Tonight is for me.
I can’t fucking wait.
I leave Mrs.Dali’s bathroom.
Tears fill Mrs.Dali’s eyes and she claps her hands to her mouth.“You look so beautiful, Ella.My word, I had no idea it would turn out quite like this.”She gives a little laugh and reaches beneath her glasses to dab her eyes with a handkerchief.“I must say, I feel a bit like a fairy godmother.”
“That’s because youareone,” I exclaim.“Thank you, thank you so much.”
“You are very welcome, my dear.Now go on.Do you have your ticket?”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.”I transfer the ticket, my wallet, and my phone from my giant, ugly handbag and into the tiny drawstring clutch.
“Okay,nowgo,” Mrs.Dali says.“And have the best damned time!Tell me all about it tomorrow.”
“I will,” I promise.
The cold January evening is a slap of reality against my skin.Of course, neither Mrs.Dali nor I thought about a coat of any kind.We wouldn’t have had the time or resources to take care of it if we had, though.
I take the bus to the Tyler Analytics building, and I get some strange looks from the other passengers.Yes, I am way overdressed for the bus.But paying for a car ride isn’t a possibility these days—I don’t even have one of those apps on my phone.
Feeling absolutely buoyant with hope, I text Joel.Hey, guess what!I have a dress for the gala!
No response.
I frown at the screen, hoping for those little dots to signal he’s writing back, but nothing happens.
No problem.I still have the ticket.I’ll surprise him at the gala itself.
Kingston
The gala is in full swing, and I’ve talked to about a hundred people already.Most are making inane comments about the decor.The company we hired has really done an amazing job, filling the place with orchids and subtle twinkle lights that manage to blend with the other decorations without looking tacky.
I’m in the middle of a conversation with an Irish investor when I spot my son deep in his own conversation with a young woman’s breasts.As soon as I can get away from the investor, I stride over to Joel and politely yank him away from the woman.
“What’s that about?”he asks, annoyed.
“Where’s your date?”I ask.
He shrugs.“Where’s yours?”
“I didn’t bring anyone,” I say.“Did you?What about the maid?”
“Are you serious?I’m not bringing her.In a moment of weakness I asked her, but can you believe she didn’t even get a dress for this?”
I want to hang my head in shame.I can’t believe I raised this kid.“Well, did you at least talk to her about whatever was going wrong, after I asked you to?”
“What?No, hell no,” he says.“She has issues, she can deal.”
“You’re supposed to be there for her.If she’s your girlfriend, that’s what you do.”
He shakes his head.“She’s not my girlfriend and she’s not my responsibility, and neither is her baggage.”
My son is an asshole.I fucked up, and it might be too late to fix things, to help him become the man he could be, rather than the overprivileged fuckboy his mother raised.
Joel hurries off, no doubt eager to get away from me and what he must guess is a lecture.I’ll catch him later and let him hear everything he needs to hear.
In the meantime, I need to do the bare minimum amount of socializing, then get the hell out of this place.
