Barefoot Girls (22 page)

Chapter 20

Keeley paid the fare, tipping lavishly as she always did, and climbed out of the cab onto the strip of gray carpet that stretched to the door of the Upper East Side apartment building under a long navy awning and let the doorman, who had opened the cab’s door, shut it behind her. She looked at the entrance to the building and felt the strong urge to pee, the way she always did when she was nervous. If she went to the toilet now, there would be practically nothing. It wasn’t a physical thing.

She smoothed the skirt of her pink tweed suit that was a Chanel knockoff and, hopefully, acceptable. Ben was right, why didn’t she just buy the real thing? Yes, the cost was ridiculous. Yes, there was a long waiting list. But she could afford it, unbelievably.

“It’s a stupid waste of money!” she had protested when Ben had brought it up. “Plus, a waiting list? Are they kidding?”

“Chanel’s the best,” Ben said. “Why don’t you treat yourself?”

Keeley shook her head. “I’d rather spend it on something fun, like a hot air balloon ride or a trip to Italy or something.”

Now she wished she had waited on that list and spent the money. The suit she was wearing wasn’t even a fall suit, it was a spring one. Was that okay? She didn’t know with these people. She was a margaritas-and-jeans kind of girl, one at home on an island with no electricity and water pumped from rainwater cisterns. She and the other Barefooters made fun of hoity-toity types. What was she doing here?

But she knew that answer. Feeling high after sending her daughter the keys to Captain’s and the Barefooter house, certain it helped make up for her lack of forgiveness, she ran into Rebecca Matthews on the street while shopping. Rebecca was a sweet, though thick, woman who was married to one of Ben’s colleagues and was always trying to rope Keeley in to volunteer on one of the many charity committees she was involved with. This time, Rebecca succeeded. It was for cancer after all; one of Keeley’s biggest fears was dying painfully and slowly from some form of cancer.

So here she was, about to go to a committee luncheon. The luncheon would be at Brooke Somerset’s apartment just a block from Central Park. It was the first meeting of the event committee for the annual Cure Cancer Now Spring Ball and Silent Auction hosted by the Somerset Cancer Research Foundation. The committee was, of course, headed up by Brooke, a tireless volunteer and well-known socialite.

Keeley took a deep breath, straightened up, and walked as nonchalantly as she could into the building, the doorman rushing from the cab to the door to open it for her. After approaching the porter, another clean-cut man standing behind a tiny reception desk in the lobby, he called up to the Somerset’s apartment and announced her arrival. Then she was riding up in the paneled elevator that came complete with a little leather bench for those unable or unwilling to stand for the few minutes it took to ride up or down in the elevator.

The elevator deposited her directly into a pristinely white vestibule with a large heavy wooden door that was already swinging open to admit her.

“Keeley? Keeley Cohen?”

Keeley hesitated.  She would never get used to her new last name. She was Keeley O’Brien. Who was Keeley Cohen?

The sunlight pouring in behind the woman standing in the door made it impossible to see her face, but Keeley could see that she had a short dark bob of sleek shiny hair and that she was dressed in separates rather than a suit. She was also wearing flats instead of heels. Mistake number one: Keeley was overdressed.

“Yes? I’m Keeley?”

“Oh, howlovelytomeetyou,” the woman said so quickly it became one word. “I’m Brooke. So sorry, but we’ve already started. We didn’t know what had happened?”

Keeley was fifteen minutes late, but thought it normal to be fashionably late. That was why it was called “fashionable”, right?

“Oh,” Keeley breathed, not sure what lie to tell. “Traffic! You know how it is!” She tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace.

“Oh, too bad. Our driver is so good, he always gets us out of the worst jams. We’re spoiled by him, really. Please, come in!”

Stepping closer, Keeley could finally see Brooke’s face and saw she was about the same age, early forties. Brooke’s facial features were all tiny: a small pointed nose, close-set dark eyes, and narrow lips that looked incapable of being pursed for a kiss. Her only beauty came from her high cheekbones and strong jawline.

She also didn’t have a speck of makeup on her face. Not even mascara! Keeley suddenly wondered about her own lipstick and blush and fully made-up eyes. She saw a slight smirk twist Brooke’s lips. Brooke said, “Rebecca speaks so highly of you! I’m so glad you could take the time to join us today. Please, let’s not keep the other girls waiting.”

Keeley walked with Brooke down the hallway, trying not to gawk at all the artwork on the walls. Ornate gold framed oil canvases were arranged artfully on both sides and rose nearly all the way to the ceiling. Keeley squinted at a familiar looking painting as they passed it. Was that a real Renoir? The oriental runner wasn’t a fake like the one in Keeley’s apartment and it looked to be a perfectly kept antique that was just the right side of shabby.

Then they entered the dining room, impressive with its high paneled ceiling, huge crystal chandelier, and solid oak Victorian furniture.  Seated at the table were nine women, all dressed as Brooke was in simple separates and all equally makeup-free. They were engrossed in quiet conversation and weren’t eating as much as moving their salads around on their plates with their forks. Brooke gestured to the one empty seat that, thankfully, was next to Rebecca’s. Then Brooke smiled at Keeley in that artificial way that was all teeth, and went to sit at the head of the table. The other women barely noticed Keeley’s arrival, only glancing up before continuing their conversations.

“Where were you?” Rebecca hissed, her usually pale face pink and moist-looking.

Keeley looked at her. The woman was actually wearing a headband. A headband! What was she doing here again? No, but Rebecca was nice. With the exception of the Barefooters, most women didn’t like Keeley. No matter how hard she tried, they were either cold and rejecting or jealous and scheming. When she married Ben, Keeley had hoped that at least the jealousy would end; she was off the market after all. But, no, it was still there, vibrating off most of the women she met.

Rebecca was different. She always asked about Hannah, always acted as if whatever Keeley said was fascinating, always complimented her on something every time she saw her. Keeley would consider Rebecca a friend if it wasn’t for the fact that she was a bit dumb and had no sense of humor at all.  Rebecca just didn’t get jokes or sarcasm or silly things. She would get this blank look and you could see her desperately trying to “get it”. Then she produced a ridiculous fake barking laugh and accompanied it with a fierce arm slapping that left Keeley’s arm feeling bruised.

Keeley started to answer but was interrupted by the ting-ting-ting of Brooke tapping her crystal water glass with her silver fork.

“Ladies! Thank you so much for joining me for lunch to discuss this year’s event. As many of you know from past years, I usually give this little speech before starting our meal, but as one of our newest volunteers was unavoidably detained, I’ll have to give it now,” Brooke said, nodding and smiling that terrible smile at Keeley again before refocusing on the group.

Keeley looked down at mesclun salad on her plate. The extra dig was over the top. Was it really that big of a deal? The public jab reminded her of someone. Brooke’s smile, too. It was so familiar. It involved the lower teeth as well as the upper, like an animal baring its teeth.

“As you know, last year’s event was our most successful yet with over three hundred attendees and almost all of our donated auction items bringing in three to four times their estimated value. This year, we need to make it even better. We’ll just keep topping ourselves!” Brooke said, smiling more genuinely now and emitting a low chuckle of satisfaction.

The women at the table broke into light applause, startling Keeley.  “Hear, hear!” called Rebecca. Keeley started to bring her hands together just as everyone else stopped clapping, and her loud claps echoed in the silence. She stopped as quickly as she could and pushed her hands into her lap.

Some of the women glanced over at her, their eyes climbing over her before quickly glancing away. The woman sitting directly across from Keeley looked at her more intensely. Keeley felt hot and uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Just as the woman’s stare started to be blatantly inappropriate, she turned away to look back at Brooke.

Brooke went on talking about what the committee would need to be doing in the coming months, saying she would be sending out the timeline for the group as soon as they decided who would be on which sub-committee. “So, please think on it and let me know what sub-committee you’d like to be on before leaving today. If you’re not sure, I’d be happy to help you choose. So, let’s enjoy our lunch and after dessert and coffee, we’ll have a little brainstorming session on our title this year. We’ve got to think of something really snazzy. Put on your thinking caps, girls! Now, please, enjoy!”

Keeley wanted to throw up. Thinking caps? How old did she think they were? Four?

“So?” Rebecca said. “Where were you?” Her tone was gentler now, her skin milky and cool again.

Keeley cleared her throat. “I was caught in traffic. Sorry about that.” Fifteen minutes late, that was all!

Rebecca patted her arm. “It’s okay. It’s just that Brooke is very punctual. These meetings always start on time. It’s one of her pet peeves. The good news is they never run over either. Brooke is so good at organizing! I wish I was half as together as she is.”

“Oh, I see.” Keeley wondered how she could get out of the whole thing. She’d get Ben to donate something to the auction, that’s what she’d do. Would that be enough?

Rebecca smiled at her, her cheeks dimpling. “I’m so happy you’re here this year. It’ll be so much fun, and you’re so smart! You’ll make all the difference to this committee. We really need someone like you.”

Keeley felt herself blush with pleasure. On the other hand, maybe she should do it. This group of ninnies could use some real creativity. If only she could get one of the Barefooters on the committee with her. But no, they’d never go for it. One look at this group, or at Keeley’s suit and string of staid pearls, and they’d bust out laughing. Even Zo, their upper-crust Barefooter, didn’t do this kind of thing.

Their salads were cleared by an angry-looking Hispanic woman in a starched light blue uniform and replaced by plates of seared tuna medallions, their red rare centers jewel-like and glistening. Rebecca cleaned each plate until it looked as if it had been washed, somehow managing to talk all the while about the event last year. She reiterated again and again after each anecdote her conviction that Keeley would have even better ideas, even better ways of doing things.

By the time the coffee and the chocolate pots de creme in their little ramekins were served, Keeley was convinced. She really needed to help this committee. And it would be a good diversion. Lately, her mind kept returning to her past, a place she had banished long ago. Memories kept popping up like bubbles: of her mother, her father, even memories of her late brother, Sean. The memories were eating her alive, her usual calm and confidence shredding more and more as they rose and burst open in her mind, each recollection crawling with pain.

Yes, this committee was the answer. She would have something in the present to focus on. This September had been especially lonely with Ben working long hours and the Barefooters off doing their own thing after their month together on Captain’s. And, of course, the situation with Hannah.

Finishing their coffee and dessert on schedule, Keeley having barely touched her dessert before it was whisked away, the women rose and went to the adjoining sitting room to discuss what to name the event. The room was painted a pale blue and was decorated in shades of blue and white with little splashes of pink; an altogether feminine room with its pretty paintings of gardens and delicate Meissen porcelain figurines on the mantelpiece.

As soon as the women seated themselves on the many chairs and couches that had been placed in a circle, Brooke stood in front of them and said, “All right ladies! Are you up for a challenge? This year’s event title has to be really good and it has to be different. Let’s step away from the mundane and get creative!” She pointed to a flip chart set up on a stand next to her. “Just go ahead and shout out your ideas, I’ll write them down, and we’ll see what sticks.”

One of the women said, “Spring Safari?”

“Did it two years ago, Courtney, but good one!” Brooke said.

Rebecca said, “How about Swing into Spring? We could have a swing band!”

“Good!” Brooke said, “But breast cancer’s already got that one for this year. We should have met a couple of weeks ago and grabbed it before they did.”

Keeley had an idea. She said, “How about Blossom Ball? Or Ball of Blossoms?”

Brooke looked at her and tilted her head to the side. “You’re new to this, aren’t you? No, no, no, EFA uses that every year. Not an option.” She looked around. “Anyone? Something original?”

Ouch. Keeley had let herself forget that Brooke didn’t seem to like her. The warm rain of flattery from Rebecca had been so wonderful and reassuring. And Brooke really
didn’t
like her. Her idea hadn’t even earned the “good” that Brooke had dubbed the other suggestions, which weren’t that original either.