Page 12 of Batty About You
Chapter Five: Kelly
Iarrive at the beautiful old White Pines mansion at 7:46, only one minute late despite the great bat mishap. I put my phone in my little evening bag, determined not to call Bogdan again. I want us to find each other tonight, and share that storied first glance, that old “our eyes met across a crowded room” moment that so many songs and movies have been written about.
Listen, if you’d grown up watching old Deborah Kerr and Dolores del Rio movies as a kid, you’d be dying for the big romantic moments, too.
“Giiiiiirl. You look like something out of a fantasy novel!” Cindy greets me as she swishes past in a tight black dress of figure-hugging Lycra and sequins. Cathy is right on her heels, carrying a tray of pumpkin tarts and wearing a matching dress. Cindy’s silvery blonde hair is in shining loose curls, while Cathy’s strawberry blonde hair is in an elegant twist.
I self-consciously fluff my flowing lilac and white skirt. Layers of alternating white and purple settle around me, falling like a cloud. “Thank you. I love it.” And I hope tonight is the beginning of a simple, homespun fantasy, just a happy little beginning that feels like the start of happily ever after. “You both look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Cindy runs her hands down the curves of her dress. Her hands sculpt her hips like she’s molding the dress oneven more tightly. “My husband can’t keep his hands off of me, and I’m so okay with that.”
“Well, I can see why,” I smile, my eyes roving around the guests who have arrived early and are filling the grand foyer and the long hall leading to the ballroom. “Have you seen a man in a bat suit?”
“Batman? Three of them.” Cathy points towards the ballroom.
“Not Batman. Like a giant human-bat creature?”
Both women shake their heads. “Oh. He might be a little lost. He’s coming from out of town. Can I help with anything?” I ask.
“No! You’re a guest. We’re gettingpaidto look gorgeous and keep the trays filled,” Cindy laughs and waves me on.
At 8:00, he still hasn’t shown up. I worry that he’s lost in the mountains, or maybe he missed the exit for Pine Ridge and had to backtrack. Why didn’t I meet him in some big, well-known town halfway between our homes for our first date? I berate myself as I take cookies and canapés that I have no intention of eating until Bogdan is by my side.
At 8:15, I crack and call his phone. It rings until the oboe quartet begins, and then I leave a message, my voice tight around a lump that shouldn’t be there.
My best friend wouldn’t stand me up. Even if he got cold feet, he’d tell me. He loves me too much to not show up.
If he doesn’t love me that much, he at least loves me enough to text and say he’s too scared. I’d be sad, but I’d understand.
But at 8:30, there’s still no call, and I’ve stared with indecent intensity at every man in the glowing ballroom lit by chandeliers and candelabras.
At 9:00, I walk around outside and find several couples doing things they totally shouldn’t be doing outside of a lockedbedroom, but they don’t notice me. I’m glad, because I’m crying now, and my mascara is making little puddles under my eyes.
Great. I’m a raccoon princess. He could be my bat prince. But he’s not here.
My stomach is in knots. If I tell people that I’ve never met him and we’ve been talking online, emailing, and texting, they’ll assume he’s just a jerk catfishing me. They’ll tell me I’ve had a lucky escape, that he wouldn’t come to a big public event because he couldn’t prey on me in private like some horror movie serial killer.
Or they’ll tell me that I’m the dumb one, arranging to meet a stranger in a mask on Halloween.
But in my heart, only one phrase is playing on a loop.
Something happened to my Bogdan.
Do I call his mother? I have their address. I’m sure I can find her number somehow. She’ll panic. What if it’s just a flat tire?
A flat tire in one of these funny little mountain passes or valleys where the cell signal falls away for one mile and comes back the next.
