23. Dallas
DALLAS
Greta sat in the passenger seat as Otto drove down Preston Road in Lucy’s minivan (with its Rockwell School bumper sticker and little stick figures of the whole family, including the pets, going across the length of the back windshield) to Dr. Judson’s house.
Otto was wearing a navy suit Greta had bought for him at Neiman Marcus with a crisp white shirt and tie, and he looked every bit the dignified doctor.
Greta had on the same Prada slingbacks she’d worn to the party at the Schultz Foundation and was happy to have another formal occasion to wear them.
“Maybe we should have taken Mason’s Tesla tonight,” she said.
“I could never,” Otto said for the umpteenth time.
Greta looked out the window as they passed the strip mall she’d been to earlier in the day with Emmi; it had a cupcake shop, a bookstore, and a nail salon. “I finally get to meet this Dr. Judson,” she said.
“You’ll like Troy. And I’m sure many of my colleagues will be there.”
Greta imagined a long, candlelit table and hoped she would have interesting people sitting beside her.
“You’re finally calling him Troy?”
“Oh yes. Troy is very… chill,” said Otto.
“ Chill? ”
“He is the best colleague I am ever having.”
Greta tightened the ribbon on the box of truffles in her lap, a gift to show her gratitude to the people who had welcomed Otto so warmly.
“I have to warn you though,” he said, “these doctors are… I really don’t have the word for it. They are making a lot of jokes.”
“That must be refreshing,” Greta said. “Or are you in culture shock?”
“I like it,” he said, “but it’s hard understanding them sometimes. They make wordplay and cultural humor. And they speak very, very fast.” He leaned forward to look out the window. “Is this the house?”
Greta checked the address on Otto’s phone. “Yes, I think so.” It was a grand, symmetrical brick mansion set back from the street. There were two oak trees on opposite sides of the front yard with white and violet pansies planted in beds around them. The grass was vivid green.
Otto pulled into the wide circular drive, and a man in black pants and a vest waved them forward.
“Is that Dr. Judson?” Greta asked.
“No,” said Otto. He rolled down the window. “Hello, we are Dr. and Mrs. von Bosse here to see Dr. Judson.”
“Right,” the young man said, and then he tried to open Otto’s door.
“You are parking the car?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man. “Just leave it to me.”
Otto turned to Greta before getting out. “Valet parking, like a five-star hotel.”
“ Wunderbar ,” she said. She did not want to walk any farther in her heels than she had to.
Holding the box of chocolates, she stepped out of the car into the hot evening air, adjusting the sash of her silk wrap dress and hoping she wouldn’t sweat before they got to the air-conditioning.
She looped her arm through Otto’s, and they walked up to the front porch together.
There were oversize planters flanking the columned front porch, each with little American flags circling the rim. Otto rang the bell.
The door opened, and a man threw his arms up when he saw them. “Whoa!” he said, looking positively delighted.
“Good evening, Troy,” Otto said.
“Otto! Look at you!” Troy stepped out and clapped Otto on the back.
“Wow, I’m sorry I wasn’t clear; tonight’s just a cookout.
Come on in, man!” Troy was wearing beige-colored, ill-fitting cargo shorts and a short-sleeved, seersucker button-down shirt.
He had on some kind of boat shoes without socks.
“And you,” he said, turning to Greta, “must be Greta.”
Greta tried to smile and extended her hand just as Troy leaned in for a hug.
“Great to meet you,” he said. “Gosh, you two look ready for dinner at the White House. Where’s your daughter?”
“Was she invited?” said Greta, flashing a look at Otto. “I had no idea.”
Given a choice, Emmi would have probably chosen Cynthia’s party over this one anyway, but Greta was annoyed Otto hadn’t known to include her.
“Come on in,” Troy said. “I’ll introduce you around.”
Otto placed a hand on Greta’s back as they walked into the house. Greta was flushed, wondering how Otto could have misunderstood the dress code so completely.
Troy led them through the foyer, with its baroque gold-framed mirror, dark blue floral wallpaper, and curved center staircase.
Four small children in bathing suits ran past them, yelling on their way up the stairs.
In the family room, a woman in white jeans and a sleeveless red top was cheering at a huge television screen on the back wall: “Let’s go, Seager! ” A bunch of people whooped.
“The Rangers are doing great this season,” Troy said. “You follow baseball?”
Greta and Otto shook their heads.
“Kristy,” Troy called, “come over here and meet Otto.”
A young woman with blond hair came over to them. She was wearing a short denim skirt and white sandals to match her white toenails. “Finally,” she said, hugging him, “I get a face to go with the name. Troy has not shut up about you.”
“And this is his wife, Greta,” Troy said.
Greta handed Kristy the box of chocolates. “Thank you for having us,” she said.
“Aren’t you sweet,” she said. Then she looked down at Greta’s feet. “Well, bless your heart. You want to borrow some flip-flops, hon?”
“No, thank you,” Greta said, trying to stand casually in her high heels.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Kristy said.
Troy pointed to the bar. “Make yourselves at home, you two,” he said. “And head on out back when you’re hungry.”
They went outside, and Greta felt sweat trickle down her back as she and Otto went through the buffet line.
There was loud music playing, and kids were running around the yard, sword-fighting with pool noodles.
With their plates in hand, they joined a group of people at one of the many tables covered with Stars and Stripes cloths.
“I think we can be more comfortable,” Otto said in her ear before taking off his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair, taking off his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, and rolling up his sleeves. Now he almost fit right in.
But Greta was wearing silk and pantyhose, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
She was introduced to a handsome cosmetic surgeon and his young wife, Lisa.
Lisa was wearing a sarong and a bikini top.
She had a toddler squirming in her lap who was eating fistfuls of French fries.
Next to Otto was his colleague Betsy and her husband, Bob, a smug-looking car dealer who was staring into his beer.
Greta looked at her plate of food, realizing she had no silverware. She glanced around the table and noticed that no one else was using any. She spread her napkin across her lap.
The plastic surgeon said something that Greta couldn’t quite hear over the pop music. She looked up to find that he was talking to her.
“I’m sorry?” said Greta.
“What do you do?” he repeated.
“Oh, I help people build art collections.”
“How interesting,” Lisa said.
“I used to work at an auction house,” Greta said, “but I’m shifting gears to work with private clients or organizations.”
“See, that’s the thing about women,” Lisa said, bouncing the baby on her knee. “We reinvent ourselves. I’m going back to work, just as soon as this little guy is out of diapers.” She removed a chunk of her hair from her toddler’s sticky hands.
“Have you tried the bread?” Otto said, passing Greta the basket.
“Those are buttermilk biscuits, Boss,” said Betsy. “Aren’t they just sinful?”
“Mmm,” he said. Otto was living his best life.
“Boss?” said Greta.
“That’s our nickname for him in the department,” Betsy said. “Dr. von Bosse .”
Otto having a nickname was almost unimaginable. Greta couldn’t wait to tell Emmi.
“What kind of art do you buy?” Lisa said.
Greta took a sip of wine before answering. “That depends on the client,” she said, giving up on the food. The ribs were too messy to eat, the corn too difficult. “I’d like to think I could work with anyone, on any budget. It’s up to me to figure out what people like.”
“I hear you’ve got Rex Henley living practically in your backyard,” Betsy said. “Rex is kind of a celebrity around here.”
“Yes,” Greta said, “his photographs are hanging in the Holts’ house. He’s very good.”
As soon as she said the name “Holt,” Greta noticed a shift, a glance between Lisa and her husband, a change in Bob’s posture.
“Rex has a book out about the changing landscape of Texas,” Betsy said. “It was written up in The New York Times .”
“He’s such a nice man,” said Greta. “He and Irene have been wonderful to us.”
“Do you know the Holts?” Lisa asked.
“We’re staying in their house,” Greta said, glancing around the table. “But we’ve never actually met them.”
“We made a home exchange,” said Otto. “It is win-win.”
“That’s quite a family,” Bob said. “A husband who ditches his wife and kids to pretend he’s on Mars and a son who’s a sexual predator.”
There were murmurs around the table. Greta squeezed her napkin.
“I can only imagine how Betsy would react,” Bob said, “if I came home and told her I was going to shack up with five young women in the middle of New Mexico.”
“I admit,” Betsy said with a tight smile, “it wouldn’t go over well. But Mason’s a scientist and this is NASA after all, so in his case—”
“Look, I’ll just come out and say it,” Bob said, a mean glint in his eye, “if my daughter’s name had been on Jack’s list, I would have gone over there and pummeled that little shithead with brass knuckles.”
Greta put her wineglass down, shocked by his violent rhetoric. Who talked about a teenager that way?
“Lord have mercy,” Betsy said. “You can’t punch a kid, Bob . And anyway, Jack Holt got expelled from Rockwell, so I’d say he was punished enough.”
Otto looked up from the rib he was devouring. “Our daughter heard about the list from a girl in the neighborhood. Is it true then?”