“The Ball.”
“Yes, the Ball. It’s the second biggest event of the year, bigger than all the soirees. It’s imperative we attend.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know my schedule yet. I might have a run Friday.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Vince will not do runs during the Ball. He wants everyone there.”
I shrugged. “What do I need to do?”
“Nothing extreme. Do you have a suit?”
I laughed out loud. For almost a decade, I wore a suit everyday. My closet was filled with tailored coats and pants; high-dollar wool and imported silk. Two racks of hundred-dollar ties. Cuff links, watches, and vests. I’d left almost all of it behind, but the thought of this woman asking me, now, in all sincerity, if I owned a suit, for some reason struck me as funny. I’d owned more suits than most of these people had seen in stores.
On that hot summer morning I’d started my drive, I took one suit with me. My favorite navy blue ensemble, always hung at the end of the closet, with matching shirt and tie. I stuffed it hastily in that oversized duffel bag with the other essential items, something frowned upon in any formal circle for a garment of its quality, but I didn’t care. Now it was hung in my tiny apartment closet, still wrinkled and dirty, but one trip to the cleaner would bring it back to life.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
“Nothing. Yes, I have a suit.”
“Most excellent. Then we are set. You need nothing more than to attend, as my companion. We will attend, and we will be fabulous.”
22
She was right, as she always was. There was no run on Friday, or Thursday, for that matter, but I was assured the work would ramp up next week. Everything was relayed through Damon, who had become my main contact and de facto mentor for the job. On Friday, he said, we were to focus on the Ball.
A formal invitation came on Thursday, taped to my screen door just like the envelope of cash. It was printed on fancy stationary, like a wedding invite. It had details of the event, but Suzanne had already filled me in.
“We’ll arrive at eight for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. We need not bring a gift. The music starts in earnest at nine, and all else follows accordingly.
“It’s like a normal party in a lot of ways. But it’s different. It’s very different.”
When we showed up to Vince’s mountain home, cars were already lining the driveway. My suit was freshly pressed, hugging my body the way it had for so many years. There was something oddly surreal about wearing that suit, here, in the mountains of Colorado. Like when you run into a friend from high school years later in a town hundreds of miles away. I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car, and what I saw was the old me. The New York me, the corporate me, the married me. He looked out of place here, and he felt it, too. I loosened the tie just slightly, enough to breathe better but not enough for anyone to notice, and remembered again that that person was gone. I had seen a ghost in that mirror.
Suzanne was, as predicted, fabulous. She wore a long yellow dress and held the bottom as we walked over bare ground. Her red hair was piled high on her head almost professionally, and her makeup was heavier than normal, accentuating her eyes and cheekbones. The familiar gold locket hung around her neck. It was during moments like this that I began to question my reservations about her. Maybe, I thought, it was silly to keep her at arms length, when our companionship was so effortless. Her oddness was ever present, but it intrigued me, and its novelty had not yet worn off. She wasn’t a knockout, but she was pretty enough, and in times like this, when she put herself together and presented the whole package, she could compete with most.
She took my hand and we walked to the front door, where we were greeted by the host, Vincent Decierdo. It was the first time I’d seen him since becoming his employee.
“Well,” he said with a handshake and a warm smile, “if it isn’t the royal couple of the mountains.” His burly hand engulfed mine, and I was reminded of how physically large he was.
“You hush now,” Suzanne said, and leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. The three of us shared a laugh.
Vince’s home was lavishly decorated with elegant hanging lights, art on the walls, and a small chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The couches had been moved out and replaced with modern square furniture; black and white footstools and ottomans and small loveseats. There was a large area cleared in the center for a dance floor. At the far end of the room was a wooden bar, and behind it stood a man with a vest and slick black hair. The home had been transformed from subculture haven to luxurious banquet hall.
“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Suzanne told him as we entered the room. A dozen people milled about and held drinks, all dressed for a formal affair. Dark suits and tuxes. Neck ties and bowties. Cocktail dresses and legs.
“My dear, may I have a minute with sir Julian?” Vince asked. He wore a deep green smoking jacket. “Perhaps you could get us a round from the bar.”
“My pleasure,” she said, and walked off.
Vince watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to me. His face was straight, somber, but in good spirits.
“Good work so far,” he said.
“Thank you. It was just one night.”
“Yes, a trial run. But you passed. You’re in.”
I nodded. A trial run. This was news to me. “Great.”
“Were you nervous?”
“Nervous? No.”
“Julian,” he said, cocking his head to one side, “remember, you’re not the first person I’ve trained.”
I paused. “Alright, maybe a little.”
He let out a belly laugh. “Very good. That’s normal. Don’t worry, it’ll get easier. Now, enough business. We’re here to have a good time.”
Suzanne approached, holding three glasses in front of her. Her long dress drug across the floor, leaving a virtual wake.
“Vodka for me, scotch for the gentlemen,” she said, and handed me a short glass of caramel liquor. I thanked her and eyed the glass. Straight booze, no ice. Vince raised his glass, and Suzanne and I followed suit.
“To good friends, community, and the conclusion of another summer,” he said, and we all drank. The scotch burned my throat, reminiscent of the grain alcohol I’d chugged in college. I tried not to make a face, given it was supposed to be a delicacy or something.
More guests arrived and Vince went to greet them. A waiter in black appeared beside me and offered prosciutto and toast from a platter. I felt a hand on my back, and turned to see Damon; big, toothy grin on his face, adorned in a white suit. He gave me a handshake and a hug, like old friends. He hugged Suzanne, and introduced the woman standing behind him.
“This is Laura,” he said, and she stepped forward to shake hands. A little thing, not much taller than five feet, and she wore an aqua dress and white scarf. I said hello, thrilled to meet someone else new to this group.
Suzanne stuck out a dainty hand and shook Laura’s. “Charmed,” she said.
Music started, 1950’s old school swing bands. I sipped the scotch and talked with Damon. He was interested in my time in the mountains so far; how my apartment was, where I’d explored. He’d been there three years, he said, originally from Arizona, and didn’t plan on leaving.
More drinks were served and the women talked amongst themselves. I greeted other familiar faces—the guitar players from the first night, a quiet couple from McNeil’s. The music seemed to get louder. I looked up and the room was full. There must have been fifty people in that living room, transformed into a ballroom, everyone and everything dressed to the nines.
Suzanne took my arm and led me toward the bar.
“I need a drink,” she said.