One

Bobby steered his minivan down Greenville Avenue, trying to think of a single justification for the continued existence of debutante balls. A fruitless mental exercise. Debutante balls were boring, ostentatious, offensive, and in this case, mandatory.

He turned left, passed through a checkpoint, and drove down a long driveway. It didn’t help any that this ball was being held at the Green Hollow Country Club. Bobby wasn’t a member, couldn’t afford to be a member, and wouldn’t have been accepted as a member if he could afford to be a member. Just as well. Spending forty thousand dollars to get access to a golf course in Dallas was just insane. And he should know.

He pulled up beside the front doors of the country club. Two young men in matching suits immediately steeped forward to greet them.

“Do you realize you didn’t speak to me once during the entire drive”

Bobby glanced over at Siobhan. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just…thinking.” Actually, he had forgotten she was there.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might like to share in your thoughts?”

“Let’s not argue in front of the valets.” He stepped out of the car.

Siobhan pulled at her slip, then awkwardly attempted to push herself through the door. The nearest valet offered a hand and essentially hauled her out of the car. “I don’t know why we had to come to this travesty anyway,” she said. “You know I won’t enjoy it.” She smoothed the glittering black gown over the rounded arc of her stomach. The gown could hide many things, but not the fact that Siobhan was over seven months pregnant.

“I know I won’t enjoy it,” Bobby replied. He took her arm and walked her toward the club entrance. “That’s not the point. It’s business. Stonecipher insisted.”

Siobhan checked herself in the glass in the door. “I hate that. I didn’t think you went to med school for seven years so you could become somebody’s flunky. You work in his building, for God’s sake. You’re not his slave.”

“It’s not a matter of slavery. It’s common business sense. Besides, who knows? I might pick up a patient or two.”

“Give me a break, Bobby. We’ve been to these debutante boreathons all summer. When did they ever once get you a patient?”

“There’s always a first time. I have to start bringing in more patients. Stonecipher’s going to boot me out of the clinic and give all my patients to Sheila if I don’t start generating larger fees.”

“Jesus! This sounds more like Wall Street than a medical clinic. And from a place that calls itself the Healing Arts.” She pulled back on his arm. “Slow down, would you? It’s not easy walking in high heels.”

“Sorry. I was in a hurry to get this over with. Try to move a little faster.”

“But I’m pregnant!”

Bobby sighed. How long had she been expecting? How long had she been able to justify anything with the phrase “But I’m pregnant”? It seemed forever.

“Even if you thought you had to come tonight,” Siobhan continued, “there was no reason why I needed to.”

“I couldn’t attend a society bash like this without my wife.”

“Why not? I think you just wanted to humiliate me. Because I’m fat and ugly.”

“Sheeby, you are not ugly.”

“Oh, I see. But I am fat. Is that what you’re implying?”

“Sheeby, you’re pregnant. You’re supposed to be fat.”

Her lips pressed tightly together. “You never told me I was fat when I was carrying Janie.”

“And I still haven’t told—“ He stopped. A tall butler in full tails smiled politely and, after he had their attention, showed them into the main ballroom.

The ballroom was extraordinary—cavernous, crowded, and crimson. Everything was red. Hundreds of red balloons were spread throughout the room. Sprays of red gladiolus were placed at each table. The tablecloths were red; the area rugs were red. The men in the six-piece jazz band were wearing matching red uniforms. The ballroom looked as if it were bleeding.

“Any guesses as to Brandi’s favorite color?” Siobhan asked.

“No comment.” Bobby plucked a matchbook from an ashtray on a table beside him. The matchbook cover was red and had BRANDI embossed on the front, with a small heart over the i instead of a dot.

Bobby heard his wife giggle.

“What is it now?” he asked.

She continued giggling. “Look for yourself.”

Bobby wrenched his eyes from the decorations and scrutinized the guests. In a flash he realized that every other man in the room was wearing a black tuxedo. He was wearing a brown suit.

“Sheeby, did the invitation say black tie?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I never saw it. You made our RSVP.”

“None of the others have been black tie,” he muttered. He pulled the invitation out of his suit pocket. Sure enough. Black tie.

He felt miserable. How was he going to make a favorable impression in a brown suit in a room of silk tuxes? He examined Siobhan. Her gown was perfectly suitable. He alone looked like an idiot. He wondered if she knew all along and intentionally didn’t tell him.

“Let’s just forget it,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

“Oh, no,” Siobhan insisted. “You brought me this far. Let’s go smoke out some patients.”

Bobby returned her wry smile. “First I’m going to smoke out a drink.”

“If you were the least bit supportive, you wouldn’t drink when you know I can’t. You’d say, ‘No thanks. We’re pregnant.’”

“Oh, right!” He wandered off toward the champagne table, leaving Siobhan behind. “On second thought, I’m gonna smoke out two drinks.”

 

*****

 

Bobby stood next to the champagne table and caught occasional snatches of chitchat from the stream of guests passing by. “Who do you think designed her dress” “Do you like the décor?” “It’s terribly red, n’est-ce pas?” “Is this ball bigger than Peri’s ball last week? Yes, it must be. Brandi would insist.”

Bobby spotted a friend and colleague standing next to a food table on the other side of the room. Paul Reiger was the clinic’s proctologist; as a result, at Healing Arts he was, in effect, the butt of many jokes. Tonight, though, even he had the sense to wear a tux.

Paul was lost in conversation with a tall, dark-haired woman. Bobby didn’t recognize her, but she definitely wasn’t Paul’s wife, Julie. The woman appeared to make a clever remark. Paul appeared to feign hearty laughter.

After a few minutes the woman left. Bobby strolled over to chat with Paul.

“Hey, Dr. Reiger. How goes it?”

Paul looked at Bobby, then at his clothes. He noticed, but he didn’t say anything. Now there’s a friend.

“Oh, I’m fine.” He tugged at his bow tie. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

“It’s just you, Paul.”

“Great. Thanks. Must be that extra fifteen pounds I’m carrying.” He pressed his hands against his stomach. “So what do you think of the ball?” Paul asked.

“I think it’s very…red.”

“Red is Brandi’s favorite color,” Paul said matter-of-factly.

“Coulda fooled me.” Bobby took a step closer to Paul and adopted an air of confidentiality. “What do you think all this cost Stonecipher?”

“I’d say sixty K, minimum. Probably more.”

“Hard to believe Stonecipher would spring for this.”

“You saying he’s cheap?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “I’m a psychiatrist, Paul. I’m saying he suffers from nummamorousness.”

“Ah. That sounds much more scientific.”

Bobby nodded. “I hope to God Janie never becomes a debutante.”

Paul made a small chortling noise. “No chance.”

Bobby decided to let that observation pass unchallenged.

“How’s Siobhan doing?”

“Oh, she’s fine.”

“Fine? Bobby, your wife is pregnant, remember? What about crabbiness? Swollen ankles? Morning sickness?”

“Morning sickness? Yeah, she’s morning sick. And afternoon sick and evening sick.”

“Howdy, pardners,” a voice behind Bobby boomed. “Ah sure am glad you could make it to my li’l hoedown.”

Bobby felt a hand slam down on his shoulder. It was Dr. Joseph Stonecipher, owner and president of the Dallas Healing Arts Medical Clinic.

“It’s a wonderful party, Joseph,” Paul said. “Very elegant.”

“Well, Mother and I tried to do our best for our li’l girl,” he said. He was tall, thin, and wiry; his sparse silver hair was combed straight back. “It’s quite an honor to be chosen to be a debutante in Dallas. They’re very selective. Got all these secret rules designed to keep out the goddamn oil and gas riffraff.”

Stonecipher cleared his throat, a long, loud rattle that evoked a jackhammer biting through concrete. “’Course you know I have managed to join the Silver Lining, so I can keep an eye on the selection process.” He winked. “Doesn’t hurt, you know.”

Bobby smiled pleasantly. He knew the Silver Lining was a select men’s club of about fifty well-heeled country club veterans who selected the debutantes each year in total secrecy. He wondered what it cost Stonecipher to buy Brandi’s way in.

“I guess when you’re a member of the club, you pretty much have to throw a big party,” Bobby said.

“Have to? Great guns, Beresford, it’s an honor. Mother and I have been looking forward to this all year. Gives us a chance to put on our fancy duds. Great fun.”

If you say so. Bobby thought Stonecipher seemed markedly ill at ease in his tuxedo. His customary apparel was Western shirts, Levi’s, cowboy boots, and bolo ties. He had emigrated from the East Coast several years ago during the oil boom, and since then had been trying very hard to be a real Texan. And that included sporting a cowboy wardrobe, with all the trimmings.

Stonecipher suddenly bellowed: “Brandi! Over here!”

Bobby turned to look in the direction Stonecipher was yelling. The young woman walking toward them appeared to be in her early twenties, perhaps a bit younger. She was wearing a multilayered red dress with chiffon lace about the shoulders and waistline. She had a thin face and slightly crooked smile; she probably wouldn’t be considered particularly pretty, except she was a debutante, so, Bobby supposed, she had to be considered pretty.

Stonecipher grabbed her around the waist, pulled her to him and kissed her sloppily on the lips. “This is my Brandi,” he said. “The filly of the hour.” He introduced her to Paul and Bobby.

Brandi clasped Bobby’s hand. “Pleased to meet y’all,” she said. If possible, Brandi’s accent was even more Texas than her father’s. “I’m so happy you could make it for my coming out. What do you think of it?”

“Very…elaborate,” Bobby said.

She beamed. “Daddy said I could have anything I wanted, so I decided to have everything!”

“Evidently,” Bobby said. “When do they bring on the trained elephants?”

 

Both Stoneciphers looked puzzled.

Bobby shook his head. Would he never learn? “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing.”

Brandi’s frock rustled as she swished it from side to side. “Thank you. I designed it myself.”

“Our Brandi is very talented,” Stonecipher said. “She does ceramics too.”

Brandi mock-blushed. “Oh, Daddy!”

“Is it made of silk?” Bobby asked. “The dress, I mean.”

“Close,” Brandi said, giggling. “Velvet.”

“Looks kind of…hot.”

She smiled again, showing all her teeth. “Well, my daddy said I could have anything I wanted, so…”

“Velvet.”

“That’s right!” She laughed, then glanced away. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I believe my presence is required on the dance floor.”

Stonecipher pulled her close and gave her another wet kiss. Then Brandi picked up the edges of her dress and scampered away.

Bobby felt an elbow jab him sharply in the ribs. “Well, Beresford,” Stonecipher asked, “why aren’t you on the dance floor?”

“I just arrived. I haven’t really circulated yet.”

“Well, goddamn it, man—circulate! Get out and work the room! This should be a gigantic shopping mall of potential patients for you.” He leaned in close to Bobby’s ear. “Half the people here are goddamn psychos. And they’re all filthy rich.”

Bobby marveled at the sensitivity of a fellow doctor who would refer to psychiatric patients as psychos.

“Seriously, Beresford,” Stonecipher continued, “if Anderson was married, I’d have invited her, and she’d have every wacko in this room eating out of her hand. You could learn something from her about marketing yourself. If your patient load doesn’t pick up…” He glanced at Paul. “…you’re going to have to take up proctology!”

Bobby smiled thinly. “I could never take up proctology, sir. I get embarrassed just saying it aloud.”

Paul made a hmpfhlike noise. “It’s done all right by me,” he said. “Put Megan through private school.”

Stonecipher slapped Paul on the back. “Goddamn right.”

The sextet finished the Glenn Miller tune they had been playing and set down their instruments.

“Goddamn it!” Stonecipher exclaimed. “What the hell do they think they’re doing? They can’t take a break. They just had one an hour ago. I haven’t danced with Brandi yet!” He walked off angrily in the direction of the musicians.

“I think I’ll see if I can help,” Paul said. He shuffled off in Stonecipher’s wake.

Bobby plucked another glass of champagne from a nearby table and drained it. What the hell was he doing here anyway? It was as if he had missed a road sign and his entire life had taken a gigantic detour. Nothing seemed right anymore, but he didn’t know what was wrong, much less what he was going to do about it.

Except another glass of champagne. He was definitely going to have another glass of champagne.

 

*****

 

Bobby scanned the ballroom. He saw Siobhan milling about in the far corner, close to the food tables. Pregnancy did have its dependable characteristics. She seemed to be talking animatedly to a swarthy man Bobby didn’t know. Was she flirting? How dare she? Perhaps I’ll just march over there and introduce myself, Bobby thought. Then again, maybe I’ll just drink some more champagne.

“Dr. Beresford, a pleasure to see you again.”

Bobby flashed his automatic party smile to the elderly man facing him. Bobby seemed to recall that he was a doctor, a G.P. with a big, lucrative practice in Plano. Bobby was certain he was a Texas native, but he seemed to affect the air of a British colonel. Bobby could not dredge up his name.

“It is Beresford, isn’t it?” the man inquired.

“Oh, yes, yes,” Bobby said hurriedly. He set down his champagne and offered his hand. Great. Already making a stupid impression. “A pleasure to see you again…Doctor.”

“Yes. Well, are you enjoying yourself, old man?”

“I suppose.”

“That doesn’t seem very positive.”

“Well, enjoyment seems beside the point at these affairs. They’re rather superficial. Irrelevant, don’t you think?”

“Indeed?” the other doctor said. “Marcia and I are on the Green Hollow Board, you know. We’ve been planning this superficial little party for about two months now.”

Bobby felt beads of sweat forming at his temples. Why? Why was his foot always in his mouth as soon as he opened it?

“But I suppose every chap is entitled to his opinion,” the doctor said, with a sort of harrumph. “Look, Beresford, I meant to tell you: I thought you did a first-rate job with that patient I referred to you. Absolutely top drawer. What was that fellow’s name?”

“Err…umm.” Bobby stumbled mindlessly. “Franklin, wasn’t it? Yes, that was it. The paranoid-schizophrenic.”

The doctor peered down through his bifocals. “He was a manic-depressive. From a family of bedwetters. Extreme case, that.” He released a little cough from the back of his throat. “Well, I have another patient I’d like to refer to you. Patient of Dr. Arkady’s, actually.”

“I don’t believe I know Dr. Arkady.”

“He’s the tall fellow in the white tux who’s been talking to your wife for about half an hour,” the doctor explained. He repeated the cough. “I assumed you were friends.”

“Oh, that Dr. Arkady. I didn’t realize. Of course.”

“Anyway, be a good fellow and speak to Arkady before the evening is through. Have your people call my people and we’ll”—again the harrumph—“work out something on the fee arrangement.”

“Of course,” Bobby said, nodding, as the doctor walked away. And perhaps I could shine your shoes while I’m at it.

He retrieved his champagne glass, drained it, and suddenly realized what was bothering him, the real reason he was in such a lousy mood tonight. It came to him in a flash, in a crystal clear moment of insight and revelation.

He hated himself.

 

*****

 

“Stop weaving in and out of traffic.”

“Sheeby, just let me drive.”

“I have a right to try and protect my own life—“

“Then don’t distract me. Okay?”

“Besides, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, excuse me. I forgot. You’re backseat driving for two now.” Bobby wheeled the minivan into the fast lane. “Beats me why you make such a fool of yourself at these parties.”

“See! Now you finally admit that I looked stupid.”

Bobby flipped on the right turn indicator. He exited Greenville and merged with the heavy traffic on the LBJ Freeway. “Talk about paranoia. Maybe I should charge for our conversations. I wasn’t referring to your impending motherhood. I was referring to your hanging on to that smarmy-looking Mexican doctor all night.”

“He’s not Mexican.” Siobhan folded her arms across her protruding midsection. “Good God, they’d never allow anyone Mexican through the front gate. He’s Armenian.”

“Couldn’t tell it by me.”

“And I was not hanging on him. We were engaging in polite conversation.”

“Everyone was talking about you.”

“Oh, Bobby, they were not.”

“I tried to warn you earlier, but, as usual, you wouldn’t listen.”

“You were trying to embarrass me in front of people I was instructed by you to try to impress.”

“That’s not true.” He left the freeway and drove north on Plano Road. “I simply tried to explain—privately—that you were making a fool of yourself with that Mexican doctor.”

“He’s Armenian, for God’s sake! Can’t you get that through your thick head? And we were not in private when you were lecturing me. That old man was hovering right beside me the whole time.”

Bobby’s face wrinkled. “What old man?”

“The one who was following me around all night! Good God, you noticed everything in the entire room except the one thing that any decent, caring husband would’ve noticed!”

“You’re just edgy because you’re pregnant.”

“You promised to be supportive if I got pregnant again.”

“You’re supposed to be irritable during the first trimester. During the second and third trimesters, you’re supposed to be serene. When does that second trimester start, Siobhan?”

“Cheap son of a bitch.”

“Look, Sheeby, I don’t want to argue anymore.” He pulled the minivan into their driveway and pushed the button that raised the automatic garage door.

Siobhan was silent for a moment. “I don’t want to fight either.” A pause. “But how could you scold me in public while that old man listened to every single word?”

“I repeat: I never saw any old man.”

Siobhan released a self-satisfied current of air. “I’m not surprised.”

“I just hope you won’t embarrass me at the reunion next week too.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Bobby opened the door and walked into the kitchen. “Fine. Just don’t embarrass me in front of Janie’s babysitter, okay? Do you think you could manage that much?”

Her voice was loud and strident. “No, I don’t, you jerk. I’ll embarrass you if I damn well want to embarrass you!”

Bobby held Siobhan by the arms. “Look, it’s hard enough to get babysitters for a four-year-old without you scaring them away.”

“Get your fucking hands off me!” She wrested herself from his grip and stamped into the living room. “I can do whatever the hell I please!” she screamed back at him.

Bobby decided not to follow. He placed his hand against his forehead. He felt a major migraine coming on.

“Bob-by,” he heard his wife call in a singsong voice. “I think you ought to come in here.”

With great trepidation, he walked into the living room.

The man sitting on the floor was much older, of course. His hair was higher on his forehead, and it contained some noticeable strands of silver. He was thicker, too, though not fat. He was dressed in a collarless shirt and blue jeans. He was smiling.

“Hey, Bobby! Long time no see, eh?”

It was Mark Szasz. For the first time in eleven years. And he was holding Janie in his lap, bouncing her on his knee.