White Ivy(80)
Sylvia grinned. It could have gone either way. She might have thrown her water in Tom’s face. Sylvia’s eyes slid past Tom and she waved to the man walking toward them holding frothy cocktails adorned with various slices of fruit. Ivy thought that Jeremy Lier, besides his green eyes, looked remarkably like Roux—tall, slim, the smooth line of his broad shoulders tapering to a thin waist. Also like Roux, he dressed with a kind of slouchy indifference, sneakers and gray beanies and corduroy messenger bags, but Ivy knew better now than to think Jeremy a struggling artist. With that crowd, the presumption of expendable wealth was a given, the exact means never addressed.
“Oops, didn’t realize there were two more,” Jeremy said as he handed out the cocktails. Andrea offered to go get her and Ivy drinks to save Jeremy another trip. Ivy said, “I can come,” but Andrea said there was no need. She seemed relieved to have a purpose. Before she even made it ten feet away, a scrawny-looking young man in black-framed glasses had approached her with a simpering smile. He was wearing one of the free yellow Tshirts they’d been handing out in the lobby, with the tagline SWINGBOX TO YOUR NEW REALITY.
“Aaaand we’ll never see her again for the rest of the evening,” Ivy murmured to Gideon.
“Will she be okay?”
“She’s a big girl.” Ivy smiled keenly. “Let’s not hinder her fun.”
A famous DJ ascended the stage and everyone began swarming toward the dance floor. Sylvia and Jeremy left to find the heated pool. Tom was arguing with a silver-haired man about the ethics of selling social media data. Gideon was on his phone, probably checking email. He seemed tired tonight; the light reflecting off their frosty tulip table cast his prominent cheekbones in a cold marble glaze. Ivy nuzzled up beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist. It was always during moments like this, in a crowd of noisy strangers, that she felt most compelled to seek his touch, as a kind of self-assurance.
On a trapezoidal platform across the room, she saw the towering figure of Liana Finley swinging her hips in an elaborate silk kimono. A feather boa was wrapped around her neck, like some nesting black-blue ermine creature. Gideon said he needed to use the restroom. “Will you be all right?” he shouted into her ear.
Ivy gestured at the platform. “I’m going to go dance with Liana.”
“I’ll come find you there.” Gideon released her elbow.
Ivy fetched her own drink from the bar, then squeezed her way across the throng of sweaty bodies. Liana pulled her up onto the platform. Without speaking, she wrapped the end of her boa around Ivy’s neck and began dancing up to her, arms raised, head tossed back. Catcalls came from a distant corner. Someone shouted, “Yeah Liana!” The music swelled even louder. Ivy was laughing, champagne fumes pleasantly tickling her throat. She felt the admiring gaze of hundreds of people on her gyrating figure, pressed against Liana’s. If only she could always feel this way, as if she were flying in a dream, her eyes roaming the room in a detached, wondrous way, evaluating those evaluating her, in mutual satisfactory evaluation. Glaring neon lights began flashing from the ceiling, girls erupted in screams, and in one of those flashes of perfect illumination, Ivy saw Roux in the corner, watching her dance.
It was definitely him. Wasn’t it? Perhaps she was mistaken. The lights flashed again, and again she saw Roux’s face, the mop of black hair, the pale, tall figure in a white T-shirt and black jeans.
She stopped dancing. Liana’s hip bumped into hers with a painful jolt. The other woman guided Ivy’s chin to face her. Strange how inhuman people looked when viewed from close up. All judgments of attractiveness became irrelevant, reduced to shapes and curves and lines; it was like looking at the face of a farm animal, utterly deprived of meaning. Ivy tried to move her body in sync with Liana’s but she’d lost her focus and could no longer hear the music or people screaming. Roux’s gaze had trapped her in an invisible box, isolating her from the outside world. She unwound herself from Liana’s scarf and jumped off the platform. A man’s arm darted out with the pretense of trying to steady her landing but really to slide his hand down her backside. She tried to spot Roux again but was too short, even in her four-inch heels, to see much more than the giant flag blowing in the fake wind. She’d lost him.
She made her way one by one through all the rooms of the penthouse before catching sight of Jeremy and Sylvia soaking in the Jacuzzi next to a raucous pool party.
“Where’d you guys get the swimsuits?” she asked, stooping down stiffly in her short dress.
“They’re giving them out over there,” Sylvia said, waving to a table along the wall where two Eastern European girls in maid’s uniforms were handing out fluorescent one-pieces and swim trunks. A few men near the end of the line decided they could wait no longer, stripped, and cannonballed into the pool stark naked.
“Disgusting,” said Sylvia. “This is why we didn’t go into the pool.” Her eyes flicked at Ivy, who was still kneeling awkwardly over them. “Jump in,” she suggested.
Ivy hesitated. She didn’t want to stay still but she didn’t want to be flung back into the crowd either. The warm, musky smell of chlorine reminded her of being back in a school gym. It felt safe. She took off her shoes, sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, and dipped her legs into the bubbling water. Jeremy and Sylvia spoke to each other in casual, drifting sentences, making minimal effort to include Ivy in their conversation. She didn’t mind. Her mind wandered here and there, watching girls pose for photographs with pasty young men in yellow Tshirts; men who would, according to Gideon, become millionaires by next week. Already the arrogance was forming, preceding the money itself, and could be seen in the reckless way they were grabbing and pushing each other into the pool, conscious of being watched, straddling floaties shaped like flamingos. Ivy was only half-listening when Sylvia said to Jeremy: “—at least he was a great supporter of the arts. You two would have gotten along.”