Chapter 24
24.
Partygoers filled the formal living room, kitchen, and family room. Plenty of past and present co-stars were on the guest list, but many of Babs’s inner circle were non-famous folk from way back. High school friends who traveled up from Jersey; moms she raised her kids with; boys from acting classes who went on to become life coaches or dentists. Babs was an extrovert, charged up by new ideas, so there was always a smattering of interesting people she’d met at dinner parties or fundraisers: a world-famous sex therapist, a brilliant new playwright, a climate scientist with a viral TED Talk.
Birdie drifted from group to group, her gaze twitching to the front door every time it opened. No sign of Jecka. Maybe she’d gotten in the zone in her studio. Maybe she’d decided Birdie Belvedere was bad news.
Birdie had just gotten another refill of the themed cocktail—Rudolph’s Regret: a boozy muddle of gin, fresh berries, and rosemary—when someone started dinging a glass from the living room. It was time for Babs’s speech.
Ash had helped style Babs in a high-necked glittery black dress, smoky-eye makeup, and all the diamonds. As always, her strawberry-blond hair was piled atop her head (extensions, definitely) to add a few inches to her five feet two.
Typically Birdie would jostle for a front row seat in order to heckle, get in the mix. But tonight she stayed by the room’s entrance, with a clear sight line to the front door.
“Thank you so much for coming from near and far to be with us tonight.” Babs twinkled her trademark smile as she waited for the room’s attention to settle on her.
For as long as Birdie could remember, her mother wasn’t just comfortable in the spotlight. It was her home, more permanent and secure than any house could ever be.
“I’ve been throwing this party since before my kids were born—all of whom are helping me host tonight,” Babs added, pausing to acknowledge Birdie and, across the room, Rafi and Liz, to light applause. “And as the years roll on, my appreciation for you all deepens. As do my wrinkles; Paul”—her plastic surgeon, in the corner with his third wife—“you and I will talk about that later,” she quipped, eliciting a wave of laughter. “But seriously, folks, you being here makes an old broad happy. You show up for me, and I love you for it.”
Babs could usually drink like a sailor, but her words were on the edge of slurring. Seriously was close to sheriously. Birdie caught Liz’s quizzical eye. Her sister had noticed, too.
“So, these holidays, be kind to your loved ones,” Babs went on. “Hold them close. Tell them how special they are. And have yourself a merry little Christmas.”
A tinkle from the piano. One of Babs’s oldest friends from her theater days played the opening chords of the classic holiday tune. The crowd applauded as Jin-soo handed a surprised-looking Babs a cordless microphone, like this was all happening spontaneously and Babs didn’t perform at every single party she’d ever thrown.
Her mother broke into her rich mezzo-soprano, gesturing over the crowd at Birdie with a knowing smile. “ Make the Yuletide gay. ”
Birdie smiled back, shaking her head in amusement. Even half in the bag, their mother was a consummate ham.
Babs moved on to serenade Liz and Rafi, just as someone appeared by Birdie’s side.
Jecka Jacob. In a short, one-shouldered shiny red dress. Birdie let her mouth fall open. “Hide your diamonds, hide your exes: How are you a real living person? You look like an eighties pop song come to life!”
Jecka grinned, striking a pose. “That’s what I was going for.”
Finally, Birdie could relax.
After listening to the end of Babs’s performance, Birdie and Jecka joined in with the crowd cheering on Florence Pugh arm wrestling her pretty plus-one, then sampled the famous Taylor-Paulson dip alongside Babs’s longtime hairdresser and Cher. Was the secret ingredient dill? Thyme? It remained a delicious mystery.
Jecka wanted to say hi to Babs. Birdie located her mom sitting on one of the living room’s white sofas, the center of a crowd enraptured by her horse story who wanted to know how far she was thrown.
“Thirty, forty feet,” Babs answered airily. “And as I was sailing through the air, unsure if I would live or die, do you know what went through my mind?”
“What?” a guest asked, and everyone leaned in.
Babs playacted deep thought. “I have no idea where I parked the car.”
The small crowd broke into laughter. Birdie stepped in. “Ma, look who’s here.”
Babs looked up, taking in Jecka, her hostess smile intact. “Who?”
“Jecka,” Birdie said. “Jecka Jacob. Your new art advisor?”
“Oh, Jecka!” Babs said, convincingly enough. “Of course!”
Had she forgotten who Jecka was? Birdie couldn’t tell.
Birdie and Jecka continued to mingle. In the crowded foyer, Birdie bumped into one of her invites, Sydney, the booker for Fox & Fawn. Birdie introduced Jecka and talked shop for a minute: the local stand-up scene, who was killing it, who hadn’t been around. When Birdie mentioned she’d begun work on a new hour, Sydney offered for her to test it out: the late-night slot on the 28th was open. Two weeks’ time.
“Ah, no way I’ll be ready three days after Christmas,” Birdie told Sydney. Her future failure was momentarily sobering.
“How long does it usually take you to write a show?” Jecka asked, after Sydney headed for the bar.
Birdie shrugged, raising her voice to be heard over the blistering Christmas pop that’d replaced the jolly holiday jazz. “The last one came together pretty quickly, but that was a million years ago.”
Martin Short zoomed past on a child’s tricycle followed by Jin-soo on a skateboard holding all three dogs. Somewhere, a glass smashed. Opa!
The furniture in the formal lounge was being pushed back to make room for a dance floor. Ordinarily this was Birdie’s cue to start dancing on the piano and handing out shots. But all she wanted to do was hang out with Jecka. She cupped her hand to speak in Jecka’s ear. “Wanna go somewhere—”
“—quieter?” Jecka finished. “Yup.”
Birdie knew the perfect place.