Page 11 of Married With Lies

I’m out of practice when it comes to these social events packed with high profile egos. Yet if I must be here (and I must if I want my father’s help) then I need to keep smiling and drifting along the perimeter without engaging with anyone for longer than it takes to say, “Hello,” and “What a lovely dress” and “It’s so nice to see you again”.

I’m keeping things simple. I wouldn’t want my mouth to go running away from me. My mouth can be a problem.

Like the mountain lion incident when I was thirteen. It was the year the Dukes had their worst season on record and my father’s moods tend to rise and fall on the team’s fortunes.

There I was, minding my own business and drinking my fifth Shirley Temple of the evening while daydreaming about the unlikely hope that my father would soften his No Pets Ever rule and let me have a dog for Christmas. It was the only gift I’d asked for. Instead, I ended up receiving a highly uncomfortable designer wardrobe that happened to be an entire size too small.

Anyhow, hours before I ripped open all those disappointing boxes, I overheard the General Manager of the Dukes brag about mounting the head of a mountain lion in his study.

“Did you kill it yourself?” I asked.

And he turned, annoyed at the interruption, until he realized he was peering down at his boss’s daughter. Then he covered that irritation with a phony smile, tweaked my nose and boomed, “One shot between the eyes, little darling.”

I felt the urge to kick him but I dislike violence and I was wearing ballerina flats. I just would have hurt my foot.

Instead, I just propped my hands on my hips and announced, quite loudly, “My father says you’re a managerial coward who probably has balls the size of pencil erasers and he can’t wait to end your contract next year.”

All true.

Asher Wingate uttered those exact words when he flew into a temper on the heels of a twelve game losing streak. I was proud of myself for remembering the rant in its entirety.

My father was less proud. He didn’t speak to me directly for months. Then he decided to ship me off to an austere Vermont boarding school. No one dared argue. Not even my big brother, Baylor, who I always thought of as the one person in the family who could be counted on to take my side. One steely look from Father Dearest was enough to make Bay shrink like a slug in salt. He wouldn’t even come with me for the ride to Vermont no matter how I begged. He just waved from the driveway and advised me to ‘behave’ after shoving me into the back of the car. I stared at the bald head of my father’s silent driver for hundreds of miles through a film of tears.

Nothing was ever really the same between me and Baylor again but I did learn how to behave. Or at least give a pretty convincing imitation. Those skills propelled me through the insufferable prep school era and four dull years at Cornell.

In the end, I was behaving so hard that I forgot who I was.

I’m never forgetting again.

But I can’t dwell on that tonight as I drift along the walls and graze on stuffed mushrooms heaped into a white linen napkin. The mushrooms are truly the best thing about this party, although that might be the hunger talking. I’d been too nervous to eat since I got here, focusing all my energy on screwing up the nerve to approach my father for a loan.

This afternoon he turned me down before I even finished the sentence. Then I was dismissed with an annoyed hand gesture so he could answer a phone call.

Not that I’m giving up. I can’t. Bright Hearts Ranch is not just my dream. It’s a refuge for dozens of animals with nowhere else to go. Every time I close my eyes I can see all those hopeful little faces who only want to be loved. I won’t return without a plan to save them.

“Mercedes,” barks a woman’s voice in the same tone that someone might say ‘Vomit’.

I know who it belongs to. My brain is screaming but I can’t cause a scene.

“Mrs, um, Gallant.” I stutter at the formality. She used to urge me to call her Jessica but that was back in the season of temporary insanity when I agreed to marry her son.

Her cold eyes skate up and down and her mouth quirks with disapproval. The powder blue dress I’m wearing is much more of a summer choice but it’s my father’s favorite color. The last time I wore it was for my college graduation and I thought the bright color might remind him of that brief era when I was a dutiful daughter.

Probably a bad idea since he’s also sure to be reminded of how I shredded all his plans. Anyway, now I just feel out of place amid all the sleek evening wear. Jessica Gallant’s smirk is just making the feeling worse.

“Such a surprise to see you here.” She pecks the air six inches from my right cheek. I have a feeling she’d rather bite me. “I wasn’t aware you were in town.”

Her perfume is overpowering. I sneeze into my mushroom napkin. “Just for Christmas. I’ll be leaving before New Year’s.”

“So you can return to battling ticks in the Idaho wilderness, I presume?” She cackles at her non-joke. “Wonderful.”

“Colorado. Not the wilderness. Just not New York. I haven’t seen any ticks.”

“Right.” Her lips flatten with disinterest. “Grant is around here somewhere. He’ll want the opportunity to say hello.”

Red alert!!!

The feeling is far from mutual.

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