Page 72 of Dirty Diana
“I meant the shoes, sweetheart.”
“Oh. Right. I’m a seven.” The shoes hadn’t passed inspection either.
“Perfect. I’m a seven too!”
We settled on a two-piece Chanel suit that made me feel about eighty years old. Closed-toe shoes because I hadn’t had a pedicure, and also that was all Vivian had to loan me. “Sandals are for the desperate,” she muttered.Like me,I thought, as I wedged my foot into a Burberry pump.
When Oliver saw me, he couldn’t help laughing. “That’s what you chose?”
“The outfit choseher,Oliver. Doesn’t she look darling?”
“She looks like one of your sorority sisters.”
“I love it,” I lied. I didn’t want to be the source of Oliver and his mother arguing. “It’s beautiful, Vivian. Thank you.”
“I better go downstairs. Everyone must be wondering what emergency had pulled the hostess away from her own party for so long!”
When she left, I buried my face into Oliver’s chest. He rested his chin on my head. “Would it make you feel better if you knew she bought my entire outfit? She likes to dress people. That’s all.”
I spent the entire party wishing I was somewhere else. Two of Oliver’s ex-girlfriends were there, both dressed in lovely, age-appropriate Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses. Every single person he introduced me to looked at a spot over my head when they talked to me, craning for the next person to talk to. I had never felt so insignificant. I was the Golden Boy’s plus-one, and clearly someone they’d assumed they would never see again.
—
Tonight, we pull in to the same circular drive, past the valet station once again. The house looks unchanged, all the many windows glittering against the dark night. Vivian greets us in the foyer, this time wearing a tightly fitted dress with a long skirt of blue chiffon.
“Fashionably late, per usual. Oliver, why didn’t you shave? You look unhoused.”
“It’s nice to see you too.” Oliver kisses her cheek.
“Oh, please. Don’t be dramatic. Your father is by the bar. I hear some more groveling is in order.” Oliver nods obediently and leaves me alone with Vivian.
“Remember the first time you attended one of my galas?” She brings this up every year. “And you were wearing one of those—what are they called? Those undergarments?”
“It was a dress. Not a slip.”
“Yes, exactly. A slip. But look at you now. Quick learner. Does Oliver seem unhappy to you?” She switches gears abruptly. “He’s lost that spark, hasn’t he?”
A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne flutes and I grab two of them, looking for anyone to give one to and save me from this conversation.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” I lie.
“But isn’t that your job? To know when your husband is unhappy?”
Vivian doesn’t wait for a response. Already bored by me, she flits away on her own. She has always held me at an arm’s length, unable to make a final verdict on whether I’m good enough for her son. I thought for sure the ice would melt after Emmy was born. Sometimes I still catch her looking at me from across the table, squinting toward me as if to ask,Who are you, really? And where did you actually come from?The subtext of nearly everything she says to me sounds likeI’m on to you.Just as I turn into the hallway to find a bathroom to hide in, I bump into Oliver.
“I’m officially sixteen again, getting scolded by my father in public,” Oliver says.
“I’m sorry. How long do we have to stay to not be rude?”
“At least an hour.”
“And how do we survive that?”
“Two words,” Oliver says. “Shrimp. Cocktail.”
I give him a confused look and he laughs. “I’m kidding. Open. Bar.”
Hearing him laugh puts my whole body at ease. Like I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office only to have her say,Relax. We know you didn’t do it.That’s how I feel around Oliver lately, like a kid always on the verge of being in trouble. Miriam would have a field day with this.
