EVER SO SLOWLY, I touched the tube to my parted lips and glided on the Ruby Red. I had always lacked the patience for lipstick and only used it for special occasions. Next came a translucent lip gloss that left threads of goop as I smoothed my lips together. I drew back slightly from the mirror to admire my work.
Perfectly coiffed hair, teased and styled into a long bob, floated just at my shoulders, every shiny brown lock suspiciously cooperating. In the trash laid the scattered teeth of yet another broken comb. I’d wrestled especially long with my tangles tonight, but looked particularly poised as a result; so much so, that if one thing were to tremble, everything else would come tumbling down. Or so it seemed. In that moment, I caught Bill’s gaze in the reflection, his normally mild eyes watching me intently. I quickly forgot that feeling of unease.
“You look good,” he said, admiring my emerald green dress.
“Your favorite color.”
“Because it matches your eyes.” I picked at a mascara smear on the mirror with my fingernail. “Do we have to go tonight?” he asked.
“What?” I’d successfully chipped off the mark, but now I was faced with the messy smudge of a fingerprint.
“Tonight. Let’s stay in.”
“Everyone’s going to be there.” I tossed makeup products back into the drawer and wiped the counter with my palm. “People pay good money for these tickets, babe.”
“Whose idea was this again?”
“Andrew’s firm got tickets for their clients. Not everyone could make it, so he invited us.”
“But,” he began. A quick glare silenced him. He held up his palms in defeat. I turned back to my reflection.
I checked my eyeliner one last time to make sure it was even. “I talked to my dad today. He’ll be in Chicago for a night next month and wants to have dinner.”
Bill groaned and slumped in the doorway.
“What? You don’t want to go to the ballet. You don’t want to have dinner with my father. It’s only one night.”
“And you’re so thrilled when my parents drive in.”
“Touché.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and pushed a gold stud through my ear. “Well, you don’t have to come, but I know he’d like to see you.”
“Sure he would, where else does he get free legal advice?”
“Oh, please. He has plenty of corporate lawyer friends.”
“Not for work, Olivia. For his divorce from Gina. Lawyer friends don’t put up with that shit, they charge you for it.”
“Well, get used to it, ‘cause he’s not going anywhere. I’m sure if you ever need advice on how to win over girls half your age, he’d be happy to help.”
“Half my age?” he repeated as he came up behind me and encircled my waist. A piece of brown hair fell over his eye. He was overdue for a haircut. “Are you trying to get me locked up? I’d say I’ve got my hands full married to a twenty seven-year-old.”
“Bill,” I whined, swatting his hands away. “You’ll wrinkle my dress, and I’m finally ready.”
“Yes, darling,” he said with a sly smile, backing away. “I’ll pull the car around.” I followed him out but pivoted back, grabbed a hand towel, and wiped the smudge away.
We arrived at the performance minutes before curtain. Teetering in my heels, I clung to Bill’s arm as we scoured the crowd for familiar faces. Sophistication perfumed the lobby, as if it had been bottled and sold to Chicago’s elite. Smartly dressed women carefully stepped down scarlet-carpeted steps, passing beneath elaborate chandeliers that cast shadowy corners.
“There they are,” Bill said. From behind, my two best friends, registering at just a few inches over 5 feet, could almost be sisters. Gretchen, in a revealing pink dress and boosted by spiky heels, gestured wildly to the group around her. Her long platinum hair bounced in signature curls with each exaggerated movement.
Next to her, Lucy dodged Gretchen’s flailing limbs, anticipating her every movement. She wore a boat-neck black dress, and her short brown hair was fashioned into a perfect chignon.
Her boyfriend, Andrew, stood off to the side, wringing a program. Upon spotting us, he grinned toothily and beckoned us over. “Sorry, Gretch,” he interrupted. “Everyone, this is Lucy’s other best friend, Liv Germaine, and her husband Bill Wilson.”
“What, now I’m the other best friend?” I joked, shaking hands with someone. “I only introduced them, you know.”
Lucy looked up at me with big brown eyes before hugging me. “Look, we’re the same height now,” she said, showing off uncharacteristically high shoes.
“I don’t know, shrimp,” Bill said. “Liv’s still got some inches on you.”
“Anyway,” Gretchen interjected impatiently, “the plane lands, and I rush to the station, just barely making the train. Since it’s now one in the morning and I’ve been traveling for fourteen hours, I immediately pass out. When I wake up, the—what are they called—stewardesses?—she says, ‘Welcome to Chile!’”
“Chile!” one of the women cried.
“I’d gotten on the wrong train, slept through the entire ride, and ended up in Santiago.”
Everyone laughed. I politely joined in, though I’d heard the story twice before.