Page 9 of Escape Girl
“There you are! I haven’t seen you in ages, Bobby!” A tall woman with ebony hair appeared between us and the painting. She pressed into him for an enthusiastic hug so I automatically yanked my hand from his. He let mine go, but he squeezed it—hard—first.
What did that mean? Or was the hand squeeze just something he did to everyone? What did I care anyway? We’d exchanged a few sentences, not our life stories. I had no right to feel this level of annoyance at the brunette’s appearance. I knew her, actually. Nora something from Dimitri’s company. Still with one arm around Bobby, she offered a polite party smile. “You’re Sven’s daughter, right? Nice to see you again.”
Of course she hadn’t remembered my actual name. “You too.” I was about to pull away, maybe find an out-of-the-way bathroom and do today’s Wordle on my phone, but Selma waltzed into the room. Her eyes lit on our trio and she sashayed over.
“Now, Emily,” she said, after a few minutes of chatting with Nora about the recent weather. “How is your insomnia these days?” Oh good God. I’d made the mistake of mentioning it to her once, and now she was determined to cure it.
“Pretty much the same,” I said.
“Did you ever try the Xanax I recommended?” she asked loudly, apparently not caring that I might not want a party full of people knowing that she’d recommended antianxiety medication to me.
Nora cut in. “How much exercise do you get?” She gave me an up-and-down. “Try adding at least forty-five minutes of intense cardio to your day before medication. That will usually solve everything.”
Thanks, Doctor. Super helpful. I pursed my lips and nodded thoughtfully.
“Or,” Bobby said, and I cut glaring eyes to his face. So help me God, if he suggested yoga or guided meditations, I was going to scream. “Consider not changing a thing.”
Was this a trick?
He lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Back before the industrial revolution, before electricity, when night was dark early and really long, it was actually normal for people to wake for an hour or two in the middle of the night. They called that space in the night ‘The Watch,’ and it was a treasured part of ordinary life. Daytime was so busy with back-breaking manual labor that this special time between the first and second sleeps gave families an hour to think or visit with neighbors or smoke or have intimate conversations with one another.”
Despite my initial skepticism, I softened. He’d taken something that plagued me nightly and reframed it. Although his gaze roved over Nora and Selma as well, he was talking to me. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with waking like you do. Maybe you’re living a rich tradition that predates modern times.”
Oh man. I kinda liked that. Which was obvious when my mouth turned up at the corners in a soft, gooey smile.
“Fascinating,” Nora said, her voice sharp.
“Oh! I didn’t realize it was so late!” Selma gave us all kisses on the cheek and crossed the room to position herself directly in front of the painting. Bobby edged a glance at me, raised one eyebrow, and then narrowed his eyes at Selma’s rear end. My nostrils flared with humor.
She hit her cocktail glass with a spoon, grabbing the room’s attention.
“Everyone, we’re ready for dinner!” she called. “Let’s move on through to the dining room.”
The din of the small crowd rose with halfhearted cheers and stifled sighs because we all knew what was coming next. The Irvings always used top-notch catering, so the actual food would be amazing. But we’d earn it with twenty minutes of “oohs” and “ahhs” as Selma paraded us through her redecorated spaces. I saw a lot of disappointed glances at the now-empty tray of negronis.
“Don’t worry, everyone!” Bobby’s stage whisper carried above the party chatter. “I’m on a mission for libations.” With admirable grace, he disappeared from the room and from view altogether, somehow managing to escape Selma’s notice as she talked about her agonizing decision over hallway wallpaper.
When he caught up to the dozen of us five minutes later as we were admiring a new chandelier in their den (a chandelier in a den? Really?), he was carrying a tray of champagne flutes and two bottles of Veuve Clicquot. “You scoundrel!” Selma exclaimed slowly, but she happily accepted the first glass he poured before calling our attention to the new crown molding.
When the dining room finally came into sight, I saw my father’s white head barrel in front of the crowd and smiled to myself. He was probably starving and hoping there’d be some sort of bread bowl on the table.
“What do you do for a living? Quickly.” Bobby’s whisper in my ear was so light and fast I almost thought I imagined it.When I looked up with wide eyes, he was nodding along to Nora as she related a story about a recent trip to Rome.
But then he locked his gaze to mine and widened his eyes as if to say “Tell. Me.”
Baffled, I mouthed “lawyer” at him. He gave me a tiny nod and then grabbed Nora’s elbow to escort her across the threshold of the dining room. What on earth?
As expected, Dad was already seated and wolfing down sourdough. I started toward him, but he caught my eye and shook his head apologetically, pointing to the place cards. What? I’d checked them earlier, and I’d definitely been seated at his right side at the end of the table. Dimitri and Selma didn’t sit at the heads of the table. They preferred to sit dead in the middle, in the center of attention. They tended to place the less popular guests at the edges. Which, frankly, suited me just fine.
“Let me get your chair, Emily.” Suddenly at my side again, Bobby gestured to a place setting at the opposite end of the table from my father. Sure enough, my name was on the place card there—right next to one that said “Bobby March.”
Had…had he moved the place cards? Why?
Selma entered last and dropped into her center seat with a large smile. Which abruptly disappeared when she saw the people on her right and left. If her facial muscles could have moved, her expression would have been thunderous. She half stood. “The caterers messed up the place settings. We need to rearrange.” She spoke unusually rapidly before dabbing at her lips with a napkin, confirming my long-held suspicion that her time-consuming drawl was a choice.
Her husband glared at her. “For God’s sake, Selma, everyone’s fine. Let’s just eat.” It was the first time I’d ever liked Dimitri.
She tried for a fun pout instead of Dinner-Party-Zilla. “Well, at least Bobby has to change seats.” She beckoned my handsomeseatmate to her. “You were supposed to sit next to me so that we could discuss the Cannes Film Festival.”
