The strippers had just left when there was another knock on the door, which, once again, was not Chip; this time, it was Rick Price, Eligible’s host. Among the women, a spontaneous cheer went up, which Liz was surprised to find herself joining, and this was when (she was on her fifth drink) she realized both that she was completely drunk—not just tipsy, not merely buzzed—and also that she was much happier than she’d been an hour or two before. She felt a retroactive remorse for all the Eligible contestants she’d deemed trashy and idiotic from the comfort of her living room; apparently, like teriyaki pizza and bee venom facials, getting wasted on a reality-TV show was not to be knocked until tried.
“I hear there’s been lots of craziness going on,” Rick Price said in a teasing tone, and the women cheered again. “I’ve just come from seeing the guys, and they’ve issued you a challenge. They want you to join them at this super-cool club for a game we’re calling the Not-Yet-Wed Game. Are you girls in?” There was even more cheering, and as it wound down, Liz heard Mary say, “Can I go back to the hotel?”
When they were all in the limo again, however, Mary was next to Liz. “This sucks,” Mary said. “It’s exactly how I thought it would be.”
“At least you’re getting paid.”
Presumably, the acknowledgment that money was changing hands would never be aired; but in case there was any doubt, and also just for kicks, Liz looked directly at the camera and smiled grandly.
The club was empty except for Chip’s entourage. The game was to occur in a lounge area that contained orange and red sofas and chairs; even before she’d entered the lounge proper, Liz saw Darcy sitting between Shane and Chip, holding a glass of what looked like Scotch, his expression grim. The other men present were Ham and Chip’s brother-in-law, whose name was Nick, and Liz abruptly thought that if the women’s dinner had been awkward, the men’s must have been almost unendurable. Because truly, Shane and Ham were practically strangers to everyone present, including each other.
It was disagreeable to observe Caroline heading straight for Darcy. The two of them spoke, and as they did, Darcy’s eyes met Liz’s. Was Caroline denigrating her? Liz looked away.
The game required Jane’s and Chip’s respective wedding parties to take turns guessing how the bride and groom would complete sentences such as “I first knew I was in love when ——”
Rick Price, who was asking the questions, stood at the front of the room; Jane and Chip sat in thronelike chairs on either side of him; the male and female teams faced each other; and on a low table between them were lined up what Liz estimated to be no fewer than a hundred shot glasses filled with liquids of varied hues. Initially, she was under the impression that you did a shot for getting the answer wrong, but it seemed perhaps you took one for getting the answer right as well.
Was it surprising, or not surprising, that the game was tremendous fun? Certainly it compared favorably to Charades in Cincinnati, or maybe it was just that this time around, Liz was the best player. Whether it was “Our first date was at ——” or “The place we got engaged was ——” Liz hardly hesitated. Although Rick Price encouraged her to confer with her teammates, she was soon simply shouting out answers, but by then a general chaos had taken over: Lydia was sitting on Ham’s lap, and Brooke had vomited in the corner, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and cheerfully rejoined the group. (“You guys are awesome!” she’d said to Liz, and Liz had barely restrained herself from saying, I’m so glad you’re not horrible like Caroline!) Rick Price frequently reminded them all not to interrupt one another, and for a few questions, the camera guys had to do additional takes because too many people had been talking at once. As, for the fourth time, Liz called out, “Their first date was at Orchids!” she wondered if it was possible she deserved a Best Supporting Actress Oscar.
Then she was in a different part of the club, and she and Kitty were dancing to a rap song they both knew all the words to, and Kitty was wearing a thin plastic headband with antennae off of which wobbled life-sized sparkly pink penises. How marvelous this headband was! Even more marvelously, Kitty pointed out that Liz was wearing an identical one. Truly, it was a magical night. Liz had lost track of Darcy—he wasn’t dancing—but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d more thoroughly enjoyed the company of her sisters.
As Lydia joined her and Kitty on the dance floor, Lydia put her mouth close to Liz’s ear and yelled over the music, “Do you know who Chip’s best man is?” Though their faces were inches apart, Liz could only just make out what her sister was saying.
“It’s Darcy!” Liz yelled back.
“It’s Darcy!” Lydia yelled. “I hate him! He’s the one who told Mom that stupid shit about transpeople and birth defects.”
“You mean the stuff she keeps saying about cleft palates?” Liz yelled. “That’s from Darcy?”
Lydia nodded. “He just left, but when I see him tomorrow, I’m telling him to stay out of other people’s business.”
“But you have to admit—” For multiple reasons, a dance floor didn’t seem like the place for this conversation; nevertheless, Liz forged ahead at the highest volume she could manage. “Don’t you think that gave Mom a framework for understanding Ham?”
“Mom understanding Ham is her problem!” Lydia yelled. “He’s not asking for her permission to exist!”
“But isn’t life better when you’re on speaking terms with your mother?”
Lydia smirked. “Hard to say.”