So, I guess this is Carly’s place, or her husband’s office building, or…something. When I realize we’re headed to another basement I hold back a smile. Brook sure is going to be disappointed. This definitely isn’t the penthouse she’s been longing for.
“Thanks for coming,” I tell Josh. “I don’t really know what to expect. My friend just said to wear a dress.”
He looks down at his scuffed jeans, his old T-shirt, and his much-loved sneakers, then he glances back at me, a whole lot of amusement on his face. “So, this is a fancy dress-up kind of party?”
He rubs his hands through his messy hair and I laugh at his self-mocking expression.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a few of my friends from the fertility group.” How dressy can it be, honestly?
I grab the cold brass railing, and my heels click on the marble stairs as Josh and I walk down the steps. The walls are plaster and there’s a beautiful glass mosaic on the ceiling with tiles the color of lapis lazuli, and light blue and inky night blue all backlit with gold shimmer. As I study the ceiling, I realize it’s not just a pretty abstract picture. “Is it just me or is this mosaic the River Styx?”
Josh points to a cloaked ferryman in his boat in the corner of the mosaic. “Apparently, we’re descending into the underworld,” he jokes.
“Huh.”
I wonder if Carly’s husband owns this building and if he commissioned this piece. Is she the beautiful Persephone, stolen to the underworld for the pleasure of her grumpy, scowling Hades? I hope not. Persephone never seemed happy. Come to think of it, I doubt Hades was very happy either.
Music drifts up the stairs. It’s a low bass beat that echoes around us. When we reach the bottom, the room opens up before us. I have to consciously keep my mouth closed. This is one of those moments where I’d really like to let my mouth fall open and just stare.
Josh lets out a low whistle.
I take it back, Brook is probably ecstatic. Or at least as happy as Brook gets. She wasn’t kidding when she said it’d be like an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. I stare at the over-the-top, opulent space.
“Who invited you to this shin dig again?” Josh asks.
I smile at the way Josh says “shin dig,” all long and enunciated, like he means “party thrown by the Maharaj of Sultanville” in some bizarre-o alternate reality.
“My friend Carly, from the fertility group,” I mumble, and then I seriously consider grabbing Josh’s arm and hauling him back up the stairs and out the door.
The room reminds me of the center of Grand Central Station. The ceiling is domed and there’s a beautiful mural of the constellations painted on the ceiling. There are towering white columns extending from the tall ceiling to the marble floor. The space is cavernous, with enough room to hold at least two hundred people.
It’s decorated with swaths of sheer purple fabric, ottomans and pillows on the floor, and buffet tables full of sculpted foods, precarious-looking dessert towers, and a full service bar. Positioned among the guests are a dozen gorgeous, nearly naked models covered in glittering gold paint posing as living statues. I take another scan of the room and see a trio of contortionists twisting into an impossible shape in front of a cupcake table.
There are at least seventy-five, maybe a hundred guests. The men are wearing tuxes and tailored suits and the women are wearing dresses that I’ve seen in the windows of Madison Avenue. I look down at my pumpkin dress.
“You look beautiful,” Josh says.
I give him a side-eye glance. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Let’s find your friend.” He holds out his arm and I take it. We move into the sea of people. I wonder why in the world Carly invited me to this party. In fact, I don’t even know what it’s for. Clearly, it has nothing to do with fertility.
The music grows louder and I notice a DJ set up in the corner of the room. I scan the faces of the people but can’t find Carly, Brook or Hannah. It’s sort of hard to look, though, because I’m trying to avoid looking at the paint-covered mostly nude models. It’s not that I’m a prude, but their nipples are bare and painted gold, and they look cold, and they aren’t allowed to move and rub them warm or anything.
A man in a black tux grabs Josh’s arm. “Excuse me. Get me another scotch?”
“What?” Josh asks.
“I’d like another scotch. The Laphroaig ten year.” He holds a twenty-dollar bill out. Josh stares at the money.
“Hurry up,” the man says.
Are you serious? I have the urge to kick the guy. “He’s not—”
Before I can say, he’s not a waiter, Josh smiles at the guy and takes the cash. “No problem. Laphroaig?”
The man nods. “The ten year.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss at Josh. He puts the cash in his pocket and pulls me away.
“Getting him a drink.”
He pulls me toward the bar.
“Are you kidding?” I ask.
This is ridiculous.
Josh shrugs. “Why not? I’m thirsty. You’re probably thirsty. That guy’s thirsty.” He jabs his thumb in the general vicinity of the man in the tux.
At the bar Josh orders a soda, a sparkling water with lime, and a Laphroaig. I can’t help but smile because the lime is a nice thought.
We wander back toward the scotch drinker and I sip my water. When we find him, Josh hands the guy his drink.
“Here you go, buddy,” Josh says with a grin.
The guy grabs the drink, but otherwise ignores him.
“Why do you let people do that? You could’ve just told him you aren’t a waiter,” I say. “I mean, you don’t even look like one. The caterers are in suits, you’re in jeans. It’s ridiculous.”
Josh raises an eyebrow. “Who’s having more fun right now?” he asks. “Me or that guy?” He points from himself to the guy in the tux.
He said, “Who’s having more fun?”
Josh’s eyes twinkle, and I can tell he’s finding this entire experience to be one of the more ridiculous things he’s ever done. Meanwhile, the guy in the tux is trying to look bored and impress the people he’s with all at the same time.
“Don’t you ever take anything seriously?” I ask. But as soon as I say it, I realize that it was a stupid thing to ask. He takes a lot of things seriously.