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‘It’s bad enough that you ruined our original plan—’Leslie gives Bell a beleaguered look ‘—but now, even though we’re in Vegas, today’s party has gone from seedy sex club-esque to an Upper West side afternoon tea party with a side of dick.’
Bell chokes on her cracker while George snickers behind his champagne glass.
At the sound of his mistress coughing, Mike Hunt, wearing a pink bow-tie collar, leaps onto the counter to check on her. And by check on her, I mean motorboat her.
Unperturbed, Bell scratches behind his saggy, wrinkled head as he rubs his face across her boobs.
‘I think it’s enchanting, Alice.’ Mrs. Moore, who arrived the day prior from the Bahamas to relax before her son’s nuptials, smiles fondly at her flesh-colored penis straw. ‘You found the perfect balance between tawdry and fun.’
I flush at the elegant woman’s compliment.
Leslie spares Mikey an eye roll before returning to the matter at hand. ‘Come on.’ She jabs a finger at the charcuterie boards and drink trays I arranged after Chase and Thomas left. Each interspersed with fresh flowers, various-sized dildos, and a smattering of penis confetti. ‘You made all the neon-colored dicks look artful and classy.’ She grabs one of the glasses I’d filled with her requested whipped-cream-topped Blow Job shots off the Trusty Thrusty tray.
Shots I’d sprinkled with edible glitter.
‘Who does that?’ Leslie pouts over the whipped cream.
George, the lone male at the bachelorette party, wraps an arm around my shoulders, clinking his glass with mine. ‘I love it.’ With his free hand he waves his phone at us. ‘Already uploaded to the Facebook group.’
Thinking of Thomas’s reaction to that, I snicker. Maybe I should tell them that he helped. It would make for a great caption.
‘That’s why I scooped her up for Moore’s new marketing team.’ Bell places an assortment of meats, cheeses and fruits on her plate. ‘Alice is going to do great things at Moore’s. Her floor displays are already increasing sales.’
I can never thank Bell enough for not only pushing Chase to hire me for Moore’s new marketing team but for becoming such a good friend and mentor.
‘You weren’t the only person wanting to scoop her up,’ Leslie murmurs.
Bell jabs her with her elbow, turning Leslie’s smirk into a wince.
I fuss with the peony arrangement situated next to the fruit tray, confused by what Leslie means but too embarrassed to ask. I’m pretty sure no one else was looking to hire me out of the shoe department, but it’s nice of her to say.
My phone vibrates while everyone fights over which color penis straw they want. I sneak off to the bathroom down the hall knowing that there’s only one person who would be calling me, seeing as everyone else I know is here.
Closing the door, I slip out my phone, unsurprised by Kayla’s name and photo on the screen. It’s the photo I took of her and Mary at the zoo three years ago. Back when we were much closer.
I slide the phone open. ‘Kayla?’
‘Hey girl, what’s going on?’ My one-time sister’s chipper voice is nearly drowned out by loud, bass-pounding background music.
I do the time change math in my head. Even with the time difference it’s only 6 p.m. in New York. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m out!’ she hollers, causing me to pull the phone away from my ear. ‘That’s why I called. Come meet me.’ Glasses clink. ‘How long has it been since we went out together?’
Never. We’ve never gone out drinking because she was pregnant and then we were raising her daughter. ‘Where’s Mary?’
‘With the neighbors. No worries.’
The only neighbors of hers I know of are the single mom who works nights and an elderly couple. ‘Which neighbor?’ I’m hoping that in the time she started ghosting me someone new moved in.
‘Stop worrying. Sometimes you just need a break, you know?’ Her platitude is followed by the slurping of a straw sucking up remnants of a drink. ‘Come out and have some fun with me.’
Now that I hear her voice, some of the worry melts away, making room for anger and frustration. ‘When I called earlier Mary answered. Why wasn’t she in school and why were you asleep?’ I shove my free hand in my hair, my fingers getting caught in the curls. Questions I’ve held back these past months come pouring out. ‘As far as I know you still don’t have a job. How are you covering your rent?’
Kayla’s silence is telling. I usually walk on eggshells around her. She’s temperamental. Always has been.
At first, I thought it was typical teenage girl stuff when we met back when she was thirteen and I was fifteen. Then grief. Reconnecting years later, I blamed pregnancy hormones and then the stress of being a young, single mom.
But Mary’s six now and I’m tired of making excuses for her. Kayla needs to grow up.
