QUINN: No. Ben is hungry for money and power. Whatever he gets, it’s never enough. Me, I’m a lowly artist who makes a living doing what I love. Two different worlds, huh?
AGENT: I get it.
QUINN: I used to tell people Ben and I were quitehappy for twenty-three years. And then we met! (More laughter.)
AGENT: Well, thanks for your time.
QUINN: You’re welcome. Bye, now.
(END OF TAPE)
CHAPTER 38
THE TRUCKS BEGIN ARRIVING at 7:12 a.m. Workers from the catering company are setting up a huge white tent on the side of the house. A curious passerby watching them hammer tent poles into the ground would think,How lovely. The perfect fall day for a wedding!
But then the deliverymen bring over tables and chairs draped in hot-pink silk with ruffles on the bottom as well as hundreds of helium balloons.Hmm,our observer thinks.Could be a sweet sixteen. A baby shower. Maybe even a baby-reveal party where the gender has already been revealed.
But then come items that make our curious observer scratch his head: A popcorn machine. A huge bouncy castle holding thousands of rainbow-colored Ping-Pong balls.A paint-your-own-pottery table next to a paint-your-own-face stand loaded with glitter and stickers and washable markers.
Did I mention the pick-your-own-pizza chef is tossing pink-dyed dough in the air? And the pink-and-white-silk-draped pony?
It’s Bella Velasquez’s BYOK (Bring Your Own Kid) third birthday party. And since I’ll never be invited to theVanity FairOscar Party, I was really looking forward to this. A nice unexpected perk on a gorgeous fall day.
But then came a text from Metcalf:Flash drive decrypted. Nothing usable. Everything important probably in his office files. You need to send those.
Me:How? Never even been to his gallery office.
Him:Not my problem. Figure it out.
Leave it to Metcalf to drop the proverbial turd in the punch bowl.
Amber said Lily and I should go to the party ahead of her so Lily could begin to “socialize with the other children.” That surprised me. It’s been my experience that people socialize better after they’ve learned how to talk. But who am I to judge? As I put Lily in an adorable yellow party dress with white lace around the neckline, she giggles and kicks her feet with glee. Now, fully recovered from her nasty ear infection, there’s no doubt about it: Lily is one happy baby. I find myself smiling. How ironic. Taking care of Lily is turning out to be the best part of my job.
I rummage through her sock drawer and find something really cute—a pair of white socks with black soles and black straps, designed to look like classic Mary Janes. I have to admit, dressing Lily is as much fun as dressing my dolls used to be. (Well, except for the bowel movements.)
It turns out Lily is the only baby who was invited. This is clearly a party for well-behaved toddlers and their well-behaved parents. I recognize a few people from the country club chatting away. But as a card-carrying member of the help, I realize it’s not my place to approach them.
Besides, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to wander around and listen. Oh, okay. Let’s call it what it is:eavesdropping. An unshakable FBI habit. You never know what you might hear just by keeping your eyes down and your ears open.
Here’s what I learn, in no particular order:
Most of the parents have older children who are terribly bored in school. Naturally, it’s the schools’ fault. Their kids are too gifted, too talented, and not being challenged enough. Never once do I hear the wordlazy.
Real estate prices are up. Curb appeal is crucial. So are leave-behind window treatments.
When your highlights need a touch-up, make sure your hairdresser does balayage instead of tinfoil for a full-color sweep. (This sounds so beyond anything I could afford that I don’t stick around to find out what it means.)
Everyone is trying to cut back on carbs, meat, processed foods, pasta, sugar, gluten, and too much sun.
All the women want to hire au pairs at some point—but they’re leery of nubile young girls. “Not to worry,” one of the mothers tells the others. “Just check with me when you’re ready. I know where you can find the ugly ones.”
None of them are happy with their golf scores, their backhands, their portfolios, or any of the NFL draft picks.
And if you’re looking for the absolute best ingredient in facial serums… it’s snail mucus. I thought I heard wrong initially. I didn’t. All the women are raving about it. I wonder how you locate a snail with a runny nose.
Nothing here to interest Metcalf, so I decide to take a snooping break and check out the food table. It’s a glorious selection of lobster rolls, ceviche, stuffed mushrooms, and a bunch of things I need the servers’ help to decode: mini-blinis, smoked-trout croquettes, figs (not pigs) in a blanket, phyllo-wrapped Brie with hot honey, parsnip-wrapped devils on horseback, and a bunch of dips and spreads. For the kiddies, the offerings are fewer but just asgiftedandtalented:miniature hamburgers on tiny two-inch gluten-free rolls, glazed chicken nuggets, peanut butter and lingonberry-preserve tea sandwiches, and homemade moon pies. As I stand there trying to choose, Felicia comes over.
“Beautiful party,” I tell her.
