We eat oysters, harvested that morning, shucked before serving, an inch deep in their shells. We drink champagne, the good stuff, real, from France, and there is a toast and another and another. Kurt has loosened his tie and put his arm around Karen. He kisses her on the cheek, they whisper in each other’s ear. They are plotting. The sun sets behind the Olympics and we are all dazzled. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say. I don’t leave New York City a lot. “I see it every day and I never tire of it,” says Warren.
Kurt and Karen announce they have decided to pretend they are a couple for the rest of the night. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? If they pretend they knew each other already, that they’ve been dating for six months, and that they had shown up together, on a big romantic date. “We met when we were bowling,” says Kurt. “No, kayaking,” says Karen. “Kayaking, right,” says Kurt. “He just had dinner with my mother last weekend for the first time and she loved him,” says Karen. “And I loved her. How could I not be charmed by that woman?” says Kurt. Karen is gleeful. “We weren’t even supposed to be at this table,” she says. “They ran out of room. It was a mistake.” The retired nun looks at them blankly. “Why weren’t you supposed to be at this table?” “Because we’re not single,” says Karen. “We’re together. We’re a couple.” “I don’t get it,” says the nun. “Don’t bother trying,” I say, and I pat the nun on the hand.
Post-toasts, Karen and Kurt work the room, arms around each other, pretending they’re in love. Kurt introduces Karen as his “S.O.” to someone. “What’s an S.O.?” Warren asks me. “Significant other,” I say. Warren sighs deeply and squeezes the edge of the table with his hands. “Oh Warren,” I say. “I really did not think going to this would be so hard,” he says. “It’s only hard if you make it hard,” I say. “Come on, let’s dance.” I am being impulsive here. I don’t like dancing. But I could tell Warren would be good on his feet. He’s a steady man. He could lead me.
We slow-dance to a cover of Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” Whenever the band’s lead singer crows, “How does it feel?” the whole crowd sings along with him. Across the dance floor Karen and Kurt are screaming it in each other’s face. Indigo and her new husband, Todd, dance over to us. Indigo is stunning, and I tell her so and we hug and dance. “Is this the best party on the planet?” she says. “It’s epic,” I say. “Stratospheric.” “Did you get enough champagne?” she says. “Everything is perfect,” I say. “I’m glad you’re dancing with Warren,” she says. “I thought you’d get along.” “Why did you think that?” I say. “You do so well with wounded men,” she says. She leans in close. “You are kinder than you know,” she says. Todd grabs her and they dance away before I have a chance to insist that she’s wrong. I watch the bride in shredded silk, her ring bigger than all the stars in the sky.
Later, Warren and I sit back at the table alone, our feet splayed on chairs. There are hot fudge sundaes in front of us. I ask him for his cherry and he gives it to me and I greedily eat it. He has been telling me about one of the three companies he owns. Karen and Kurt stumble in front of us. She is holding a bottle of champagne. It is her bottle, and I would like to see anyone try to take it from her.
“How did it go?” I ask. “Did everyone buy it?” “We got busted a few times,” admits Kurt. “But it was fun!” says Karen. “Wasn’t it fun?” Kurt nods. Kurt seems like he’s ready to come back down to earth. “And now we’re going back to the hotel,” says Karen. “Me and Carl.” “It’s Kurt,” says Kurt. His face darkens. “What?” she says. “My name is Kurt, not Carl.” “I meant Kurt,” she says. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. You know I know your name, right?” We wait and watch, Warren and I. Kurt and Karen leave together.
“What would you do if you were Kurt?” I say to Warren. “I would take that girl back to her hotel and tuck her in bed and then go back to my own room and jerk off,” he says. “Odds are she passes out before anything gets too serious,” I say. “And anyway, what if it does?” “I’m old-fashioned, I guess,” says Warren. “Are you?” I say. “You’re not old, though. If that’s the way you’re feeling. Because you’re not.” I put my hand on his arm and I am certain my smile is electric. I am thinking about the notion of kindness. I stroke his arm. The night is cool. The band announces it’s the last song. He says, “I had a good time with you.” I say, “I did, too. We could just continue this. It can be easy and fun. You can come back with me, or I can come with you.” I’m still stroking his arm. “I promise you I’m not drunk.”
He says, “I know I’m probably a fool for not taking you up on this offer, a lovely young woman like you, but it’s just not what I do, not how I am. I’m not saying you’re wrong for being how you are, although I can’t say it’s right either. I can’t say any of what I’ve seen tonight is right.” I pull my hand back.
He says, “I was with her for twenty-nine years. We got married right after college. This was the person I was going to die with. I never worried about dating or casual sex or any of that. I don’t know how you all do it. I don’t know how I’m going to do it. Aren’t you lonely?” I say, “Warren, please stop being terrible.” He says, “I’m sorry.” He pauses, and then his voice grows louder. “No, I’m not sorry. You wanted to have sex with me. And you just met me. You’ve only known me for three hours.” I say, “Warren, I’m sorry. I was wrong after all. You are, in fact, old.”
I leave. I have tears in my eyes. Indigo sees me on the way out of the party. “It was such a beautiful night,” I say as I wipe my eyes. “I got caught up in the moment. I’m so happy for you.” We hug and then I hop into a van that is waiting out front to take me to the hotel. Karen and Kurt are in the van, and when I get in, they stop making out. “You can do better than this,” I tell them, but I’m not sure which of them I am speaking to when I say it.
Charlotte