Kyle swooped in with a glass of wine for them both. “When was the last time you were in New York, Martin?” he asked, as if this were a serious conversation.
“I’ve never been,” Martin announced, again with such an air of authority that Alison started. She had been immersed in the innate New York dismissal of the Midwest for so long she had forgotten, frankly, how thoroughly Midwesterners returned the favor. This clown had never been to New York, but he still thought he knew enough to dismiss it? Dismiss New York? The whole thing?
“You must come!” she said, smiling winsomely, completely pretending that he hadn’t insulted her life choices six times in two minutes. “It’s actually such a crazy interesting and dynamic place. It truly is a melting pot, it’s so amazing to live with so many people from so many different cultures. I love it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Martin informed her.
“How long have you been there now?” Kyle asked.
“Wow, I guess it’s been—four years? Five years?” She wasn’t feigning; at some point time did blur and that point had been passed long ago. Which was why, presumably, she could stand in the kitchen of Kyle’s glorious home and chat with total strangers about nothing. In the distance a doorbell rang. Kyle’s pretty wife floated by, greeting people, making sure their coats were put in the proper bedroom. A gorgeous little girl ran after her, golden curls flying. Kyle was apparently living a Victorian fantasy now.
“How do you and Kyle know each other?” Martin asked.
“We dated in high school,” Kyle said.
“Oh.” Martin made a face, putatively impressed. “Kyle! You have an eye for the ladies.”
“Well.” Kyle smiled and offered up a self-conscious little shrug, what can I say? There were more people now, drifting into the kitchen, cooing hellos. He turned to greet them and to collect drink orders.
“You and Kyle dated?” This Martin person apparently had concluded that Kyle’s offhand mention of it made their personal history fair game.
“We did, yes.”
“So how’d you let him go?”
“Excuse me?”
“Good-looking doctor, isn’t that what you girls all want?” Leering? Was he actually leering? “You’re an actress, you’re going to need someone to take care of you. Unless you were looking to trade up.”
“Oh, look who’s here!” What a fucking creep. “Excuse me, I really do need to say hello.”
Tragically there was really no one she knew there, but she headed across the room with a purposeful determination. The guests who were slowly filling the house were a different sort from what she was used to. The women were dressed up; Ann Taylor or something like, tasteful fitted dresses off the rack, a lot of beige brushed wool, a flash of houndstooth, low heels. Their husbands in dress slacks and sports coats, ties, Alison honestly didn’t know any people like this anymore, and there were so many of them here, standing around holding wineglasses and chatting. They were all clearly educated and well-off, young adults who seemed like old adults. She felt like a slightly dysfunctional teenager next to them; her black jeans and loose violet-striped top seemed boho and unsophisticated and rebellious, when in fact she had hoped that something so simple and chic might help her fit in. You look hotter than anyone else in the room, her brain reminded her. Stop worrying.