Page 4 of Stay Here Tonight
It wasn’t that Lydia had abadrelationship with her mother, but ever since Brenda Cruz married a Hollywood millionaire, she got it in her head that her daughter from a previous,poorermarriage needed to step up her game so she could join her mother at the Oscars this time next year. When she wasn’t trying to set her daughter up on dates with men who had little interest in Lydia, she was doing stuff like this: sending “get them, honey” fun packs that included expensive clothing, shoes, jewelry, and even perfume.
Lydia had to hand it to her mother – she had good tastes, if for all the wrong reasons.
A glittering one-shoulder dress as silver as fearless rain graced Lydia’s fingers. So happened to be her size, since her mother knew that as well. Dark gray fuck-me pumps were next, although Lydia would never know how to walk in them. Chanel perfume. A pair of diamond teardrop earrings that her mother claimed to be from some distant relative recently “relieved” of her diamonds.“They’re heirlooms! Be sure to play that up when you’re flirting!”
Lydia shoved the box aside on her kitchen table. She was about to consider the E-bay resell value when she remembered she still needed something to wear to the fundraiser that night.
“Shit.” It was perfect. For two weeks Lydia had fretted over what to wear to such a classy function. Only once a year a fundraiser of this caliber was held to raise most of the resource center’s budget, and Lydia had completely missed last year’s. This year? She heard Maxine would hold it in her mansion outside of town. That put even more pressure on Lydia to come up with an outfit that wouldn’t get her laughed out of the room by the treasure trove of millionaires sure to attend and cut some checks.
She received a text from Joanie, her buddy for that evening’s money-fest.“Got your gear ready to go? I’ll swing by to pick you up at six. Boss wants us there at seven, and God only knows how traffic will go. By the way, what color you wearing? Don’t wanna wear the same.”
Joanie loved fashion. While she didn’t have the funds to buy everything she wanted that came off the runway, she saved up enough every few months to splurge on a designer dress or an annual purse that screamed the hundreds of dollars she dropped to make it hers. Too bad she and Lydia were completely different sizes.
“My mom sent me this silver thing that I think is worth some money. I’ll send you a pic.”Lydia stepped back and took a picture with her cell phone. She could barely fit the box’s contents into her screen.
“Holy shit! Is that a David Loreander dress? How did she get something like that?”
“No idea. She wants me to seduce rich men in it.”
“We’re going to a rich lesbian’s house. Does that count?”
The thought of Maxine seeing her in a dress like this… how had Lydia not considered that before? It almost made her not wear it now. She wouldn’t be able to handle that level of attention. Hell. No.
At the same time, wouldn’t it be an interesting way to get use out of the dress her mother sent her? The one meant to attract rich men?
What about a rich woman?
Brenda Cruz knew all about her daughter’s sexual identity. Lydia could clearly remember the day she came out to her mother with tears of uncertainty. Brenda had shrugged, then conveniently forgot the “lesbian” part and continued to hear “bisexual” until death could claim her. No matter how much Lydia told her mother she wasn’t interested in men, not one bit, not for a single day in her life, Brenda’s selective hearing won out.
Some things could not be helped when it came to parents. Lydia pulled the dress out of the box and wondered if it could score her a conversation with Maxine, the elusive yet charitable multimillionaire who was believed single by anyone Lydia asked.
Oh, she knew about the divorce, but not the details. Some model named Persephone or Philippa or some other such P name. She was hot, of course. That Lydiahadlooked up, because she desired to know what kind of woman Maxine Woodward was attracted to enough to marry. The reason Lydia never committed the former Mrs. Woodward to memory was purely due to jealousy. The woman was so drop-dead gorgeous that Lydia knew she could never compare, so why would she?
Even so, once she committed to the silver dress and the fantasy of catching Maxine’s eye while wearing it, Lydia took special care with her hair and makeup. A pity she had no idea what she was doing.
***
Maxine’s California-chic manor was high up in the surrounding hills, beyond miles of two-lane roads and a changing landscape that went from slightly arid toare those cacti?The heat would’ve been unbearable during the summer if it weren’t for the deceptively-close ocean and its accompanying breezes. Lydia had no idea they had whipped around the hills and back toward the coast until she caught a glimpse of the Pacific through the trees.
“Still can’t believe you’re upstaging me in that dress,” Joanie said with a dramatic sigh. She had spent the whole car ride bemoaning that she should have worn a yellow Dolce & Gabbana dress instead of the deep blue wrap dress currently gracing her curvy figure. “You couldn’t have done anything better with your hair?”
Lydia accepted a glass of champagne off a passing serving tray. “No? Didn’t have the time or the money to stop by a salon, thanks. Why?” Was there something wrong with her hair? Felt dowdy to leave her bland brown strands down, so after vigorously brushing it, Lydia clipped it back into a loose, low ponytail. The clasp was not shoddy, either. A gift from her father one Christmas. Large, oval, and glittering with jade and gold. (Both fake. Probably.) Besides, her hair wasn’t supposed to steal attention from her supposed heirlooms dangling from her ears.
“You look very ten years ago,” Joanie said, droll. “I would know. Ten years ago I tore up the clubs like a bomb-ass bitch with hair like that.”
“Ten years ago I was barely graduating high school.”
“You shut your mouth. Seriously.”
Few people would guess that same amount of years separated Lydia and Joanie. Until Lydia brought it up, anyway.
They stood to the side of the grand foyer, which someone could have told Lydia was a full ballroom and she would have believed them – minus that giant staircase in the center. Guests came through the main entrance, had their hats and coats checked, and were instantly allowed to mingle with the other guests accumulating on either side of the foyer. One side boasted a healthy selection of finger foods and cake while the other was completely cleared for dancing. Music filtered in from the adjacent lounge.
Lydia had never really been to a party like this before. Not even her stepfather’s parties in Hollywood were like this. Then again, the resource center wasn’t appealing to those types. They roped in their rich connections from around the world. Most of them Maxine’s friends, whom she knew were good for their money toward the cause. In the meantime, she would offer them live music, expensive drinks, and luxurious foods on her own dime.
What did she get out of it? Could not have been mere charity.
“You gals have a great time tonight,” said director Francis Ferrari, bedecked in a floor-length gown and letting her brown curls fly free from the usual clips and barrettes she wore to work at the resource center. “Alsomingle,for Pete’s sake. I’m counting on the likes of you lovely ladies to schmooze some more money out of some pockets around here. I’m already hoarse. I need more champagne.” She eyed Lydia’s champagne glass with a silent request.
