You Think It, I'll Say It(6)
It was at Bret and Tracy Hutchinson’s twentieth anniversary party, at River Oaks Country Club, that Graham appeared beside Julie and said, for the first time, “I’ll think it, you say it.” Julie was standing alone, momentarily, because the babysitter had texted to ask if her youngest child was allowed to go to sleep with the light on in his room. Graham nodded his head once, toward an unofficial receiving line that had formed around the party’s hosts.
“Well, for starters,” Julie said, “I’m surprised they decided to throw this party because I was always under the impression Bret and Tracy kind of hate each other.” She glanced at Graham before adding, “I assume they’re celebrating, what, a total of three happy years together?”
Graham raised his eyebrows. “I’d have estimated one, but, sure, let’s round up.”
“And even though they’re both tedious, they’re tedious in such distinctive ways,” Julie said. “With him, it’s like, all roads eventually lead to a disquisition on the pleasures of hunting white-tailed deer. But apart from being bloodthirsty, he’s really gentle and has such good manners. Whereas with her, all roads lead to her gifted children, and she’s so aggressive and braggy. Literally, she’s probably told me twelve times that Mr. Vaughn said Fritz is the most talented math student he’s ever had.” Julie took a sip of her champagne before adding, “To be fair, Tracy does look great tonight. Her Spanx must be killing her, but she looks great.”
“What are Spanx?” Graham asked.
“Seriously? They’re ‘shapewear.’?” Julie made air quotes. “They smooth out your womanly lumps and bumps.”
“And here I thought womanly lumps and bumps were one of life’s great gifts,” Graham said.
“Depending on the location.” When Julie and Graham’s eyes met, she said, “Who else?”
Graham nodded toward another guest and said, “Anne Pyland.”
“Anne is an interesting case, because every other time I interact with her, I either get a kick out of her or I can’t stand her. So in the end, even though she’s better and worse than most people, she’s average. When she’s in a bad mood, she doesn’t hide it, and I’m not sure if I’m jealous or appalled.”
Again, Graham nodded once. “Rob Greffkamp.”
“He’s wondering how many drinks he needs to consume before he can forget his moral ambivalence about working for Halliburton.” From across the room, Rob Greffkamp let loose with boisterous laughter, and Julie added, “And he’s optimistic that he’s at least halfway there.”
“Sherry Chessel.”
“Bad news,” Julie said. “I really like Sherry. I have nothing critical to say.”
Graham gave her a dubious look. “Surely if you put your mind to it?”
“Graham, she’s the director of an organization that finds families for foster kids. Plus, she has a sense of humor.”
“Fair enough. Doug Green.”
“For Doug, we go to the multiple choice format: (A) super-snobby and aloof, (B) intensely awkward, or (C) on the spectrum.” Julie looked at Graham. “Don’t tell me you haven’t considered all those possibilities.”
“A combination of A and B,” Graham said. “Is that permitted?”
“It is,” Julie said, “although it’s a cop-out.”
“Jennifer Reilly.”
“Well, she can’t stand Anne, so it’s funny they’re talking to each other right now,” Julie said. “Were you guys at the school auction last spring?”
Graham nodded.
“I think Jennifer had just had a lot of the punch, but Anne spread rumors that she’d snorted coke.”
“Man,” Graham said. “You’re good.”
“By which I assume you mean I’m a huge bitch who usually manages to keep her bitchiness concealed?”
Was Julie a huge bitch who usually managed to keep her bitchiness concealed? She truly didn’t know. In the eight years she and Keith had lived in Houston, she had never talked like this to anyone. She was simultaneously shocked by the conversation, shocked to be having it with a man, shocked by its effortlessness, and not surprised at all; it was as if she’d been waiting to be recognized, as if she’d never sung in public, then someone had handed her a microphone and she’d opened her mouth and released a full-throated vibrato. Except that her only audience was Graham, a familiar semi-stranger, which made the game a secret, which was the most fun part of all. Neither on that day nor in the future did they ever discuss the game’s rules, yet clearly they both agreed what they were. Julie considered this complicity amazing, though she wondered if her bar for amazing was low.
She did have friends, and they did gossip about people, but the way they gossiped felt superficial, imprecise, and gratuitously mean; talking to Graham felt sincere and only incidentally mean. Also, there was a physical sensation Julie often had near the end of parties or kids’ soccer games, what she thought of as tired face—she’d exerted herself, received little in return, and now wished to be alone, or at least to be in her car, with only children, and preferably only ones to whom she was related—and this sensation seemed, after she and Graham started playing I’ll Think It, You Say It, like nothing but boredom. Was it possible she had been bored for the entire time she and Keith had lived in Houston? For her entire adulthood? Because, alarmingly, I’ll Think It, You Say It left her as cheerful and energized as a Zumba class.