Wrong About the Guy(39)

“Yep. He’s a studio musician, and he already told me he remembers when I was three and visited the recording studio and ate four cookies and threw up. It’s going to be one of those nights—one of those ‘Oh, you’re Michael Marquand’s little boy!’ nights. And don’t get me started on the yold women here.”

“Yold?”

“Young/old. You know. They all have those smooth, unmoving foreheads and long hair and big breasts and tiny waists and dead eyes and bony necks.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”


“There are a lot of them here tonight and a couple of them are wearing very low-cut costumes and I can’t stop shuddering. And speaking of shuddering . . . look at Crystal.” He pulled on my sleeve to turn me in the right direction. “You understand why my father and I—and the house—all had to dress the way we did, right? It was all so she could look like that.”

She was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Her perfectly chiseled abdomen and narrow waist were shown off by a tight aqua-colored bandeau and matching hip-hugging harem pants. Her shining black hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail that was decorated with aqua ribbons, which matched her aqua headband. Her eyes were outlined in black and her lips were bright red. “She does look pretty amazing,” I said, staring in open admiration. “You have to admit.”

“Do I?” He considered her for a moment. She looked up while he was studying her and I saw their eyes meet. She pressed her lips together and quickly looked away. “Sorry,” he said, turning back to me and shaking his head. “I can’t. I just can’t. I mean, yes, I’m sure objectively she’s attractive. I just can’t get past the absolute Crystal-ness of her to appreciate it.”

“Well, I think she’s beautiful.”

“You are beautiful. She’s scary. Let’s see what’s on that tray. I’m hungry.”

The server holding the hors d’oeuvres was talking to someone in a plaid shirt whose back was to us but seemed weirdly familiar for a back.

We circled around.

“George?” I said, totally surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Pretty much the same as you,” he said. “Hey, Aaron.”

“Welcome,” said Aaron before turning to the caterer. “What’ve you got there?”

“Stuffed mushrooms.” She held out the tray so he could take one. “Finish what you were saying,” she said to George as Aaron considered his options.

“Nah, it’s okay,” George said.

“I wanted to hear the rest.”

“The rest of what?” I said. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m staff,” she said.

“Not you. Him.”

“Me?” George said. “I’m a farmer.” He was wearing jeans and that plaid shirt.

“That’s the laziest costume—you didn’t even get a hat!”

“I’m not into dressing up.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said. He was so out of context, it was weird. The girl was still gazing at him expectantly like she was waiting to hear what he had been saying when we interrupted.

“Jonathan brought me. He said it would be an amazing party. It is an amazing party,” he told Aaron, who shrugged.

“I can’t take any credit for it.” He pointed at the mushrooms. “What are they stuffed with?”

The server said, “Crab.”

“Weird,” Aaron said.

“They’re good. Try one.” She offered him the tray again, and Aaron selected a mushroom.

“I’m dubious,” he said, eyeing it.

“They’re delicious,” George said. “I ate like three, and I don’t like either mushrooms or crab.”

The server beamed at him. She was pretty. If you liked blonds with lots of makeup.

Aaron bit into the mushroom. “Ugh,” he said, and she held out the pile of napkins in her hand. He took one, wrapped the uneaten part in it, and carefully put the whole package on a side table. He turned to me. “Where to next, Ellie, my love?”

Before I could answer . . .

“Aaron!”

We all turned toward the new voice. Crystal approached us, her hands on her hips. “I was looking for you both. Ellie, your mother could use some help with Jacob.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, but don’t you think you should give her a break so she can enjoy the party?” She seemed a little disgusted with me for not having thought of that on my own. “I saw them out back.”

“Okay.”

Both guys started to follow me toward the French doors that led to the yard, but Crystal put her hand out to stop Aaron. “Hold on. I want you to talk to some of our other guests.”

“There’s only one person here I want to spend time with,” he said, which made me glance back. He caught my eye and winked at me.

I couldn’t hear Crystal’s response because she leaned in close to him and lowered her voice, but I could guess the tone of it from the scowl on her face. He dropped his eyes to the floor; it was probably impossible for Aaron to look sincerely contrite, but he did look a little less self-assured.