for a little bit.’ Betsy Cashwell separates him from Jessie with an expert sweep of the hand. ‘Girls, we have to rally.’
Through locked teeth, Sallie says, ‘When Brad comes in, we’re reading him the riot act!’
‘If he comes in,’ Kara Coleman says. ‘The boys are out looking for him.’
‘He is, after all, the father of the bride.’
Jessie is a pageant of mixed emotions. ‘And we’re going to . . .?’
And in a frenzy of social innocence, Sallie grins, motivating like the head cheerleader. ‘Why, we’re going to make this the best night of Patty Kalen’s life!’
17
Steffy
Steffy would rather lurk in the gold chairs babysitting Grammy Henderson than talk to her mom right now. The woman she used to think of as pretty much OK is up the wall and halfway across the ceiling tonight, and it’s weirding her out. Something happened with Dad, and Mom is a different person now.
The way she dragged Steffy into this party all girly and giggly, you’d think she was back in high school and this was her fucking prom. ‘Are we early? Is my hair all right,’ she chattered nonstop. ‘Does this dress make me look fat?’ She hissed, ‘Stephanie, don’t slouch, I can see your boobs,’ instructing through her teeth with that heinous party smile, going on as though she and Steffy are girlfriends, not mother and slave. ‘Oh look, the Greenes are here but I don’t see Mr Kalen, isn’t everything beautiful,’ she said falsely, ‘I did the tables last night, don’t you love all the white-and-silver, is my hair OK?’ and the whole time her hand was jittering up and down Steffy’s arm like a tarantula. ‘Oh God, there’s Kara Coleman, at least try to smile. Take care of your great-grandmother . . .’
‘Mom, let go.’
‘. . . and for God’s sake, if your father shows up, come get me.’ Then she jumped into the party like a cliff diver into a shark-infested pool.
It’s a lot safer here on the shore by the bandstand, where the town’s oldest old ladies are beached in gilded bamboo chairs. They sit with tilting champagne glasses stuck in rigid hands so their old, old kids and middle-aged grandkids like Steffy’s mother can pretend they’re enjoying the party, at least a little bit.
Thank God Grammy isn’t talking tonight, she just sits like a doll on top of a cheap candy box and nods and smiles, smiles, smiles. She doesn’t care how she looks or who’s here and she certainly doesn’t care what happens to her at this party, thank God. Furthermore Grammy always kind of likes Steffy when her brain is home, which it isn’t right now. Mom’s parents like to dress Grammy up and drag her out to parties even though she doesn’t always know where she is. It’s their way of making it up to her for sticking her in Golden Acres. Grammy’s nurse put her in her best party dress and fluffed up her white hair so the scalp hardly shows. Grandpa Henderson got her a drink and plopped her down and that’s fine with Grammy. She looks the same kind of happy no matter where she is.
When ladies come over to make nice, shouting to cut through the fuzz in Grammy’s head, she lifts her hand like Queen Elizabeth, accepting the praise of a grateful nation with that sweet, old-lady smile. Although Grammy still has her moments, tonight she can only find one word. She says it nicely, ‘My. My my my.’
The ladies all say, ‘Why Grammy, how nice you look.’ Then they say, ‘Why Stephanie, what are you doing tending your gramma instead of dancing with cute boys?’
And with a vindictive smirk Steffy sells Nenna down the river: ‘It’s only until Mom . . .’ so they see her Mom out there flirting. In green satin, she’s hard to miss; she’d fit right in if this was the Emerald City. Ozma would have a cow.
To a woman, the ladies tsktsk. ‘You ought to be the one dancing.’ Like she’d dance to that crap. Plus, her friends are all at fucking Jen’s party, especially Carter, so Steffy makes one of those noises where people can’t tell if you’re belching or answering or what.
Sweet Grammy takes up the slack. ‘My,’ she says, ‘my my my my my.’
Then they say, ‘Girls together, you and your great-grandmother,’ and, the bitches, they’ve had enough of old so they run away.
Very well, Steffy thinks grandly. Alone. This party will never end. It’s late and they still haven’t