I hand him the bottle, and he says, “You shouldn’t have.” Then he glances down at the label. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have! But I’m glad you did.”
Turning toward my wife, he says, “Alice, Friend, you truly sparkle.” Gene is old enough to get away with saying something like that, and he’s apparently familiar enough with The Pact not to be surprised by the Focus Collar.
“Thank you, Gene. I love your house.”
From across the patio, Vivian appears. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple!” She gives Alice a big hug. Like Gene, she doesn’t acknowledge the collar. Then Vivian turns to kiss me on both cheeks, as though our conversation at Java Beach never happened, as though I never told her we wanted out of The Pact. “Friend,” she whispers in my ear, “I am so happy to see you.” Perhaps I’m wrong, but I suspect this is her way of telling me that the unpleasant business is now behind us, my sins washed away.
Gene leads us through the house, stopping for a moment at the bar, where two glasses of champagne are waiting. A dozen bottles of Cristal are lined up behind the bar. He holds his glass up to ours, toasting, “To Friends.”
“To Friends,” Alice repeats.
Gene notices me looking at the painting above the concrete fireplace. In college, my roommate had a poster of this painting over his desk, something he purchased when he wanted to be “more adultlike.”
I’m mesmerized once again by the three stripes, the brilliant colors, complementing and contrasting one another, all evoking a specific feeling, both together and separate. Somehow I am transported back to that dorm room, only now I really am more adultlike.
Alice turns her gaze upward. “That is not a freaking Rothko!”
Gene’s wife, Olivia, joins us. She’s wearing an apron over her dress, though she carries herself so gracefully I doubt she’s ever spilled anything on her clothes. Like Vivian, she has an air of almost eerie calm about her.
Olivia slides her arm around my waist and shepherds me closer to the painting. “Rothko recommended that the painting be viewed from eighteen inches. He believed his works needed companionship.” She leaves her arm around my waist long enough that I begin to feel uncomfortable, unsure what to do with my arms. So I cross them and stand as still as possible. “This painting is a pain in the ass,” she remarks.
“Why?”
“It was a gift from Gene for our tenth anniversary. But the accountant made us have it appraised, and now all I do is worry about it.” Olivia tugs at my hand. “Come, let’s join the others outside. They’re all waiting to see you.”
At regular parties, people tend to show up fashionably late. Not here. It’s six-ten, and it appears that all of the guests have arrived, parked, and begun drinking champagne and enjoying the hors d’oeuvres. Unlike at the first party, the food isn’t fancy. Apparently, not everyone can pull off a canapé in their sleep. I’m relieved to see the simple platters of cheese and fruit, along with basic crudités and some shrimp wrapped in bacon. When it comes our turn, Alice and I might actually be able to pull off this kind of spread.
Everyone greets us with smiles and hugs, addressing us as “Friend.” It gives me the creeps, but in a warm kind of way, if that’s possible. They all seem to remember everything about us, and I try to recall the last time anyone at Alice’s firm remembered anything about me. These people pay attention. Maybe too much attention, but still there’s something flattering about it. Men I only vaguely recognize walk up and pick up exactly where we left off in our conversation three months ago.
A guy named Harlan is asking me about my therapy practice, his wife quizzing Alice about law, when I notice JoAnne talking to a couple by the pool. I try to catch her eye but fail. Just then, Neil appears at my side. “JoAnne looks lovely tonight, doesn’t she?” he says, so quietly that only I can hear.
“Certainly,” I say. But the way he squeezes my shoulder—too hard, not exactly friendly—makes me think it was the wrong answer.
He glances at Alice, his eyes lingering on the collar. “I must say, Friend, you look stunning.”
She touches the collar. “I can’t take credit for the accessory.”
I’m biting into a brownie, trying to think of something to say to Neil, when our host from last time appears. “You might want to hold off on that,” Kate teases. I stop midbite, uncertain. “Hello, Friend,” she says. “Nice to see you again!”
“Hello, Friend,” I echo. Alice glances at me, startled.
Kate leans in and gives me a kiss on the lips. I taste her earthy lipstick and smell the vanilla in her fragrance. There is nothing sensual about the kiss, but it does tell me that we are far closer friends than I realized. It seems to be this way with all of the members.
“Are you two ready for your weigh-in?”
Alice and I stare at her blankly.
Kate laughs. “Clearly you haven’t read all of the attachments and appendices.”
“I don’t recall any attachments.”
“Each year the Guiding Committee puts out updates and new regulations,” Kate explains. “Your manual should have contained them. They would have been loose papers in the back of the book.”
“I’m sure there were no loose papers.” Alice is frowning.
“Really?” Neil says, surprised. “I’ll have to talk with Vivian.”
I’m secretly pleased. Apparently, Vivian has screwed up. I wonder what the punishment will be.
“Oh well,” Kate says. “Oversights are unusual, but they do occur. The new regulations came out right before you two joined, which might explain it. For our group, first-quarter meeting is the annual weigh-in. We do the fit test during the third quarter. Better to split them up, I think.”
Kate turns to Alice. Unlike the others, she acknowledges the Focus Collar. “Ah, I trust you’ve found this enlightening,” she says, running her finger over the smooth gray finish. She confides, “Just between us, Friend, I had one too, years ago. This new model is certainly an improvement. These days, they use a three-D printer, I hear, so each one fits perfectly. It’s expensive, of course, but as you probably know, the investment team had a spectacular year.”
“Investment team?” Alice asks.
“Of course!” Kate says. “Those three members from the London School of Economics and our friends from Sand Hill Road have certainly changed things for all of us. There’s funding for pretty much anything The Pact deems necessary. My collar was so heavy, even a few rough edges. No foam.” Her fingers flutter to the scar on her chin.