Shall we?”
My date and I walk over to the backdrop adorned with cutouts of shooting stars. The photographer positions us a bit closer to one another. I usually stand a couple inches taller than Tess, but this wisp of a woman has finished off her look with a pair of knockout heels. “Mother and daughter shots are my favorite,” smiles the photographer’s assistant, a tall, thin woman wearing a black shift with pearls.
Tess peals with delight at this mistake. “She does have my style, doesn’t she?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ve been wanting to dance with Tess all evening.” Walter bows to me first and then to Tess. “Shall we?”
“It’s hard to see my mom dating again,” I say to Lysa.
“Watch out. Crazy quilt cometh. I repeat, crazy quilt cometh,” Lysa whispers out the side of her mouth. I nonchalantly look to the left and am tempted to run to the right. But my pride stops me. I have nothing to run from. I dare her to criticize this evening.
“There’s a shrimp shortage, platter number three.” This is her greeting.
I just smile. I dare you, Rae. I dare you to not like this party.
“We will get right on that.” I keep my composure because if that is the only thing she can find to complain about, I have won.
“It’s incredible, don’t you think?” Lysa leads Rae toward unknown territory…a compliment. I tried this when I was wet behind the ears and naive. It always backfires.
Rae puffs up her chest and looks about the room as if she hadn’t noticed that a smoothly run party was going on around her. But now that we have brought it to her attention, she must take it in to make her judgment. She leaves rash decision making for online purchases only.
“I do think it is going well…”
Nothing she can say will change the fact that she just acknowledged that I, Mari Hamilton, have pulled off the event of the year. I, Mari Hamilton, have…
“Beau saved the day.”
Except that. Sock-to-the-gut feeling returns and pushes out my optimism with a force that throws me against the wall. “What!” I am tempted to grab this larger-than-life-sized Cabbage Patch Doll and shake her. This woman assumes that I used Beau’s notes. I work night and day on this so that people can give her praise, and she turns the appreciation back to my predecessor. No more. I can take this no more.
“Rae, for your information, I did not use one idea from Beau’s file. Not one. All this…” I circle my arms like a child playing whirlybird so she is sure to get my point. “All of this is my doing. Tess did the fantastic display, but all else…mine.” I thump my chest like an alpha male gorilla.
I hear a faint “Go, girl” comment from Lysa, but Rae shifts her weight with displeasure and discomfort. After all of this she still does not take me seriously. She looks at me with disdain and pity. Nothing I do will erase the bright memory of Beau.
“Mari, one thing you have yet to learn about serving people is that it isn’t all about you. Nobody does this work alone.” She shakes her head and walks out onto the dance floor. She grabs the frailest man within reach and forces him to dance with her.
“Don’t go, Mari. This is your night…don’t let her win…” Lysa shouts down the hallway, but I have gathered my skirt and am running before the tears can start. I know it isn’t just this scene. I am used to Rae’s harsh style by now. It is everything. And it is nothing going as planned in my life.
I don’t stop until I am outside in the large courtyard with our own man-made Golden Pond. My favorite spot awaits me, and I plunk down on a bench centered on the foot bridge. I sit for a while as silent sobs rise up and escape into the warm night.
“Give me something, God. I’ll even settle for Sadie’s former theory…one part of my life can stink…but not all. Not all at once. Give me something.” I’m not usually a talk-out-loud kind of drama queen, but I am dressed for the part and nobody is out here…
“Will punch do?” Piano man is out here. He must have come out just in time to hear me. We are both embarrassed.
He hands me one of two crystal glasses. “I’m sorry that I barged in on your personal—”
“Breakdown?” I wave my hand in the air casually. “Don’t worry about that. You’d be hard-pressed to find me when I’m not in the middle of one these days.” My breath shudders as my lungs try to catch up poststorm.
“I was going to say prayer. It sounded like a prayer.”
“Maybe if I did more of that, I would be doing less of this.” I can only imagine how pathetic and puny I look right about now.
“I hear you. I’m sure he did too.” He points up at the sky with his glass.
“You guys are a hit. Rae was smart to request your group. The residents love you.” I inconspicuously wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
“Thanks. It feels good to be here. I love seeing them smile as they recognize each song.” He sits down next to me hesitantly. I nod, giving him permission, and he turns toward me with eyes that melt my tension, “Can I ask what you really want? That sounded less like a request and more like a plea for mercy.”
I start to speak but remember that he knows Rae. “I can’t say. It’s about a lot of things lately, but a part of it relates to a friend of yours and I wouldn’t feel right.”
“Let me guess…our Queen Rae? If it makes you feel better, we are more acquaintances. I don’t think she exactly cultivates friendships, do you?” We both laugh at this ordinary yet absurd idea. He doesn’t seem to be looking at the door longingly or searching his mind for an excuse to leave. “I’ve got a few more minutes before our break is over. I’m all yours.”
“There might be a riot if they can’t dance. You don’t know how tough this crowd is.”
“Ahh. You see, we thought of that. We have Sinatra spinning on the turntable right now. I figure I have…” he looks at his watch, “at least ten minutes before they join forces and revolt. I personally prefer Sinatra.” He strains his neck toward the faint sounds from inside. We can just make out the song “Fly Me to the Moon.”
“So…would you want to…” He moves his torso in a slow dance rhythm. A grimace follows his smile. He’s changed his mind already.
Don’t change your mind.
I say yes just as he says, “That wasn’t a very smooth invitation for a girl who is having a difficult night. Sorry.”
My acceptance of his bad invitation surprises him. He leaps up and places his glass on the bench. His hand extends to greet mine, and he pulls me toward him with practiced flair.
For the two remaining minutes of the song, we are circling the small space of the bridge together. I’m thankful for all those dance lessons we have had at Golden Horizons over the years. I do not stumble, nor stub my toe on his.
“Do you think tonight is successful? You have probably played at lots of fancy shindigs, but for an anniversary party at a retirement home…how would you rate tonight?” I’m obviously leading the guy into a one-answer corner. He did, after all, witness my personal waterworks display beside a man-made waterway.
“The best night ever. And not just for a retirement home version of a party. I’ve never seen people respond so well to each aspect of a gathering. The exhibit, the photos, the clothing display…”
The song ends, and we return to the bench like teens at a school mixer. We don’t have much time left before he must return to the piano. For some reason I am determined to focus on the negative of this night rather than the possible romance of this moment.
“Me too. I mean, I think that too. It has gone so well, and yet Rae cannot acknowledge that. In fact, she not only won’t compliment me, but she gives all the credit to some guy who has not worked here in years. She thinks the details are ideas from his file, and…and…I can’t take it anymore. I can’t compete with the golden boy of Golden Horizons.” My hands fold into fists and I hate how out of control I feel in front of this really lovely guy, who probably just came out for some air.
He looks surprised by my emotional rant and then smiles ever so slightly.
“That’s crazy. You should set her straight. Clearly this memorable gala is not the work of Beau, who, between you and me, knows diddly about pulling off these things.”
My mind is scanning my words. Did I mention Beau by name? I certainly hadn’t meant to. “Please don’t tell Rae about this. Sadly, I will not be leaving my position here as soon as I had hoped. I’m stuck until…wait a minute…” I finally get what his comment means. “You don’t know him too, do you?”
“If this were a movie, I’d string this out for another ten scenes so we could have zany run-ins with very Shakespearean moments of mistaken identity, but I’d rather not waste time that could be used getting to know you.”
The fact that I am still confused at this point only serves to point out how distraught I am.
He reaches for my hand, lifts it to his lips, kisses it, and says, “I’m Beau. And your friend Lysa told me who you are because I asked to see two people…the person who planned this incredible evening enjoyed by everyone, including Rae, and the beautiful girl in the amazing dress who helped me with my tie.”
I pull my hand back and stand up. My stance is shaky, and I realize I have not eaten anything yet. My head throbs from crying martyr tears. I have to brace myself against the wooden rail of the bridge.
“And though this won’t surprise you, I was amazed to discover that those two fantastic people are one and the same. Her name is Mari Hamilton. And here she is, doubting herself when she has pulled off,” he searches above to pluck the right word from the same sky I was cursing minutes ago, “a miracle.”
I position myself toward the door that leads back to the center and quickly assess that it will take many awkward steps to exit. It will be better if he leaves first. “I’m feeling pretty stupid about now…” I cannot speak his name. “Could you leave me alone? I do…I do appreciate your effort, and the punch.” In the gut. “But I’m afraid nothing can rescue this evening.”
Not even your beautiful eyes and a perfect dance.
He stands near me for a few moments. As I look at the ground, Beau gazes at the water. I’m feeling dumber and more childish by the second. I want to start the entire evening over and retrace my actions so that I could be standing here, with him, sipping punch and laughing about the coincidence. But I can’t. It’s too late to be a grown-up.
He then walks away, not with a stride of defeat but rather a stalled “what just happened” gait. Rae’s point was valid. The band did make the event. Beau and his band are responsible for elevating the evening I planned to a more magical experience.
For now, my pride does not allow me to accept the other more upsetting truth: I really like this guy. And that just cannot be. You don’t get a crush on the enemy.
The automatic door opens to allow Beau to disappear into the building. Sinatra’s voice wafts over to where I sit. For a brief moment I am surrounded by upbeat, catchy music and lyrics…“Luck be a lady tonight…”
If I could just make nice with irony, maybe it would stop ruling my life.