Page 45 of The Devil You Know
If possible, Ben seems less enthusiastic about this party than I am. His brown eyes are pinned on the road, but every few minutes, he lets out a loud sigh that I can hear over the classical music that he always insists on listening to when he drives. He resists any of my feeble attempts to make conversation, so we spend the last fifteen minutes of the drive in musical silence.
Dr. Kirschstein must have invited half the hospital to his party, because all the spots within a three-block radius of his house are occupied. This results in Ben sighing more frequently and more loudly until he finally blurts out, “Jane, do we have to go to this party?”
“Are you kidding me?” I glare at him. “We just drove half an hour to get here and now you don’t want to go?”
“Ineverwanted to go,” he reminds me. Well, that’s true. He’s never been one for social activities involving more than two people. “How about this—let’s go out to dinner, just the two of us? It’s been forever since we’ve done that.”
I hesitate.
“Come on, Jane,” he pleads with me. “It’ll be so much more fun. We can go anywhere you want.”
It’s tempting. It would be nice to spend the night sharing good food with my husband without Leah constantly interrupting our conversation by singing songs about me.
“Look,” I say. “This is my boss’s party. I have to go. Let’s just… at least make an appearance.”
Ben pulls into a parking spot a good half-mile from the house and kills the engine. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be a social butterfly.”
“Um, I wouldneverexpect that, Ben.”
He gives me a look, but at least he gets out of the car.
The weather has been getting slightly warmer, but Long Island at night is always freaking cold. As we make the trek to Dr. Kirschstein’s house, I feel the impact of my decision not to bring a hat with me. Yes, it would mess up my hair. But who, exactly, am I trying to impress? My ears are freezing.
I look over at Ben, who is wearing a coat that is at least twice as warm as mine, in addition to a hatanda scarf. There was a time when Ben would have offered me his hat and scarf. Hell, he would haveforcedit on me. I remember one night he chased me down Fifth Avenue, both of us giggling uncontrollably while he shook his ugly black hat in his hand, yelling, “If you don’t take it, you’re going to get pneumonia!”
But it seems like he doesn’t care as much anymore if I get pneumonia.
Dr. Kirschstein’s white house is at least twice as large as ours, about three stories high, with half a dozen steps to get to the front door. You would think two octogenarians would want a house with fewer stairs. I sprint up the steps, my eyes pinned on the glowing yellow light coming from inside. It looks warm in there.
Ben keeps his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jacket while we wait for someone to let us in. After at least a minute, Dr. Kirschstein throws open the front door. I’m overcome by the shock of seeing himwithout his white coat. He seems practically naked, although he’s wearing a nice shirt and tie.
“Jane!” he exclaims.
It’s the first time I can recall him ever calling me by my first name. Great, does this mean I have to call him “Bernard”? I cannot imagine saying to my boss, “Hey, Bernie!” I’m just going to call him nothing. “Um, hi,” I say.
“And this must be Benjamin!” he booms.
Ben manages an incredibly uncomfortable smile as he grudgingly shakes my boss’s hand.
“Your hand is freezing, Benjamin!” Dr. Kirschstein notes. “You two better get inside.”
We give up our coats and Dr. Kirschstein leads us to the living room, which is packed tightly with guests, and more importantly, a roaring fire. I see Lisa standing with her husband in the far corner of the room and wave enthusiastically.
“How long do we have to stay here?” Ben murmurs.
“Oh my God, Ben,” I murmur back. “Can you just… relax for a minute? We have to socialize a little.”
“But I don’t know anyone here,” he complains.
“You know me.”
“Yes, and I could talk to you at home.”
I sigh. “There’s a ton of food. Why don’t you get something to eat? I think it’s catered.”
“Probably not from anywhere good,” he mutters, although he obligingly wanders over to the table filled with an assortment of deli meat while I make my way over to Lisa and her husband (who has, incidentally, not abandoned her in spite of not knowing anyone here). Lisa is wearing a sequined black dress with vivid purple flowers on it that falls to mid-thigh level, paired with a glittery choker. She stands out even more next to her husband Mike, who is wearing the most ordinary white shirt and solid brown tie that I’ve ever seen. Between his medium-sized gut and male pattern baldness, Mike is pretty much the opposite of any of the men on Lisa’s top five celebrity list, but she seems to absolutely adore him and vice versa.
“Hi, Jane,” Mike says with a warm smile. “We were worried you wouldn’t make it.”
