“Jerry, it’s so great to see you,” a woman’s voice said, and a hand clutched on his right elbow.
He tensed and grinned, both ends of his mouth open while his lips touched in the center. He was aware that this was a silly expression, but it was his natural smile of surprise and beyond his control. The grin intensified when he realized who was addressing him. She smelled wonderful, too, a scent redolent of Meyer lemons and springtime.
“Oh, Belinda, huh, hi, nice to see you.” He felt his face reddening and tried to control the smile. She was petite, her auburn hair in a bob, lipstick a vivid glossy orange, and she inspired in Jerry a strong urge to do something foolish and socially ruinous. He wished he had the nerve to try some such thing, because he hated these charity events more now than he ever had before. The sympathetic looks of those who pitied him was worse than the contempt of those who snickered, and the humiliation of turning up alone—a necessity lately, since he couldn’t afford to properly escort a woman of his own social class—made it worse. Not buying a ticket would be unthinkable, but buying two would be an inexcusable extravagance in his current financial state.
“I just got up to fetch a drink between lots. You buy anything?” Her dress was aquamarine, made of some shiny fabric that looked like it would be soft to the touch, its hem well above Belinda’s lovely knees. Why were the women who moved him the most always the married ones?
“Ah, no. Haven’t even bid.” He didn’t add that this was out of fear that he wouldn’t be outbid.
“I wish Trey hadn’t! He paid eight hundred dollars for a charcoal drawing of a horse that looks like a ten-year-old drew it.”
“Oh, that one. Yeah, I saw that. Good for the school, though.”
“I know, it’s a good cause. Still.” She put a hand to her hip and jutted it rightward. “Where are you sitting?”
“I got up after the dinner was finished. I didn’t know anyone at my table.”
She put her arm through his and pulled him with her. “Come on, sit next to me, we’ve got room. Besides, Trey’ll want to say hi.”
“Sure,” he said, not at all sure he wanted to see Trey in Belinda’s presence. It was all he could manage at the moment not to stare down the top of her dress.
“I want to get another drink first,” she said. “You want one?”
He sensed that she’d already had more than was her usual, and he thrilled to the notion that it might make her adventuresome and reckless. Maybe they could ditch the banquet and check into a room upstairs. Or maybe they could just screw behind a curtain in one of the empty meeting rooms.
He forced his thoughts back to reality. “Gin and tonic, thanks.”
“You’re so sweet. We’re at table six, close to the auctioneer. Is he the worst ever or what?”
“He’s not very good.”
She laughed as hard as if he’d just said something very funny, and he hurried to the table before his erection got any worse.
Trey was drunker than Belinda, and he kept slapping Jerry between the shoulder blades. “You know the Kimballs?” he said, waving his hand at the couple across the table.
“You just introduced us,” he said.
The Kimballs, who looked too young to have kids old enough to be enrolled at Creston Prep, exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Did I? Well, I’m one polite son of a bitch.”
Mrs. Kimball had long, straight, dark brown hair and pale, worried eyes. She leaned forward and spoke slowly.
“Trey, you’ve had quite a bit to drink,” she said.
“Damn right I have.”
“So has Belinda.”
“Oh, hell, Belinda hasn’t even started yet. When she gets a load on, you’ll know it.”
Mrs. Kimball looked back at her husband. He had the earnest look of a high school guidance counselor, and before he spoke he stood.
“Kelly and I don’t think either one of you should drive home tonight.”
Trey waved off the foolish notion with a swat of his hand. “Belinda will drive, she does it all the time.”
He saw Belinda just then, weaving her way through the crowd with a cardboard drink tray. She did look fairly plastered at that, more so than he’d noticed earlier.
Trey slapped his back again. “Me and Jerry, senior year, remember this, Jer? We led the cops on a merry chase through Maplewood all the way down to Rock Hill, they finally stopped us with a spike strip. Well, we spent the night in the drunk tank, and in the morning it was Jerry’s uncle who got us out of there. I don’t know how much it cost him, but it was a lot. I got off with a fucking speeding ticket! Try getting away with that shit today.”
Belinda set a gin and tonic in a clear plastic goblet down next to Jerry and leaned down to give him a wet, sloppy kiss on the right cheek. He was glad he was sitting down with his lap obscured by the table cloth.
“You better watch out, Trey, I might just dump you for Jerry,” she said. “He appreciates a woman.” God, she did sound drunk now. Had she chugged another one at the cash bar?
“Be my guest, pal,” Trey said, elbowing Jerry. “Pain in the ass.”
“Are you going to let him talk about me that way, Jerry?”
The Kimballs were staring now. “Don’t pay any mind,” Jerry said. “We go way back and they’re always teasing me.”
“We do go way back. My old man was actually pretty pissed off at your uncle Glenn for bailing us out, can you imagine that? Thought we should have taken our lumps. ’Course back then a DUI wasn’t as serious a thing as now, but still. How is old Glenn, anyway?”
“He’s got his health problems, but I guess he’s okay.”
Trey pointed to the Kimballs. “You guys won’t believe who his uncle is. Ever watch Kilgore, MD? Remember that show?”
Mr. Kimball was still standing. “I’m serious about this, Trey. We’ll pay for a cab.”
“Cab? That’s pretty old school. It’s Uber now.”
“Fine, we’ll gladly pay for an Uber.” Kimball sat down again, not entirely certain whether he’d won the argument or not.
“Fuck it, I just spent eight hundred on a drawing, I can afford my own Uber. Listen, though, Kilgore? Medical show, set in a Detroit charity ward? Or High Cimarron? About the widow rancher and her sons?”
Kelly Kimball spoke again. “I’ve seen that on reruns.”
“Yeah, right? That was Jerry’s uncle Glenn, one of the biggest TV producers there was back in the day. Jerry’s dad’s brother.”
Mr. Kimball brightened. “Is that Glenn Haskill? We’ve been talking to him about a bequest.”
Jerry, not very interested in the Kimballs up to this point, perked up. “Really?”
“Yes, and he was the one who contacted us. We didn’t even have him listed in our alumni database.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your first name?”
Kimball stood back up and reached across the table to shake his hand. “I’m sorry, it’s Wells Kimball, assistant director of development.”
“What sort of a bequest?”
“He’s still figuring it out with his attorney.”
Rigby. That sleazy son of a bitch. Jerry’d have to work his way into the equation somehow, make damned sure the whole estate wasn’t going to the school. And why was this even a consideration? Uncle Glenn had never made any secret of his hatred of the school.
Onstage, the auctioneer was lamenting the inattention of the crowd, more intent on after-dinner conversation than the auction. On offer was a trip for five to the Bahamas, and only three bids had been registered, the last for a mere eight thousand dollars. “Come on, folks, it would be a real shame if this went for such a low bid. Do I hear eight thousand five hundred?”
“Fuck it,” Belinda said, and raised her placard. “Nine thousand!”
“Nine thousand,” the auctioneer shouted. “Nine thousand from table six!”
“Who gives a shit, right?” she said to Jerry, leaning in. “It’s only money, right?”
Wells Kimball looked at his phone. “Jerry, I don’t have you in my contacts. The school has your info, right?”
“Oh, you’ve definitely got it.” Barely a week went by without a plea for funds in the mail. Apart from tickets to auctions and garage sales, he hadn’t given the school a dime in ten years.
“Are you related to Valerie Haskill?”
“She’s my ex-wife.”
Kimball seemed pleased. “Valerie’s been very generous over the last five years.”
What the hell was that about? She’d never attended the school, never shown any particular interest in it, rarely attended any functions. But she was making generous donations? And presumably out of the alimony that was such a factor in keeping him in the red.
“Maybe you could come in one morning and we could have a chat,” Kimball said.
“My charitable giving is pretty well set at this point. When did you say my uncle contacted you?”
“Not long after the first of the year. He seems very alert for a man of his age.”
Someone else bid nine thousand five hundred on the Bahamas trip. “Do I hear ten thousand?”
“Eleven thousand!” Belinda yelled, waving her placard above her head.
“Goddamn it, that’s not the way bidding works, Belinda,” Trey said, grabbing for the placard, which she yanked out of his reach with a cackle.
“Screw you, I’m going to the Bahamas.” She threaded her arm through Jerry’s elbow and clutched his hand. “Jerry wouldn’t try to stop me if I were his wife.”
The news about Uncle Glenn was so alarming he couldn’t even enjoy the attention from Belinda. “The thing is, Wells,” Jerry said, “Uncle Glenn’s not in good shape, mentally. Sometimes he gives things away and doesn’t remember. And of course that leads to problems because he thinks he’s been robbed.”
Kimball nodded, frowning. “Of course, this will all be done through his attorney, with all the relevant paperwork signed, sealed, et cetera.”
Belinda let go of Jerry and stood up, then walked around him to Trey.
“Sure, sure. Just wanted to make sure you understood.”
Now she was hissing something into Trey’s ear, and Trey hissed something equally incomprehensible into hers. She sat down on his lap and he kissed her, and then they were making out like teenagers.
Someone else bid eleven thousand two hundred fifty, and after a long, painful attempt to attract another bid, the gavel went down. “Sold, to the lady at table nineteen for eleven thousand, two hundred fifty dollars,” the auctioneer said, heartbroken.
Belinda got up from Trey’s lap. “You asshole! You kissed me on purpose, just to keep me from winning!”
Trey shrugged. “Sue me,” he said, and the look on Belinda’s face was one of lustful adoration.