“It looked like a girl.”
“That’s because she is a girl.”
I reach for the drawstring at my waist. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Do you care for her?” I slide my pants down my right hip.
“She finishes under par, that’s all I care about. What are you doing?”
I push down the other side and am careful not to take my underwear with it. “Takin’ my pants off so I don’t mess up your Swiss leather.”
“Stop!” He looks side to side like he’s afraid someone might see us—but not before he gets a real good look at the top of my lacy bikini panties. “Give me your hat.”
“Why?” I hand it over and he puts it on the passenger seat.
“Get in before someone sees you.”
I grab my shoes and run around the other side, and I have to take a quick step back so the gull-wing door doesn’t hit me in the head. “You almost knocked me out.”
“I’m not that lucky.”
The car’s so low to the ground, I kind of fall into it. The door lowers and I dump my shoes on the floor. “Are you sure about the pants?” I look around for the seat belt. “It’s not like either of us is goin’ to get excited, given our aversion and all.”
“I’m sure.” He shifts the car into gear as I click the belt across my chest and lap. “How’d you end up in the club parking lot with wet clothes?”
“I was joggin’ and got a stitch in my side so I sat on the grass.” He revs the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. The car smells and sounds like money, and I figure Oliver must be as loaded as the Chatsworth-Joneses. “Then I realized I don’t know the way back home.” I look out the windows and pay attention to landmarks and street signs this time.
He takes a right and we drive down a street with big houses and manicured lawns. “Don’t you have a cell phone?” he asks.
“I don’t have pockets, but I was with Rod and he knew the way.” It looks like everyone around here is loaded, too. Even the smaller houses are grand. “He was my personal trainer and all.” Oliver takes a left and I can see the gates to Hawthorne. “He’s too dedicated and hard-core for me nowadays.” I shrug. “I scared him off with my punctured-lung story.”
He looks over at me and pulls into the drive. “I’m not even going to ask.” The gates open and we take off toward the house like a bat out of hell. He barely stops the car before the door lifts.
“Wanna come inside?” I wouldn’t mind if he helped me out of my wet clothes.
“Not a chance. If Marvin and Clarice see us together, they’ll get the wrong idea and think we’re dating.”
I pick up my shoes, grab my hat, and kind of hoist myself out of the car. I turn to tell him he’d be lucky to date me, but he shuts the door in my face. I don’t even have time to say, “Thank you for making sure I got home safe and sound,” before he speeds off toward the entrance like he can’t get away from me fast enough. “You have issues,” I yell after him.
He doesn’t seem to be alone in his desire to get rid of me. That night during dinner, the parents don’t mention seeing Oliver. Instead, Claire teaches me the “language of cutlery.” At first I think she’s joking, but she says that where I place my knife and fork has meaning and signals things like when I’m taking a pause, ready for the next course, or finished. I’d noticed the strange way they placed their cutlery the first night we had dinner in the conservatory. I had no idea it was a “language.”
I’m a little buzzed from the wine, which makes me think this is even more stupid than it probably is. “Are you pullin’ my leg?”
“Of course not. You never want to thoughtlessly insult the hostess with the wrong message.” Claire looks across the table at me. “If you break the rules of etiquette, you risk not being invited back.”
“What
if I thoughtlessly break wind?”
She lifts her chardonnay to her lips, and her gaze gets kind of squinty as she looks at me over the top of her glass. “Don’t.”
I wonder if she means don’t thoughtlessly break wind or don’t try her patience. I suspect both.
Perhaps feeling an impending emotional outburst from me or Claire, Marvin joins boot camp. “Generally, people are polite and don’t mention such things.”
I’m bored and tired of boot camp, and I am purposely trying Claire’s patience. I don’t want to do that. I know she’s trying to help in her own way, but I need a break from all her rules. “I think it’s time for me to move to the penthouse,” I say, floating the trial balloon. They both look at me, shocked. I expect them to argue and tell me I’m not ready to live on my own, but they don’t.