Chapter Fourteen Elise
I do this thing when I’m stressed. I imagine the events in front of me as if they’re happening in a fictional world. A storyboard unfolds, like acts in a play. It allows emotional distance and helps me manage uncomfortable situations.
This coping strategy has the added benefit of restraining me from impulsive and vindictive acts, such as throwing the contents of my champagne flute at my ex-boyfriend’s smug face.
Tonight, I imagine reentering the ballroom as the beginning of Act One.
A woman, let’s call her Seraphina—because not enough women are called Seraphina—attends a fundraiser organized by her mother. Unbeknownst to her, her mother invited Seraphina’s disgruntled ex-boyfriend, Morton Milton (a truly ridiculous alliteration of a name to reflect his pompous hypocrisy) to add to the silent auction and help raise money. Morton donates an expensive vacation package to London including flight, hotel, and theater tickets.
It is an obvious ploy to get Seraphina’s attention, since it was the kind of trip they talked about when they were lovers. She sees through the bullshit and is disgusted by Morton’s fuckery. She would very much like to take the poster of London featuring the prize and break it over his head.
However, making a scene in front of hundreds of other guests would be bad for the fundraiser and she really does like the YMCA. Instead, Seraphina—
“You look like you need this.” Randall swaps my empty champagne flute with a full one. His casual yet dependable presence calms me.
“Tell me what he looks like, and I’ll work the room with you.”
“By the entrance, wearing a tux. He’s biracial, half Chinese and half Scottish. Do you see him?”
“The guy that looks like Keanu Reeves?” Randall asks in the same cadence as one would say that piece of shit? He isn’t the first to make the comparison to the actor.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
“Anyone who makes you this uncomfortable shouldn’t even be in the same room as you, Elise. Public ballroom full of people or not, you shouldn’t have to feel this vulnerable. Does Geraldine know?”
I squeeze his hand to reassure him. The only reason I’m this on edge is because I was surprised. Any other time, I would have already told Miles Wallace to go fuck himself. It’s not the kind of conversation that suits a charity event, unfortunately.
“I don’t talk about Miles with my mother. Forget about him. Let’s say hi to some of the community center reps. They’re the most fun to talk to,” I say, leading him to a corner where a small group of camp supervisors and YMCA administrators are standing.
Tucking me deep inside the circle of people, Randall charms them by asking their names and inviting them to share their experiences. Flattered by his attention, everyone pipes in with stories of summer camps or complaints about resources. A few ask for autographs. There’s no shortage of questions about the Mavericks. I tune out of those conversations.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Miles with his chin raised and his head in a pivot. His wolfish eyes find me, and I curse the choice to wear red.
“Great to meet you all. I promised Elise a dance, so please excuse us,” Randall says, fully attuned to Miles’s approach.
He guides me to the half-filled dance floor, as close to the stage as possible so a person would have to slalom between pairs to get to us.
Strong forearms tuck my body against a sculpted chest. I allow myself to slump down and inhale deep. Randall’s unique aroma wafts over me. It’s subtle because he doesn’t wear cologne. The fragrance is a mix of detergent and soap lightly sitting on clean skin. I sigh in contentment.
“You’re really good at this dodging game,” I comment with a laugh. “Is it from practice avoiding all the hockey fans chasing you for autographs?”
“Something like that,” he says but without the mirth I expect.
“Sorry, Randall. Helping me is ruining your night.”
“That’s not it,” he says. “People split up all the time. Why is his presence upsetting you this much? Did it happen recently? Was it a bad breakup?”
Of course he would ask. Even while we texted, I could tell that underneath the smooth-talking athlete is a kind, sensitive man. The more I’ve gotten to know Randall, the clearer it is that he would do anything for his friends.
“We broke up two years ago. I’ve only seen him one other time since the split. He came to a performance. Believe me, I had no trouble telling him to take a hike.”
“Shit. I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried,” he mumbles with a frown. “You’re saying, if it wasn’t for the circumstances—”
“If it wasn’t for the circumstances, one of us would have left. Probably me. There’s no dancing around the fact that we haven’t been within speaking distance for a reason.”
He’s quiet for a while. “Not complaining about the dancing part,” he quips lightly.
Laughing, I nod in agreement. Mid-song, the jazz band stops. The screech of a mic snags everyone’s attention.
“Good evening, folks!” Conrad, the fundraising head and my mom’s nemesis, announces. “We’re so happy to have you here! In the next few minutes, I’ll ask that you follow our lovely servers to the adjoining ballroom where dinner will be served. But before you go…”
He pauses dramatically, eyes glinting and forehead sweaty. “To inspire everyone and kick off what is sure to be a successful campaign, the committee wants to announce a spectacular bid. Historic, really.”
Everyone quiets down but it is Randall’s reaction that I notice. His back stiffens and his hands drop away from my waist.
“We would like to announce that the London Getaway, complete with roundtrip flights, hotel accommodations, and tickets to the renowned Royal Shakespeare Company, will be awarded to the unprecedented bidder of fifteen thousand dollars!”
The ballroom roars with applause and whistles. Conrad steps back and wipes his forehead. When he returns to the mic, I get distracted by Randall’s lips in my ear.
“Wanna dash out of here?” He sounds panicked.
“Huh?” I ask, not sure what’s going on. And then I hear his name.
“Randall Haughland,” Conrad screams, hand outstretched and palm up like a game show host. “It is my honor to make this special announcement. Come on up the stage and receive the prize for your winning bid!”
Randall is shaking his head so vigorously, he could be a bobblehead.
“Oh my god, Randall!” I say. “Fifteen thousand dollars?”
He looks at me with cheeks flushed. “I thought this was a silent auction.” His eyes shift rapidly, searching for a quick exit.
I try to comfort him. “Just get it over with, maybe?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Resolution stiffens his features. He doesn’t even walk to the stairs leading up the stage. The agile athlete entertains everyone with his prowess by jumping straight on the elevated platform from the dance floor. The room reverberates with raucous cheers.
“Thanks, Conrad. What a privilege to support a great cause,” Randall begins. “I had the pleasure of meeting counselors who work at the YMCA. Thank you for the work this organization does for the community.”
He’s about to leave the stage when Conrad touches his elbow.
His mouth back on the mic, the self-proclaimed emcee says the last thing I expect.
“Before you go, we’ve invited Miles Wallace of Luxe Voyage Travel Corporation to offer the winning certificate. They donated this amazing prize.”
Randall’s eyes sharpen to tight points and his fists clamp so hard, I can see the white of his knuckles. Miles moseys over slowly, looking harsh, his face mid-sneer. He’s making Randall wait. Anger and irritation churn in my gut.
When they’re toe to toe, both men square off with chests inflated. Miles is a little taller, but the muscular physique of Randall is evident under his perfectly tailored suit.
These are not two men about to exchange a piece of paper.
They are antagonists on the brink of a fight. The room intuits the unspoken challenge.
You could hear a pin drop and I. Cannot. Breathe.
This is my fault. By complaining to my friend, I put a sign over Miles’s head that announces, in caps lock, ENEMY. Every protective pore in Randall overwhelms his reasonableness. This is as close as I’ve ever seen him to hostile. The Disney prince has morphed into a fierce defender.
If I didn’t drag Randall into my stupid drama of avoiding Miles, this public event would have been pleasant for him. A nice way to cap an incredibly generous donation. A fifteen-thousand-dollar donation.
A fifteen-thousand-dollar donation!
Before I can get lost in the vortex of that astounding turn of events, Randall grabs the mic. Ignoring Miles, who has yet to shake his hand, the hockey player commands everyone’s attention.
“Although I’m pumped that my bid was enough for this exciting trip, it was never for me.”
His eyes find mine. Wait. No. He cannot seriously consider giving me that trip. My head shakes back and forth in a jittery motion. Before panic fully takes over, Randall continues.
“Mrs. Geraldine Chen inspired me with her dedication to this charity,” Randall proclaims. “Plus, she feeds everyone who walks through her house. If someone deserves a vacation, it is this remarkable woman.”
A few chuckles waft over the room, along with a flurry of ohs and ahs.
“Geraldine, where are you?” Randall asks jovially. “Come on up and claim your prize.”
My jaw slackens in surprise. Relief floods my system. My eyes prickle at the thought of Ma traveling again.
Well played, Randall Haughland. Well played.
He’s still looking at me, eyes gleaming with mischief. Ma is ushered up by friends. She’s both flustered and giddy, walking past Conrad like he’s a fly on the wall. She hugs Randall and effusively mimes thank you. Taking an envelope from Miles, she hugs him too and adds a consoling tap on his shoulder. It’s subtle, but I see her say sorry.
She should definitely be sorry for inviting my ex-boyfriend without warning me. But Ma doesn’t seem remotely apologetic. If I had to describe that expression, it would be pleased. Smug, even. Like she tried a new recipe and the result turned out better than expected.
With a demure smile, she accepts the mic from Randall. Graciously, she thanks him and ushers the crowd toward dinner.
When Randall jumps off the stage to stand by me, I don’t even think about it.
I link our hands and pull him out of the room.