Two Truths and a Lie(90)
Sherri greeted us. She accepted our compliments. She watched some of us cast nervous glances at our husbands to see if they were looking at Sherri the way we were looking at Sherri.
Then Sherri said seven words that changed everything that night.
“Pass the bottle,” said Sherri Griffin, without so much as a please or a thank-you. “And a shot glass.”
We all looked at each other like, “Whaaaaat?”
And then we passed the bottle.
And a shot glass.
Honestly, it wasn’t until a couple of days later, after the dust had settled, so to speak, that Brooke reminded us that Sherri hadn’t even been invited to the party.
70.
Sherri
“Pass the bottle,” she told the nearest mom, Monica or Jessica or Nicole. “And a shot glass.”
She didn’t need the lime or the salt; she didn’t need anything at all. She did one shot, then two, then a third, all the while looking Monica or Jessica or Nicole right in the eyes.
It felt good. She felt like herself again. She was reminded of what it felt like to have a roomful—in this case a yard full—of people’s attention on her.
Then she gave a businesslike nod, a nod that said, Time to get started here. And she got ready to say all of the things she’d been holding back since that first day of surf camp, all those weeks ago.
71.
The Squad
Okay, seriously? This new Sherri Griffin basically downed an entire bottle of tequila while we all watched. Maybe it wasn’t an entire bottle. But it was definitely more than one shot. Two or three or maybe four. And we were like, what the hell? First of all, save some for the rest of us! And second, was she going to fall down drunk right in front of us, or, and we seriously hoped not, throw up in the pool? (That happened at Brooke’s party in 2013, but we’re not naming names. We will say that the involved party did pay for the pool company to come out the next day and hand-clean the filter, which was no small expense.)
With each shot of tequila Sherri became more composed, more steady. Her back, already very straight (and visible) in that (we had to admit, fantastic) gold dress, got even straighter. Her eyes, which were heavily made up, opened wider. She seemed to grow taller before us, like The Nutcracker Christmas tree. And it became a truth universally acknowledged: Sherri Griffin could hold her liquor.
The bartender, sensing new tension, made his first round of Aperol tequila cocktails, and we each took one. They went down easy. Also, they were sort of small, so a few of us went back for our second drink right away. Don’t look at us that way. We knew the line would get long once the corn hole game ended, and we were just trying to be cognizant of the other partygoers. Okay?
Nicole was Sherri’s first victim. Sherri turned to her and in no uncertain terms (there’s some dispute about exactly what she said, which is why we are merely summarizing for you now) told her what a shitty thing it was to leave Katie and Morgan out of Riley’s Boda Borg birthday party.
Nicole has that fair skin that hides neither shame nor alcohol, and almost immediately she reddened. She looked to some of us for backup, but nobody came to her defense. The next day some of us regretted that. But at the time, we were all too shocked. Seriously, Sherri Griffin had never been anything but unassuming and pleasant. Meek, you would have called her. Milquetoast, if you were being fancy, but we weren’t typically that fancy.
After she had dispensed with Nicole, Sherri turned her attention to Dawn, and let loose on her for her telling everyone she’d been crawling around on the Laundromat floor at the beginning of the summer. How Sherri heard about that we do not know. That story had been told to just a few of us, in private.
After the evisceration of Dawn, Sherri set her teeth into Tammy. Not literally. But it felt like it. Her beef with Tammy had to do with an Instagram photo Tammy’s daughter, Casey, had posted at a sleepover, when she’d tagged Katie even though she wasn’t there—she hadn’t been invited.
“Terrible,” we all agreed later, hoping our daughters hadn’t been guilty of the same shortcoming. “Real mean-girl stuff.” We made mental notes to go home later and check Instagram accounts. And if we’re being completely honest, Tammy doesn’t always have the best judgment with that sort of thing herself. Sometimes, like mother like daughter.
When that was done, some of us slunk into the shadows, where the lights didn’t reach, lest we were next. As it turned out, no single person was next. Sherri Griffin was addressing the whole group. She tossed her blond hair (definitely Shanti, we decided, probably that new stylist who had been brought in to do only color) and said, “Here’s what we’re going to do, ladies.”
Even the bartender was listening.
“We’re going to have a fresh start come fall. We’re all going to be a little more accepting of newcomers.” We nodded. “And I swear, if Katie comes home from school on the first day and tells me she didn’t have anywhere to sit at lunch, or nobody shared a locker with her, or she didn’t have a partner for the first group project, you’re going to have to answer to me. And also?” She lowered her voice and we all leaned in. It was weird, how seductive she suddenly seemed. “I’d love to get in on that next trip to Nantucket. Whenever you guys are going. If one more isn’t too much trouble.” And she smiled, and she sauntered off.