The color of my dress makes my eyes pop in my tanned face, and I can’t help thinking that the design of the outfit invokes the image of the Grecian goddess of springtime.
For the first time, I feel happy that Marta knows more about what is going on in my life than I do. I would have felt like a real country bumpkin, walking into a party in a maxi-skirt and tee if other people were going to be in gowns like this.
I am about to tear the sales tag from the dress when I see the price. My mother could probably buy two new coolers for the flower shop for how much my outfit costs. Instead of ripping off the tag, I cut it off carefully with a pair of scissors I find in my vanity drawer. Maybe if I can manage to keep the dress looking really nice, I can sell it on eBay after the party. My mom won’t take money from Joe, but maybe she’d take it from me.
I am not used to heels, and I am walking very carefully down the stairs, wondering how I am ever going to ride my bike to Tobin’s house in this dress, when I see Joe standing in the foyer. He’s wearing a slim-fitting suit that no doubt costs even more than my dress, and he’s dangling a pair of car keys in his hand. I almost slip on a stair. Joe is going to the music department’s party. Of course he is. He’s writing the play, after all.
“Ready, love?” he says with that darned cheeky grin of his. “I thought we’d take the Porsche.”
“I’m good on my bike. Maybe you should walk. Drunk driving is still a crime, even if you have a wall full of platinum records.”
“That stings, Daph. That really does,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically. “I haven’t had a drink all day.” He counts on his fingers. “Three days, actually.”
As I get closer to him, I do notice the lack of a liquor smell lingering in the air. He’s even splashed on a bit of cologne, removed his longer extensions so his hair now frames his chin, and shaved. He looks better without the stubble.
“Good for you. I can still take my bike.”
“Good luck in that dress,” he says.
He does have a point. “I’ll walk, then.”
“Sorry, deary, it’ll be dark soon, and if you think I’m letting you out on those paths after what happened to that Perkins girl, you’ve got another thing coming. I nearly had a heart attack last time.”
“She’s the one who had the heart attack.”
“Sorry. Wrong phrasing, but the gist is, I’m driving you to the party or you’re not going at all.”
I give Joe a look that shows that I’m not amused. I don’t know where he gets off thinking he can pick and choose when to act like a real father. Though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me almost likes it. If his driving me to a party is enough to keep him from yucking it up with his good old buddies Jack and Daniels, it at least says something about him. What that something is, I’m not quite sure.
“Okay, we can go together. If you let me drive the Porsche,” I say, because a red Porsche is always more preferable to a yellow bike when making an entrance at a party.
“Do you know how to drive a stick shift?” Joe asks wearily.
“No, but I’m a fast learner.”
He hesitates for a moment.
“I can always walk.…”
“Fine,” he says, and hands over the keys. “You look stunning in that dress, by the way. I knew that color would be perfect with your eyes.”
“You picked out my dress?”
“Does that surprise you?” he says with a wink and grin.
Part of me wants to go back upstairs and change into my maxi-skirt just to spite him, but the part of me that has never felt so beautiful in my life manages to win out. “Thank you,” I say softly.
“Now let’s go party, shall we?” he says, offering me his arm.
The mayor’s mansion is on the exact opposite side of the lake from Joe’s place, so it takes us a while to drive there—mostly because I keep stalling out the Porsche. I am surprised at how well Joe has managed to keep his cool as we grind our way into Tobin’s driveway. We stop in a long line of cars waiting for valets at the front door.
“Right here’s good enough,” Joe says, gritting his teeth. “We’ll just let the valet come to us. How’s that?”