Page 45 of Dahlias, Sapphires, and Cool Autumn Dusk
She pointed at me. “I amsogood. So. Good.” Her smile got bigger. “I knew we had to be friends after I understood. Because I getit.”
It?At least one of us knew what she meant. “It?”
“I getit,” she repeated loudly as Tiffany arrived, slinging an arm around my shoulder.
Instead of greeting me, she considered Bethany. “I can’t figure you out, Bethy. I really can’t.”
“Don’t try.” Bethany flung her hair over her shoulder and vanished into the crowd again, as mysterious as a ghost. I still didn’t know what she meant, but perhaps it was for the better.
Tiffany slurred, but less than Bethany. “So, how are you?” Before I could answer, her eyes lit up. ”Come with me. I want to show you something.”
She tugged my hand and led me from the room. I spotted Hal in a part in the crowd—standing in a corner watching us— but he vanished as quickly as he appeared, in the same crowdas Phoenix but not speaking. I bit my lip, unhappy since I knew why.
I found myself in an elegant parlor, and barely took in the vastness of it when she pointed upward. “Look.”
My mouth fell open, startlement taking my breath for a second. “Is that a Warhol?”
“It sure is.” She grinned then stared up at it. “No one ever cares or seems impressed when I show them, but I knew you’d get it.” She sipped her beer.
I still gaped, trying to take in my proximity to arguably one of the Great Works. “Is it real?”
“Oh, it’s real. I hear they have a second one upstairs, but I’ve never been invited up there. You have to get summoned upstairs to see Murial.”
Like some kind of queen.Their world struck me as so bizarre. “Do you fit in here?” I asked her, honestly curious. “I mean, are you on the outskirts of this world or do you fit? I just feel like the Poor Relation.”
Her smile was huge and she nudged her shoulder into mine. “I love when you call yourself that. Speaking of which, maybe they’ll eventually do an episode on that. Me, though? I fit, but I’m no Murial. I’m not even as important as your friends the Lents. If it was a level system, I’m just under them, but I fit with them. Doesn’t change the fact that I hate most of them, though. Then again, I think we all kind of hate each other. Doesn’t everyone kind of hate their friends, or is that just a high school thing?”
That sounds…awful.“I don’t want to hate you.”
She shook her head, laughing. “You won’t, and I won’t hate you, because you’re different. I might fit into this world, but my plans don’t really involve it, if that makes sense. I want something else, so I think we’re safe to be friends who don’t secretly hate each other.”
A spark of sadness marred my mood. “I think most people—or at least people who don’t live like this—don’t hate their friends.”
“I hope you’re right.” She said then stared at me. “How do you know the Lents? No one knows. I heard all kinds of things, and I didn’t think I cared until this very moment.”
I ran a hand through my hair, a thousand possible answers rolling through my head before I said, “I am their granny’s companion.”
“What does that mean?” She said then shook her head. “Do you run errands for her or…”
Abruptly, she stopped speaking, turning her head to face the girl standing next to us who I didn’t even hear come into the room. It took me a second to place her, but then I remembered I saw her over the summer. She approached Julian on the street, having hooked up with Jer, but she couldn’t even tell them apart.
I never got her name, but I remembered her shoes. She wore the same kind of strappy sandals, her pinky toes pinched white from pressure. I instantly remembered her hair, with its constant beach wave and perfect brown color.
“Alatheia, right?” Her smile read as phony. “Murial wants to see you upstairs.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened, shock evident on her face. “Why?”
“Because she does.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Run along.” With a wiggle of her fingers, she dismissed Tiffany, who practically scampered away.
This place is so damn strange.“What if I don’t want to go upstairs? I’m good here.”
“It’s not really…optional?” She snapped her gum. “Follow me.”
I focused on her black, strappy shoes, vaguely different from the pink ones she wore when we first met, and followed her. Icouldn’t help but think she must be in constant pain.Shoes say so much about a person, I reminded myself.
“What’s your name, anyway?” I asked her as she headed upstairs. I reminded myself as I followed her that Murial’s family could eat the Lents, meaning the repercussions of whatever happened upstairs wouldn't be something where they could save me. I was on my own, so to speak, yet again.
She tossed a smile over her shoulder, as if surprised I asked. “I’m Greer.”
