The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,41
at my country club with him? That’s how I read it anyway.
Buck has been entertaining the table with the decorating travails of renovating his eighteenth-century townhome in Kensington Square—which, according to him, is a fancy part of London’s West End. “My interior designer feels driven to recreate the gaudiest, most over-the-top interior she can and resists the more masculine lines I crave,” he informs his rapt audience.
I stare at him like he just grew a second head. He assiduously avoids my eye; I assume because he would be hard-pressed to keep a straight face otherwise, which would cause his dandy sham of a performance to fall apart.
“How did you and Ashley meet?” Mrs. Holt wants to know.
Buck puts his hand on mine and replies, “Our grandmothers were very close, back in the day.”
“Where was that?” she pushes.
“Chicago,” I hurry to answer. My response doesn’t seem to ring any bells for Jessica as she continues to make eyes at Buck. Did nobody pay attention when I was first introduced to our class? You know, “This is Ashley from Chicago?”
Mrs. Holt trains her barracuda-like gaze on me and demands, “Why in the world did you move to Creek Water?”
“My mother and I wanted to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city.” It’s a more creative version of the truth, but it sounds better than saying, “We needed to move to a place where it didn’t cost so much to live in a trailer park.”
“Why didn’t you join the club?” she wants to know. I’m sure she knows the details—down to the dress size— of every member that’s ever belonged here.
Buck, Davis, and I start to answer at the same time. Buck and I quickly defer to Davis as he says, “I’m sure our little club wouldn’t have held much interest for them.” He’s making it sound like Mom and I were as grand as Buck has become. He obviously knows that isn’t true, so I’m guessing he’s saying it to protect me from his old girlfriend’s family. While I’m annoyed at him for being here with her, I’m also grateful for his consideration.
“I certainly would have met your mother somewhere …” Mrs. Holt persists. She looks at me closely while observing, “You do look rather familiar.”
Far be it from me to bring up the parking lot on Senior Night and ruin tonight’s charade, so I remain silent.
I’m relieved when Jessica asks, “What do you do for work?”
Davis answers for me again. “She’s one of the administrators at Millersville Meadow, the nursing home where my gran lives.”
“Oh,” Jessica responds, clearly assessing that I’m no threat.
While not exactly true, I once again appreciate that Davis is trying to make me sound more impressive than I am. He most likely assumes Jessica and her mother would dismiss me entirely if they knew I was only a certified nursing assistant. Although, I have a better education than most of my contemporaries, as I have a business degree as well, which is how I was able to rise to the position of assistant supervisor.
I explain, “I took care of my mom for several years while she was sick. I found the experience quite rewarding.” To draw attention away from me, I throw Buck under the bus. “Alexander, tell them about the time you went to Wimbledon and sat right behind Prince William.”
The Holts quickly lose interest in my life story and turn their full attention to Buck who regales them with much theatrical gusto. Meanwhile, I excuse myself. I have an overwhelming need to get some fresh air and break away from my tablemates.
On my way out of the dining room, I run smack into Davis’s parents. “Lee, Jedd, don’t you look nice tonight,” I exclaim like we’re friends and not like I’m their employee.
“Ashley? I’m so happy to see you, honey!” Lee gushes before reaching out to take my hands. “You look positively beautiful. Did you come with Davis?” she excitedly looks behind me for her son.
“No, ma’am,” I say. “I came with my friend, Alexander.”
She looks disappointed. “Drat, I was hoping my son was here. He never comes to these things.”
“Oh, he’s here,” I tell her. Jedd suddenly becomes interested in the conversation. I explain, “He’s with a woman named Jessica Holt.”
“What?” Lee demands. “Why?”
“I assumed they were old friends,” I say knowing full well what an understatement that is.
“Where’s he sitting?” his mom wants to know.
I point them in the right direction before excusing myself and walking away. The fun night