10. Sid Cunnilinginton The Third
Chapter ten
Sid Cunnilinginton The Third
“I still think the top hat is a bit much,” Anne-Marie muttered.
A man and woman walked past us to enter the hall. The man looked at us from the corner of his eye, his eyebrows raised, and the woman stifled a giggle as they passed.
“It makes it less obvious that her hair doesn’t match her mustache,” I replied, taking Sydney’s elbow and guiding it into a bend so I could entwine my arm with hers. “Otherwise it would look weird.”
“Because that’s what would make this look weird.”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t have an eyebrow pencil that matched her hair.”
“Sydney also did not have an eyebrow pencil that matched her hair.”
“Excuse me for being born with perfect eyebrows,” Sydney said.
A group of older women dressed in outfits that would’ve never made it off the rack save for the designer label attached to them caught sight of us. A couple of them scoffed, but a woman with platinum blonde hair and a cane grinned, her eyes sparkling.
“I’m still not sure why you needed to draw the mustache on,” Remy said as he guided Anne-Marie into the hall. “Or borrow my tuxedo.”
Sydney adjusted her top hat. “Are you saying I don’t look fantastic in this?”
“Of course not,” Remy said. “It suits you more than it does me.”
There was no derision in his statement; he said it as if it was fact, which it arguably was. Sydney was wearing the hell out of the tux, like it had just been sitting in her closet waiting for the opportunity to be paired with an eyebrow-pencil mustache. The jacket hit the perfect spot on her wrist, only letting the silver cufflinks on her dress shirt peek out when she moved a certain way. The pants were almost too long, which was surprising considering she was nearly the same height as Remy until one remembered that between the two of them, Remy was the one blessed with the bubble butt.
“But I don’t understand why you couldn’t go as yourself,” Remy continued. “It would have made more sense to borrow one of Anne-Marie’s dresses and attend as Nellie’s plus-one.”
“One would think,” Anne-Marie said.
“Sure, if one hadn’t known my dad for nearly her entire life,” I said. “You know as well as I do that this was the best option. And besides”—I bumped Sydney with my hip—“she looks legit enough in this that if we keep my distance from my dad, he might not even realize it’s her.”
Anne-Marie and Remy exchanged a silent glance.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Do what?” she asked.
“That couple thing where you’re talking to each other with your eyes so no one else can understand you,” I said.
“Oh, my apologies,” she said, her voice light. “I thought it would be obvious that we were agreeing you are insane.”
“She almost fooled Bruno,” I pointed out.
Anne-Marie gave me a silent but skeptical look, which was understandable since that was an exaggeration. Bruno had caught sight of the four of us as we entered the lobby and stopped walking so suddenly that Niko was ten feet in front of him before realizing he’d left Bruno behind.
“Nellie!” Bruno had called, waving at me as he dashed across the foyer, the brightness of his voice as uncharacteristic as the relief in his eyes. “Hey!”
“Hi, Bruno,” I’d said, trying not to sound annoyed even though I was definitely still annoyed.
“Hey,” he said again, then nodded at Remy and Anne-Marie. “Hi, Remy.”
“Bruno,” Remy said, his voice flatter than normal.
“Anne-Marie, you look lovely,” Bruno said.
“I always look lovely,” Anne-Marie said, her voice cold and her expression stony.
Bruno forced an awkward laugh as Niko caught up, putting a hand on Bruno’s lower back as he joined us. “True. Well, um, you all know my date, Niko.” He gestured to Niko, who was wearing a suit that was a little too tight around his thick neck. “And Nellie, you found a date?”
“Sure did,” I said.
He’d smiled expectantly like I was going to introduce them, but faded when I didn’t. His throat flexed as he swallowed before looking at Sydney.
“Well, hi, I’m Bruno. I wanted to say thank you,” he started. “I’m the one who kinda—”
And then he cut himself off as he took an actual look at Sydney.
“Well hel- lo ,” Sydney said, adopting an accent that made it sound like she’d given up a weekend at her daddy’s beach house in the Hamptons to be here. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Sid Cunnilinginton the Third and my preferred method of travel is ‘yacht.’”
There was a thick, heavy, almost unbearably awkward silence. Then all at once, Bruno blinked, Anne-Marie snorted, and I cackled so hard I had to pinch my thighs together because I almost peed.
“Oh God,” Bruno had said, half-leaning on Niko as he pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t know whether to keep feeling bad about ditching you or to take half the credit for allowing this ridiculousness to happen.”
“You should keep feeling bad,” Remy said bluntly.
Bruno’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Anne-Marie. So did I, actually, because I assumed she was going to nudge Remy and subtly hint that this wasn’t the time or place, but she just looked back at Bruno with a withering stare and slipped her arm beneath Remy’s supportively.
“Why should he feel bad about taking his boyfriend as a date?” Niko said testily.
“It’s one thing to break a commitment,” Remy said. “And another to do it hours before an event when the consequences involve putting someone in an arguably dangerous situation with the creep he was brought in to avoid in the first place.”
Niko’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I’ll explain later,” Bruno said, his face going red. “I just—”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Niko pressed.
I would’ve loved to know the answer to that, too. I had my guesses, like that this was another example of feelings making people act stupid, but the desperate look on Bruno’s face as his eyes darted to me sent a reluctant and not entirely welcome sensation of pity through me.
“Don’t forget I said it was fine when you both asked,” I said to Niko. “And it got sorted out. I’m here with someone and that someone is masculine-presenting, which means I’m technically doing what my dad wants.”
“And technically correct is the best kind of correct,” Sydney said.
“Do you think being technically correct will stop your dad from being upset?” Anne-Marie asked pointedly.
The answer to that was no, obviously. Not in the slightest. People always said that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission, but that wasn’t true for my dad. It wasn’t easy to ask for anything from him.
I’d known from the moment I thought of it he’d be upset with me for bringing Sydney. I’d known he’d be even more upset that I drew a mustache on her.
And I’d done it anyway. I’d put all my options on the scales, weighing them to see what would be the best outcome.
Showing up solo was worse than showing up with a date he didn’t approve of.
Bringing a woman as a legitimate date was worse than poking fun at the whole thing by bringing a woman with a mustache drawn on.
Facing my dad’s anger was better than facing a night with Clinton Thibault.
So no, being technically correct wouldn’t stop my dad from losing his shit at me, but I could probably argue that I did the best I could considering it was so last-minute and promise that I’d find a suitable date for the Diamond Gala, which was the only big event left for the summer.
Plus, there was the whole brunch thing earlier in the day. He had to know I was upset about it, so maybe there would be some leniency. He was an asshole who made me cross my boundaries for his newest girlfriend; I was an asshole who wasn’t even technically wrong. It had to even out.
To the credit of the stuffy assholes who usually attended these kinds of events, most of them found it amusing, and more than I’d expected outright laughed and complimented Syd on her outfit and creativity. I gladly let her take credit for that, even though technically the concept of Sid Cunnilinginton was Anne-Marie’s idea and the mustache was definitely my idea. But Sydney deserved it for the way she made people smile, especially as her introductions got more and more unhinged.
“Hi, I’m Sid Cunnilinginton the Third. My favourite food is gold leaf.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Sid Cunnilinginton and my family summers in the lost city of Atlantis.”
“Sid’s the name, living off the money my great-great-great-grandfather made after discovering an underground reserve of ancient barefoot sandals is the game.”
“I’m Chasidy Andrew Cunnlinginton the Third because my mother didn’t know the meaning or spelling of ‘Chastity,’ but you can call me Sid for short.”
“What do I do for a living?” Sydney was repeating to a woman we were talking to after we’d filled up our plates at the chocolate fountain. “Mostly breathe, I guess. Also I have a heart rate.”
“No,” the woman laughed. “Like, what do you do for a job?”
“Oh, good Lord,” Sydney said. “Luckily, it hasn’t come to that so far. Though, if my uncle Gorbert steals Mummy’s black card and sneaks down to Vegas again, who knows what might happen.”
I tried not to laugh, mainly because I was talking to the man she was with.
“So when I graduate, I want to work with a lab, but I’m not sure which one yet,” I said. We’d been making small talk until he asked what I did for a living—which I didn’t respond to nearly as cleverly as Sydney had—and then seemed interested in hearing about my degree. “It’ll depend on who has openings and—”
“There you are, Nellie,” a different man’s voice interrupted.
“—and what specialization I aim for,” I finished without acknowledging him.
“That’s fascinating,” the man said.
“It is. And actually, what’s even more—”
“Excuse me,” he said again, and a second later a disgustingly unwelcome hand was touching the bare skin on the back of my arm as an even more disgustingly unwelcome person sidled up on the other side of me. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her attention for a moment.”
“Actually, I—oh,” the man said as he realized who was touching me. “Of course. Not at all, Mr. Thibault.”
Fuck.
Before I could plead with him not to, he took his date’s arm and they politely said goodbye to me and Sydney.
“It’s good to see you,” Clinton said after they left. “How’s it going, Nellie?”
“Fine,” I said, my tone clipped as I batted his hand away.
He waited as if I was going to say more, his eyes fixed to me. I refused to look at him, instead staring at a fixed point somewhere far beyond his right shoulder.
“I’m doing great. Thanks for asking,” he said when I didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied.
He frowned. “I said I’m doing great.”
“I heard you.”
He scoffed. “Wow. What did I do to deserve that?”
“Interrupted me because some kind of misguided sense of self-confidence makes you think your presence was more important than my conversation.”
“Aw, I wasn’t interrupting,” he said. “I just thought you’d want to say hello.”
“What indication have I ever given that I want you to talk to me?”
“Some people like persistence.”
“I don’t.”
He chuckled. “Well, selfishly, I also wanted to size up my competition. I saw Bruno back there with someone else and since I thought you were going to call me up if you couldn’t find a date, I figured I could see who took my place.”
“Trust me, Clinton. You were never in the competition,” I said.
“We’ll see about that.” He glanced at Sydney. “You’ve probably heard of me. I’m Clinton Thib—”
And that’s when he actually looked at Sydney, who was glaring at him.
“Hi,” she said, not even bothering with her fake rich person accent. “I’m Sid Cunnilinginton the Third and I’m better than you.”
Clinton stared at her, then turned to me, his grey eyes darkening into a stony shade of grey that was so much like my dad’s, I wanted to run.
“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice low with disbelief.
“What?” I asked.
He gestured at Sydney. “You didn’t ask to go with me so your friend could play dress up instead?”
“No, I didn’t ask to go with you because I don’t like you,” I said.
His eyes narrowed even more, the joints of his jaw bulging from how hard he’d clenched it. I stared back, refusing to look away as much as I wanted to.
“Oh my God, chérie !” Anne-Marie’s voice broke through the tense air between me and Clinton. “I have been hoping to see you all evening, Nellie!” She walked up briskly, stepping between me and Clinton so she could hug me. “Clinton, you do not mind if I steal my dear friend? It has been much too long since I’ve seen her.”
Clinton didn’t look like he believed her, but just let out an annoyed huff before turning to Sydney.
“Your ‘mustache’ is smeared,” he said snidely, then turned and walked away without another word.
“It’s not,” I whispered as Sydney lifted a hand to her upper lip.
“Ooo,” Anne-Marie said, her voice quieter than usual as she let go of me. “I think he is insulted, chérie .”
“Good,” I said. “Maybe he’ll leave me alone.”
“I hope so,” she said with a solemn earnesty, though there was a worried line between her eyebrows. She glanced at Remy, who put a hand on her lower back and nodded before looking in the direction Clinton had stalked off.
Them and their fucking silent conversations.
“It’ll be fine,” I said, taking Sydney’s arm. “I’ve got my big strong date here. No one’s gonna mess with someone named Sid Cunnilinginton, even if his mummy stopped paying for riding lessons because he was too tall to be a jockey.”
And then the most horrible, gut-wrenching, spine-tingling, hair-raising sound pierced my eardrums.
It was so staggeringly alarming that it took me a moment to figure out it was coming from the mouth of a woman standing nearby, and a few more worrying moments to figure out that the sound, reminiscent of a snow plow dragging along bare asphalt, was actually laughter.
It was one of the worst laughs I’ve ever heard, but it didn’t overshadow two much more interesting things about her: one, that she was hot as fuck, and two, I’d never seen her before.
While I couldn’t quite guess her age, I would’ve said she was in her thirties or maybe her forties based on the fact that unlike many of the attendees at the benefit, she didn’t look like she had any plastic surgery, but appeared to be older than twenty-five. Her tall, slim frame was flattered by the perfectly tailored tuxedo she was wearing, though unlike Sydney, she hadn’t drawn a fake mustache on her peach-white skin to go with it. Long brown hair hung past her shoulders in gentle waves and her face had a mischievous quality to it, with sparkling eyes that were almost too big for her face and pointed features that had a distinctly elf-like quality to them.
The woman standing next to her was younger by a few years and was looking at the first woman with a half-amused, half-adoring expression. She had hair that was somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, a round face with pink tinting her pale beige cheeks, and a sweet smile. She also had the same sort of short, curvy-chubby body type that I did, which was only important because I immediately fell in love with her silky green dress and wanted to ask where she’d gotten it.
But before I could, the cackling woman started talking through her laughter.
“ What did you say their name was?” she asked, still choking on the horrendous sound.
“Sid Cunnilinginton,” Sydney answered. “The Third.”
“Of the Southern Cunnilingintons,” I added.
“The ones who made their fortune by claiming they invented a new style of dictionary?” the shorter woman asked.
Sydney burst out laughing, her face turning red beneath her freckles. More surprisingly, Remy chuckled too.
“I am afraid I do not understand the joke,” Anne-Marie thankfully said, since I didn’t get it either.
“They were cunning linguists,” Remy said.
Sydney grinned. “Which is extra hilarious since I’m getting my degree in linguistics.”
“Sid Cunnilinginton the Cunning Linguist,” the first woman said, shaking her head as another rasping chuckle bubbled up. “Thank God they have my kind of people here. Well, minus a decade or two.”
“What kind of people are those?” I asked.
“You know.” She waved vaguely. “A little less, ah…”
“Stuck up?” the other woman suggested.
The first woman nodded. “Most of the time, there are at least a few people you can find who are down to poke some fun at these dumpster-fire events. But we’ve never been to any in Montreal before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
Anne-Marie’s eyes widened as the events she revolved so much of her life around were labelled as dumpster fires, a crack in the otherwise refined social mask she usually wore. But it was the only crack; she still had a polite and warm smile on her face as she extended her hand.
“I thought I had not seen you at any events before,” she said. “I am Anne-Marie. This is my boyfriend, Remy. You’ve met Sydney—excuse me, Sid—who is here with Nellie.”
“Claire,” the woman in the tuxedo said, reaching forward and shaking each person’s hand as Anne-Marie introduced us, then gestured at the other woman. “This is my sugar baby, Julie.”
“Claire!” Julie gasped.
Claire grinned. “You know I’m joking, princess.” She took Julie’s hand and held it up to show off a glinting jewel on her finger. “It’s a recent development, so this is the first time I get to say this is my fiancée , Julie.”
Anne-Marie clapped her hands together as Julie’s face went delightfully pink. “Ohmigod. Congratulations! Is that what brings you to Montreal?”
“Oh, no,” Claire said. “We came for, ah, business reasons. Scouting out some potential opportunities for expansion in Quebec. But it worked out well since Julie and I hadn’t been to Montreal together before, so—”
She said more, but I didn’t hear it. My eyes had been pulled to the side almost by instinct, a little past Claire’s left shoulder and in the general direction Clinton had stormed off. I wasn’t sure why I was drawn to look; it wasn’t like he’d seen me first, since I watched the moment my dad caught sight of me.
He was with Kimberlee, his hand on the small of her back as they walked away from the bar. There was a social mask similar to Anne-Marie’s on my dad’s face, something I easily recognized considering I’d spent my whole life seeing it. It was an expression strategically built to look both welcoming and daunting, the corners of his mouth forced into a curl that wasn’t quite a smile. Focused eyes made it clear he was attentive, but hid the fact that every word, every interaction, every observation was being processed and calculated in his mind.
Those eyes met mine and at first, I didn’t know if he knew what I’d done. I didn’t know if his anger was hidden behind his mask. If he was so good at hiding things that even I couldn’t catch the subtle differences anymore. My heart didn’t quite jump into my throat, but it prepared itself, bending whatever a heart’s equivalent to knees are and standing on the edge of wherever hearts jump from, waiting to see what my dad would do.
“—unfortunately that means duty calls,” Claire said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I almost flinched at the unexpected contact before realizing she was stepping around me to go… well, wherever duty was calling her, I guess. “It was great to meet you all. I’m sure we’ll see you around again.”
I returned the sentiment with some kind of vague response before looking back at my dad.
And my heart didn’t bother jumping.
It just joined the rest of my body in trying to implode on itself, like if all my organs and bones and muscles folded themselves up, I’d end up small enough that my dad wouldn’t be able to see me anymore.
“Oh,” Anne-Marie breathed from beside me, and I didn’t need to look at her to know she was seeing the same frozen fury in my dad’s eyes as he and Kimberlee walked towards us. “I, um, do not know if he is going to laugh this one off, chérie .”
“He will,” I said, knowing full well he wouldn’t. “I’ll explain.”
They weren’t far from us now. I forced a smile and four steps later, he was beside us.
“Hi, Dad,” I said as sweetly as I could. “Hi, Kimberlee. Are you having a good—”
And then they were gone, walking by us without my dad so much as glancing in my direction, let alone making eye contact again.
“Shit,” Sydney said, her eyes following them.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“Are you certain, chérie ?” Anne-Marie asked.
“Of course,” I said, then tried to laugh. “I mean, I just discovered a life hack for getting him to ignore me for a while.” I took Sydney’s arm and tugged her towards the bar. “Come on. Isn’t my date supposed to buy me a drink or something?”
Anne-Marie and Remy exchanged another silent glance. I pretended not to notice.