Page 24 of Still Me
He was being charming, of course. But suddenly the room felt a little less chilly. He was from Back Bay Boston, had just moved to what he described as a rabbit-hutch apartment in SoHo, and had put on five pounds since arriving in New York because the restaurants downtown were so good. He said a lot more, but I couldn’t tell you what because I couldn’t stop staring at him.
“And how about you, Miss Louisa Clark the First? What do you do?”
“I—”
“Louisa is a friend of mine. Just visiting from England.”
“And how are you finding New York?”
“I love it,” I said. “I don’t think my head has stopped spinning.”
“And the Yellow Ball is one of your first social engagements. Well, Mrs. Leonard Gopnik the Second, you don’t do things small.”
The evening was flying by, eased by a second glass of champagne. At dinner, I was placed between Agnes and a man who failed to give me his name and spoke to me only once, asking my breasts who they knew, then turning his back when it became clear that the answer was not very many people at all. I watched what Agnes drank, on Mr. Gopnik’s orders, and when I caught him looking at me I switched her full glass for my near-empty one, feeling relief when his subtle smile signaled approval. Agnes talked too loudly to the man on her right, herlaugh a little too high, her gestures brittle and fluttery. I watched the other women at the table, all of them forty and above, and saw the way they looked at her, their eyes sliding heavily toward each other, as if to confirm some dark opinion expressed in private. It was horrible.
Mr. Gopnik could not reach her from his position across the table, but I saw his eyes flickering toward her frequently, even as he smiled and shook hands and appeared, on the surface, to be the most relaxed man on the planet.
“Where is she?”
I leaned in to hear Agnes more clearly.
“Leonard’s ex-wife. Where is she? You have to find out, Louisa. I can’t relax until I know. I canfeelher.”
Big Purple. “I’ll check the place settings,” I said, and excused myself from the table.
I stood at the huge printed stand at the entrance to the dining room. There were around eight hundred closely printed names and I didn’t know if the first Mrs. Gopnik even went by Gopnik anymore. I swore under my breath just as Josh appeared behind me.
“Lost someone?”
I lowered my voice. “I need to find out where the first Mrs. Gopnik is seated. Would you happen to know if she goes by her old name? Agnes would like... to have an idea where she is.”
He frowned.
“She’s a little stressed,” I added.
“No idea, I’m afraid. But my aunt might. She knows everyone. Stay right here.” He touched my bare shoulder lightly and strode off into the dining room, while I tried to rearrange my facial expression into that of someone who was scanning the board to confirm the presence of half a dozen close friends, not someone whose skin had just colored an unexpected shade of pink.
He was back within a minute.
“She’s still Gopnik,” he said. “Aunt Nancy thinks she might have seen her over by the auction table.” He ran a manicured finger down the list of names. “There. Table 144. I walked past to check and there’s a woman who fits her description. Fifty-something, dark hair, shooting poison darts from a Chanel evening bag? They’ve put her about as far away from Agnes as they could.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said. “She’ll be so relieved.”
“They can be pretty scary, these New York matrons,” he said. “I don’t blame Agnes for wanting to watch her back. Is English society this cut-throat?”
“English society? Oh, I don’t—I’m not very big on society events,” I said.
“Me either. To be honest, I’m so worn out after work that most days it’s all I can do to pick up a takeout menu. What is it you do, Louisa?”
“Um...” I glanced abruptly at my phone. “Oh, gosh. I have to get back to Agnes.”
“Will I see you before you go? Which table are you at?”
“Thirty-two,” I said, before I could think about all the reasons I shouldn’t.
“Then I’ll see you later.” I was briefly transfixed by Josh’s smile. “I meant to say, by the way, you look beautiful.” He leaned forward, and lowered his voice so that it rumbled a little by my ear. “I actually prefer your dress to your friend’s. Did you take a picture yet?”
“A picture?”
