Page 6 of Stay Here Tonight
They settled on Joanie and Lydia.
“I think she’s coming this way…”
“Ah, shit, she is. What did we do?”
“No idea. You haven’t talked to Ms. Woodward and pissed her off, have you?”
Lydia stood back, startled. “No. Why would I have?”
Before Joanie could explain herself, the woman in the yellow dress stopped in front of them, determined gaze looking Lydia up and down.
“Is that David Loreander?” she asked, almost in a hushed whisper.
It took Lydia a few moments to understand what she meant. “My dress?”
“No, yourhair.Of course I mean the dress. Jesus. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“It sure is a Loreander!” Joanie clapped her hand over her friend’s shoulder. “This is Lydia. She’s got amazing taste.”
“So I see. Stick around, Lydia. Better yet, hang around the dance area. I’ll give you fifty bucks if you do so.”
“Excuse me?”
“Consider it an impromptu acting job. It’ll make more sense later.” The woman turned around. “Wait. Do you have a significant other?”
“Uh, no.” Great. Now half the party would know how lonely and single Lydia was.
“Excellent. Fifty bucks is yours if you hang out on the other side of the room.” The PR manager walked away.
Lydia and Joanie exchanged glances. “What in the world was that about?”
Joanie shook her head. “Hey, fifty bucks is fifty bucks.”
“Feels wrong.”
“If she gives it to you in cash, you could donate it to the fundraiser?”
I guess so.Something about this didn’t sit right with Lydia. What did her dress have to do with anything? Ah, it was probably a photo op. These people were paid to get shots of popular social figures and gowns that the masses wanted to admire.Thanks, Mom.Brenda Cruz had done a bang-up job making sure her daughter was in the press. Hopefully nobody would care what her name was.
Lydia shrugged on her way over to the dance area, Joanie right behind her.
More people were on the dance floor, a healthy mix of gay and straight couples depending on what friends danced with whom and if the benefactors were more allies than participants in queer culture. Still, seeing two feminine women, two men in tuxes, or even the occasional butch couple dance together wasn’t something Lydia saw wherever she went. Joanie, meanwhile, made sure to comment on the jazz pieces selected for performance – and the designer clothes the women wore, of course. She also wasn’t bad at pegging which suits were Valentino, Armani, or whatever. Lydia barely remembered the name David Loreander.
“You really do look good tonight,” Joanie mused. “That dress super suits you. Your mom may have cotton in her ears when it comes to your sexuality, but she candressyou.”
“Guess if there’s anyone in the world who can, it’s her.”
“I’ll be at that level one day.” Joanie harbored dreams of becoming a personal stylist. She didn’t have the skills or creativity to become a designer like her favorites, but she knew looks and styles and could tell a woman what body shape she had with one furtive glance. It often landed her dates. “You should let me dress you up and take pictures so I can create a portfolio.”
“Good thing you tacked on that last bit, because otherwise, what the fuck?”
Lydia happened to look over as Maxine appeared on the opposite edge of the dance floor. Their eyes briefly met before Maxine looked away, disenchanted with her own party.I mean, she’s only throwing it for the resource center she works with all the time. Maybe she doesn’t like parties? Maybe she doesn’t like all these people in her home?If only Lydia could think of something to say. “Hello, is this house passed down in your family? Because it’s amazing!” No, that would make her sound crazy. Lydia couldn’t even say what architectural style it was. She didn’t know any of the artists hanging on the wall. She barely knew whose dress she wore.
A woman approached and outwardly flirted with Maxine. She, like the PR manager, was brushed off.
“Someone’s pissy over there,” Joanie mumbled.
“Yeah. Parties are stressful.”
