The Lies They Tell(36)
Pearl and Bridges waited outside until the gleaming black 1966 Mustang appeared, driven by a tall man who said, “Good evening,” and nothing else as he climbed out, handed Bridges the keys, and held the passenger door for Pearl. He continued to stand there after she was seated. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she was supposed to tip him, if she had any cash on her at all.
“Give him your keys and he’ll park your car in the garage,” Bridges said softly.
“Oh.” She dug into her clutch bag. “Sorry.” As Gus folded himself into the Civic, she saw her hard-won car as it must look to the Spencers: ancient, dented, sagging on nearly bald tires. She cleared her throat. “Wow. An actual manservant.”
“Gus has been around forever. He kind of runs the place.” They headed downtown, following the tree-lined Harbor Road to the club. “This was Gramps’s car, back when he was a little older than me. He almost never takes it out of the garage.” Bridges smiled a little. “I’m guessing he made some pretty good memories in the backseat.”
So that was what he meant by luck. Pearl looked out the window at the deepening night, unconsciously smoothing the hem of her dress. When Bridges’s hand found her knee, she let it stay there.
Thirteen
WHITE JAPANESE LANTERNS hung in a luminous solar system above the front walkway and gardens of the club. Nets of twinkle lights glimmered on the hedges, and every window was lit. A banner reading Tenney’s Harbor Club: One Hundred Years hung across the porch, and Pearl could already hear big band music drifting across the front lawn as they parked.
She and Bridges joined the couples walking arm in arm toward the entrance. She hadn’t expected this sudden grip of anxiety, entering the club for the first time without the anonymity of her uniform and station. She and Bridges were on display together, and the doorman’s gaze rested on her, knowing her face if not her name as he said, “Good evening, Mr. Spencer. Miss,” and let them pass.
The lobby was swarming, people having their photos taken in front of a centennial backdrop, stopping to greet friends before going through the ballroom door, the air charged with energy. When they entered the ballroom, Pearl’s eyes were dazzled by light. Gradually, dozens of white Japanese lanterns solidified in her vision like ghost orbs, drifting among the tulle canopy strung across the ceiling.
Everything was black, white, and silver, the room itself resembling one of the old ballroom photographs from the corridor, allowing the ladies’ dresses to provide the color: scarlet, turquoise, peach. Servers were dressed in black tie, both men and women; Pearl noticed Indigo moving through the crowd with her serving tray held high, dressed in a fitted tuxedo shirt, bow tie at her throat.
Bridges took Pearl’s hand as they cut through the crowd, people hobnobbing with drinks, shrilling laughter, some watching them pass with momentary interest before spotting somebody else they recognized.
Bridges put his lips close to her ear. “Insane, huh?” She nodded, releasing a breath, and he laughed, leading the way through the tables. He rapped his knuckles on one as they passed, where a group of summer kids had congregated, eating hors d’oeuvres and looking supremely bored. Quinn and Hadley sat there, Quinn in a body-hugging strapless dress, cozied up to a big guy Pearl vaguely recognized from around the club, a linebacker type with short-buzzed hair. Hadley wore teal, a pink rose tucked behind her ear, her chin resting on her fist as she watched the crowd. “Hey, ladies,” Bridges said.
Quinn slid her hand to cover the linebacker’s and said flatly, “If you’re looking for the idiot, he’s over there.” She indicated a nearby table occupied mostly by adults, where Akil lounged with his chair pushed out from the table, people casting him annoyed looks as they were forced to squeeze by.
“Oh my God, dude, where have you been?” Akil wore a sport coat over a T-shirt, baggy tuxedo pants, and white athletic sneakers right out of the box.
Bridges raised his eyebrows. “They let you in like that?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Akil’s father spoke, his voice smooth and faintly accented. He slowly turned a flute of champagne on the tabletop. “I see that your friends managed to dress themselves properly for the evening.”
“I don’t wear ties.”
“So you’ve said.”
“No more arguing.” Akil’s mother wore a purple gown accented with gold, and her gaze landed on Pearl, studying her as she and Bridges sat. “Hello. My name’s Aditi. We haven’t met.”
“Pearl.” Ignoring Akil’s eye roll, Pearl put her hand out and shook with Mrs. Malhotra. “Your dress is beautiful.”
Akil made an impatient sound, said to his parents, “I thought you guys were going to dance or something.”
His father held Akil’s gaze coolly for a moment, then took his wife’s hand. “What a wonderful suggestion.” They left the table together.
Akil stood immediately, tugging Bridges to his feet. “Seriously. Three more hours of this.”
Bridges laughed, making sure that Pearl was following. “You’ll survive. Eat some hors d’oeuvres or something.”
“Have you seen that stuff? It’s like baby eels and quail eggs or some shit.”
“You should’ve hit Mickey D’s on the way over.”