Chapter 13 #2
“So one day, she got a call from an unknown number while she was in the shower and asked me to answer. It was the Ritz-Carlton, confirming her spa day and asking how many bottles of Dom Pérignon she would need.”
“And the secret was out immediately,” Lianne exclaims with a satisfied laugh.
“Right away, Mrs. Carnegie! But I like that she tried. That’s Mila. She never wants to be better, smarter, richer, or prettier than anyone. She lets everyone shine in their own way.”
I finish, starting to feel sweet and emotional again, smiling at my friend across the room until Mila exclaims, “And then I took you to the spa with me, you bitch!”
The series of laughs echoes throughout the room, and I start laughing too.
“She did!” I force myself to agree. “Then we got drunk on Champagne, gave a bunch of fake numbers to some Wall Street silver foxes at the hotel bar, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”
“Well, you gave the fake number! I spent a month dating some Russian investor with a private jet because of that day.”
No matter how much I want, like, really want, to lick the salt off the bartender’s dragon tattoo, I’m managing to repeat the phrase without much trouble: A sober body is a sane body.
And, instead of drinking, I’m attacking all the snacks on the table.
I’ve already eaten about ten mini penis-shaped waffles, and I only stopped because I remembered I still need to feed the drunk women in the room as well.
I want them drunk, of course, but I also don’t want anyone in an alcohol coma on a hospital stretcher ruining our night.
After the next round of drinks arrives, and the table with all the phallic-shaped foods begins to empty, we start the game of “Who Knows Mila Best.”
Apologies. “Who Knwos Mila Best”.
Cordelia wins. I suspect it’s because she and Robbie are very close, and he tells her everything that happens between them, which is pretty cute if you think about it.
So yes, because she won the game, when Jack the cop knocks on our door in his police uniform, she’s the first one to be put in handcuffs and get a dance in the middle of the room.
Grandma is second.
Believe me, I was trying to keep things as light as possible for the occasion, considering the mothers and the two grandmothers present, even though they’ve already seen an exorbitant number of bare torsos in one night, but things start going completely off-track when Madame Ximena arrives.
Put a bunch of drunk women in a room holding penis-shaped straws, and you should’ve expected the type of conversation that would start.
Sure enough, I probably should have anticipated it.
And of course, it starts with Aunt Abby.
“Let’s play another game!” she shouts while Madame Ximena organizes her table with her materials. “The men of the house… who’s got the biggest dong?”
I rub my face with one hand while clutching the microphone with the other far too tightly.
Mrs. Carnegie opens her mouth to respond, but the moment Mila realizes, she screams, “Mom!”
“What? Your father is still a very virile man, dear.”
I try not to laugh at the word “virile,” but Mila makes a face so big it looks like she’s about to vomit.
“I think we all need to agree it’s Jasper.” To my surprise, and probably everyone else’s, Brenda, Robbie’s mom, says this.
I choke instantly. Luckily, Mila seems to think it’s for a completely different reason.
“Julie doesn’t approve!” she says immediately.
“What’s your problem with Jasper?” Elise asks. She’s Mila’s cousin and close to her, but having lived in Texas all her life, unlike the rest of us, she knows very little about the Assman.
“Besides the fact that he’s a total dick?”
“It’s usually the dicks who know how to do it right.”
“If being a dick defines, well, dicks, then Connor’s must be way bigger,” Cordelia comments, but she’s looking at me as if asking a question, forcing me to remember the darkest, most depressing days of my life.
Connor probably shouldn’t even have a dick, if I’m honest. He doesn’t know how to use the one he has.
And here’s proof that being a dick doesn’t necessarily mean you’re good at it. Jasper isn’t good in bed because he’s a dick. He’s good in bed because… well, the bastard is good at everything he does.
Not that we’ve really used a bed. But the message is clear.
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m still searching for the right words to explain it without compromising myself. And also without spreading the information about what I did or didn’t do with Connor to those who didn’t know yet.
You see, I’m sober. Things go well, and secrets remain perfectly hidden when you’re sober.
I’m a little luckier than usual because now Madame Ximena has already set up her table and is calling everyone to sit down.
She looks exactly as you’d expect a fortune teller you found on Facebook to look like: a short, chubby lady, hair dyed red, sixty-something, wearing purple from head to toe.
Her purple shawl matches the purple tablecloth.
Both are the same shade, full of golden moons and stars.
And here we are… candles, tarot cards, a steaming teapot of a tea she just poured from a thermos. And, because she says it’s a special tea to calm the soul and organize thoughts, I’m the first one to drink it.
She calls the bride first. She asks her to shuffle the cards while we all wait in silence, full of curiosity and anticipation.
“Think of the questions you want to ask, my dear.” Mila opens her mouth, but Madame Ximena warns, “You don’t need to speak them out loud if you don’t feel comfortable. The universe senses our hearts and knows everything without words.”
Mila hands over the small deck of cards, and Madame Ximena begins laying them out on the table. Then she lets out a dramatic sigh, which I’m sure is part of the package. Maybe without the drama, the service would’ve been cheaper, but where’s the fun in that?
“Ten of Cups! Very convenient!” she says, letting out a satisfied giggle before drawing the second card. Now it’s the Two of Cups. “You are very loved, my dear!”
Anyone who knows Mila or Robbie would already know that without needing cards. He’s obsessed with her. Always has been, since the first day, ten years ago. Besides, she’s the bride, so it’s expected.
But when she finishes with Mila, after many promises of great love and a beautiful family, she tells Victoria, Robbie’s sister-in-law, to stop drinking tonight, which was terrifying because now Victoria is crying and running to a pharmacy with Brenda to buy a pregnancy test.
So it seems we’ve just lost the first two warriors of the night.
In the middle of all this, I should’ve noticed, really should’ve noticed, that Madame Ximena didn’t offer her a single drop of tea.
She then tells Lianne to be careful about envy from people close to her social circle. “Much success, my dear, much fortune,” Madame Ximena says, then starts giving advice on salts and herbs for baths.
She also practically forces Gemma to confess to us all that she likes other girls. Maybe it was the tea. Maybe not. That damn tea!
When Suzi sits, even Madame Ximena is impressed by her beauty and smooth, glowing skin.
“Aren’t you a model?”
Suzi gives her a shy little smile and asks, before shuffling her cards like the others, “Will this model find love someday?”
Madame Ximena waits until she receives the cards to say something.
She splits the deck in half, stares at the first card for a few seconds, and finally asks, “Anyone in particular, my dear?”
“I’m not sure,” Suzi responds. “Maybe.”
Mila and Elise correct her immediately.
“Yes, there is!”
“Well…” Suzi begins, and I’m not sure I want to hear the rest. I know, deep down, where this conversation is going. “There’s this friend of the groom.”
“The best man!” Mila corrects immediately.
Madame Ximena draws another card: The Emperor.
“Good-looking fella, isn’t he?”
Suzi’s eyes widen. Everyone’s eyes widen at the same time. Me? I just want to grab my little mug and fill it with more tea.
“If you look up the definition of good-looking man in the dictionary, you’ll probably find a picture of him, dear” Mrs. Carnegie declares.
Is it just me, or even the older women are obsessed with Jasper?
Him and that ridiculous habit of calling them by their first names even though he’s thirty years younger.
Madame Ximena stares down at the cards and begins rearranging them across the table in silence. Only then she looks up at Suzi’s anxious face.
“I see strong possibilities and good chemistry, but it’s gonna need some work.”
I choke on my own saliva and have to take a huge gulp of tea to recover.
Jasper? She’s gonna need all the work in the world.
“Interesting.” She points one sharp purple nail at one of the cards laid out before her. A woman dressed in pink and gold. “The High Priestess. Right beside the Knight of Cups.”
Nobody here knows what that means. I’m not even sure she knows what it means, or if she’s just being dramatic and spewing nonsense to justify her fee.
Madame Ximena studies the cards once more in a full minute of concentrated silence.
“He seems connected to someone else at the moment, my dear.”
Exasperated gasps ripple through the room.
As if we’re watching some suspense movie and this is the exact moment everyone discovers who the killer really is.
“Could it still be that girlfriend from California?” Cordelia blurts out before anyone else can speak. Then she sighs excitedly, her voice speeding up with anticipation. “Can I ask that? Can you ask the cards that?”
“Is she in Los Angeles?” Suzi asks too, eagerly taking the suggestion.
“She’s much closer to the heart,” the old witch says mysteriously, in a tone that explains absolutely nothing.
I immediately snort out a laugh. Loud enough that now everyone’s staring at me, waiting for an explanation.
As if this were somehow surprising.
“Oh, please. Jasper doesn’t have a heart,” I say.
Nobody dares to correct me.
First because everyone knows we’re talking about him, even though Suzi never actually said his name. Second because they probably know I’m right.