Page 16 of The Sixth Wedding
“Eeeeeeee!” Leland says. “Let’s look together, come on.” She slides around to his side of the table, picks up thePost,and slaps it down in front of him. “You do the honors.”
Fray stares at the paper. What is he going to find? He tries to remember if he heard any drones during the night.
“Or I can?” Leland says.
“No, I’ll do it.” He opens the paper to Page Six—and there is a photograph of Fray and Leland kissing outside the Nantucket airport. The headline reads: “Frazier Dooley’s Tony Island Getaway with Feminist Icon Leland Gladstone.”
To her credit, Leland doesn’t shriek or scream, but when she pulls her reading glasses out of her purse, he notices her hands are shaking.
“‘Coffee mogul Frazier Dooley greets paramour Leland Gladstone outside Nantucket Memorial Airport. The couple were then whisked away by a private vehicle.’”
Leland turns to Fray and all he can think is how sexy she looks in her glasses, like a naughty librarian. “That’s why our server said I was from thePost,” she whispers. “And that’s why my mother texted. They’ve already seen this.”
Everyone reads thePost, he thinks.But only the brave admit it. He can’t gage where Leland is going to land on this. He’s pretty sure her brand depends on her sexual identity, which is…well, whatever it is, it’s probably not compatible with a weekend rendezvous on the arm of a white male billionaire.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I attract all kinds of attention because of the business. And the whole thing with Anna has made things exponentially worse.”
“Has Anna seen this?” Leland asks. “Was that her calling this morning?”
Fray nods.
“I’mthe one who’s sorry,” Leland says. “I know who took this picture. There were two women on my plane who asked for a selfie, and then when we were walking out of the terminal they were behind me and I overheard them recognizing you.”
“So they took our picture and sold it to thePost,” Fray says.
“I’m sure they think they won the internet jackpot,” Leland says. She picks up the paper. “Does ‘feminist icon’ make me sound old?”
“Iconis better thanmogul,” Fray says. “Mogulis such an ugly, hobbity word.”
“I can’t believe this,” Leland whispers. “I mean, it wouldn’t be funny except it’strue.Iamyour weekend paramour.”
“Will you get…canceled?” Fray says. “Will you be hounded by trolls? Do your readers think you sleep with women?”
“My sexuality is considered fluid,” Leland says. “It’s 2023. Everyone’s sexuality is considered fluid, Fray.”
“Oh,” Fray says.Hissexuality doesn’t feel fluid; it feel very Leland-specific. “So this isn’t necessarilybadfor you, then?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Leland says. “I’ve been happier the past twenty-four hours than I’ve been…maybe ever.”
This statement nearly brings Fray to tears. He hasn’t been this happy maybe ever, either. He thinks back to his much younger self, glaring at the pay phone in his freshman dorm after just having hung up on Leland, who was back in her bedroom on Deepdene Road in Baltimore. What had they been arguing about? Who knows—maybe Fray told her he was pledging a fraternity, maybe she told him she and Mallory were going to a party with boys from Gilman. He then pictures himself in the back of Mallory’s Blazer, calling Leland every swear word he knew under his breath after she strolled off to 21 Federal with Kip Sudbury.
He had no idea then that all he needed for things to finally be perfect between him and Leland was patience. A lot of patience.
Bess
Everything about her Friday evening improves all at once. Not only has she traded up in the date department—she bumped into Link Dooley, a boy she has thought about ever since she met him on Nantucket three years earlier—but she is also leaving behind the Drake-and-buffalo-wings scene at Roofers Union for Lapis, her favorite restaurant in the District.
Lapis is quiet and elegant; it gives off strong bistro vibes, only with sitar music. The owner, Shamin, gives Bess a smile when she sees her enter with Link. Shamin leads them to one of the tables in the window. Bess thanks her profusely even though, because of the conversation she’s about to have, she would prefer a table tucked behind one of the latticed wooden screens.
“Wow,” Link says. “You get star treatment.”
“I come here a lot,” Bess says. She doesn’t mention that this was the one place in DC where Ursula would eat in public while she was campaigning. Shamin made every accommodation to ensure that Ursula, Jake, and Bess were comfortable.
“I love bolani,” Link says. “And qabuli palau.”
“The palau here is off the chain,” Bess says. “It’s made with cinnamon rice.”
“We have to get the halwa for dessert,” Link says.
