Poseur #2: The Good, the Fab and the Ugly (19 page)

Vivien discovered Ms. Beauchamp in the Nordstrom’s shoe department, where she played piano every Saturday from two until five p.m., limiting herself to a repertoire of upbeat jazz renditions of such classics as “Strangers in the Night” and “People.” On occasion, someone asked her where the bathroom was, or a small child materialized at the corner of her keyboard to watch her hands with wonder; but for the most part, she passed her Saturday afternoons at Nordstrom ignored. Imagine her surprise when Vivien Ho swooped in, dropped her shopping bags, and proceeded to gush like a teenaged fan. “You
have
to audition for my engagement party,” she’d insisted, and Ms. Beauchamp had been too stunned to decline.

“What’s that one called again?” Vivien asked, still squeezing Seedy’s knee.

“Pachelbel’s Canon,” Ms. Beauchamp reminded her with a strained smile, careful to avoid the menacing gaze of the positively criminal-looking man next to her, not to mention his wild-eyed creature of a daughter. Vivien seemed like a nice enough girl (of course, she
might
do with covering herself up a bit more); what was she doing mixed up with such
dreadful
people?

“Was that the one you were playing at Nordstrom?” Vivien inquired.

“Why, yes,” Ms. Beauchamp nodded her assent. In truth, she’d been playing “The Lady in Red,” but that song was far too personal to play
here.
“Pachelbel’s Canon is very popular for weddings.”

“Oh,” Vivien fretted, glancing between her and Seedy. “This is an engagement party.”

“It serves its purpose just as well,” Ms. Beauchamp assured her, raising a hand. “
Very
appropriate.”

“I just
love
classical music,” Vivien fluttered, returning her fawning attention to Ms. Beauchamp. “It’s just so . . .” She hesitated, in search of the perfect word, and broke into a smile.
“Classy.”

“Sure is.” Seedy nodded, and cleared his throat. “Melissa,” he exhaled, checking in with his daughter while Vivien sighed in frustration, rolling her eyes. “What’d you think?”

“It was nice.” She looked up and quickly tucked her iPhone under Emilio’s snoozing belly. “But, you know. Not really my thing. No offense,” she told Ms. Beauchamp with a contrite glance.

“None taken,” the pianist assured her with another strained smile. “We all have different tastes.”

“What are you even asking her for?” Vivien addressed Seedy in a burst of exasperation. “You
know
she hates everything I like no matter what it is.”

“Daddy!” Melissa gripped the arm of her armchair, defiant. “That is
not
true.”

“Oh really?” Vivien challenged her. “Name one thing you like that I like.”

“Rag & Bone.” Melissa bobbed her eyebrows. “I still like Rag & Bone even though you like Rag & Bone.”

“Please,” Vivien scoffed. “
Everyone
likes Rag & Bone.”

“Ms. B.” Melissa cocked an unconvinced eyebrow at the pianist. “Do you like Rag & Bone?”

“I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid I don’t . . .” Ms. Beauchamp drew a sharp breath to quell her nerves. Rag & Bone: wasn’t that the name of a notorious, bloodthirsty street gang?
Yes.
She was almost
sure
of it! Oh dear, oh dear . . . was she really supposed to say that she “liked” a
gang
? How terrible! Unless . . . wait. Perhaps this was all some sort of elaborate setup. Perhaps they were trying to trick her into confessing loyalty to a
rival
gang. Oh, but why would they care about
her
allegiances?

What in God’s name did they
want
with her?

“Ms. Beauchamp.” Seedy noted the pianist’s increased discomfort with concern. “You okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she rasped weakly, the color draining from her face. By the time she rose to her feet, clutching her purse to her soft bulge of stomach, she’d achieved the sickly pallor of a withering grape. “Please excuse me,” she apologized. “I have an appointment.”

“Please,” Vivien offered. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh no,” Ms. Beauchamp assured her, turning quickly for the door. “I can find my way.”

Despite her mild protests, Vivien caught up with Ms. Beauchamp at the foot of the white marble stairs and escorted her to the exit. As their contrasting figures disappeared into the hall, Seedy sighed, returning his attention to his daughter.

“Rag & Bone,” he repeated with a bemused arc of his eyebrow. “What the heck is that — some kind of chew toy?”

“Daddy,
what
?” Melissa laughed, rousing Emilio from his slumber. “No! It’s a
designer.
”

“Baby, don’t you remember?” Vivien sailed into the Meet-and-Greet room, a fresh Diet Coke in hand. “You bought me a pair of their jeans last week.”

“Yeah,” Melissa muttered under her breath. “Right after I bought the exact same pair.”

“Seedy?” Vivien pouted, ignoring Melissa’s comment, and sucked in her long and toned torso, centering the gold buckle of her new Gucci belt. “You’ll never guess what Ms. Beauchamp told me just now,” she sighed, turning to check her adjusted reflection in their gilded floor-to-ceiling mirror.

Seedy settled into the settee, pushing some air from between his lips. “She isn’t available to play the engagement party?”

“How did you
know
that?” Vivien gasped in an accusing tone, as though knowledge had made him responsible

“Just a guess,” he replied as Vivien folded her arms across her chest.

“Why would she come all this way to audition, and then say she wasn’t available?”

“Let me put it this way.” Seedy cleared his throat. “Woman likes her
white
keys on one side of the board,
black
keys on the other.”

Vivien knit her eyebrows together.
“Excuse me?”

“Vee.” Seedy closed his eyes. Did he really have to spell this out? “Woman was a racist.”

“She
was
?” Melissa widened her eyes and craned around in her seat, half-expecting Ms. Beauchamp to materialize in a burst of flames.

“Seedy, oh my God.” Vivien dissolved into a fit of cackles. “You are so paranoid!”

“I am
not
paranoid!” Seedy defended himself. “Did you not see the look on her face when I came in and introduced myself? She looked at my hand like I was holding a loaded glock!”

“She
probably
looked at your hand like it has a big ol’ tattoo of Melissa on it.” Vivien rolled her eyes. “Which it
does.
”

“I can’t believe you’re arguing me on this.” He sat back in his seat in disbelief. Melissa bit the insides of her cheeks, restraining a smile. Finally, it had happened. They were
arguing.
Which was almost the same as
in a fight.
Which was practically the same as
calling off the engagement.

Okay, maybe that last bit was a stretch.

“You know what?” Vivien planted her hands on her hips and frowned. “This whole argument is just an excuse.”

“Excuse for
what
?” Seedy’s face crumpled in confusion.

“You don’t want a pianist at our engagement party.” She whimpered, and Seedy sighed, bowing his head into his hands. “Even though I’ve
always
wanted a pianist at my engagement party. Ever since I was a little girl!”

“Alright.” Seedy gripped his knees and tried to get his bearings. “I admit, I am confused as to why it’s so important for you to have classical music at our engagement party. It’s like rap, hip-hop — that’s all good for the
everyday.
But when it comes to a
special
occasion? Ho no. We got to sit back and subject ourselves to some ‘Taco Bell Canon,’ written by some three-hundred-year-old white dude.”

“We are getting
married.
” Vivien’s voice dropped to a restrained tremble. “
Rap
music isn’t appropria —”

“Okay, would you listen to yourself?!” he erupted, bounding to his feet, and all but ejecting Emilio Poochie from his daughter’s lap. The little dog landed in a heap, scrambled to his feet, and skittered wildly down the marble hall. “Rap music isn’t ‘appropriate,’” he continued. “Rap music isn’t ‘classy.’ Vivien, do you even know how pathetic and self-hating this sounds?”

Vivien gasped, and even Melissa had to admit, she was equally shocked. If anyone in this world loved herself, it was Vivien.

“I cannot
believe
you just said that,” she intoned.

“Vee,” he pleaded with her. “It’d be one thing if ever, in my
life,
I heard you listen to classical music. You know — if I thought it meant something, like,
deep
for you. But you and I both know that’s not what this is about.”

“Oh really.” She breathed in deep, protruding two fake breasts as rock-hard as her will. “What
is
this about?”

Seedy sighed, massaging his aching eyelids. He and Vee had been rock solid for eleven months, but ever since they got engaged, something had changed. More and more the question nagged his mind:
were they right for each other
? Of course, he chastised himself. Of course they were, but . . . why this sudden hating on rap? Where did that even
come
from? When they first got together she’d been all
about
it. Had it all been some kind of act? And if
that
was an act, then how far did it go?

“It’s just I have this feeling,” he beseeched her, lowering his hand to his side. “Like sometime in the last couple of weeks we just stopped being
real.
Do you ever get that? Like our real selves are someplace else, and you and I are just . . .”

Melissa bit the tip of her Paparazzi-pink thumbnail. “
POSEURS
?”

The doorbell chimed like a game show sound effect:
that answer is correct!
Melissa glanced between her father and Vivien, waiting for either of them to react, but neither of them moved. She cleared her throat.

“I’ll get it!”

Squaring her bare, body-glittered shoulders, she padded brightly down the white marble hallway. Her father’s awards, plaques, photographs, and platinum records decorated the walls, gleaming impressively behind thick panes of glass. Melissa admired the many tiny reflections of herself — darting schools of tadpole-sized Melissa Moons — on the array of polished surfaces, before trotting up another short flight of stairs and sailing into the foyer. A woman in a too-tight eggplant tweed blazer stood facing their lush antique tapestry of
Cheonjiyeon,
a famous waterfall in South Korea, a royal blue velvet scrunchie secured to the mousy ponytail at the nape of her neck. At the sight of that scrunchie, Melissa winced, and quickly stared at the cute black bows on her new Juicy Couture sandals. Bad fashion is a lot like a stiff shot of tequila: you have to ease the effects with some kind of chaser.

“Melissa?”

Melissa looked up from her sandal in surprise. “Miss Paletsky!”

“Ch’ello!”
Miss Paletsky greeted her in a shaky, if cheerful, voice, hugging a sheaf of paper to her chest. “Ch’ow are you?”

“I’m okay,” Melissa replied after a moment’s hesitation. She wasn’t in trouble, was she? “How are you . . . ,” she asked slowly, growing queasy.

“I’m good. I mean
well.
” She smiled, revealing her overlapping eyetooth. “Although a little nervous,” she confessed in a confidential tone, cringing behind her LensCrafters. “Is your father home?”

“Miss Paletsky.” Melissa flushed, sputtering a nervous laugh. “Is this about asking Venice to color-code my dog’s dog kibble? Because I can totally explain that.”

“Lena!” Seedy boomed, mounting the final stair to the foyer. He grinned, landing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and extending the other. “So glad you could make it.”

“Yes.” Lena shook his hand and blushed. “I’m sorry for being so late!”

“No, you’re right on time,” Seedy assured her, giving Melissa’s shoulder a final squeeze before gesturing down the hall. “The piano’s just down this way, so . . .”

“She’s auditioning?”
Melissa realized out loud, soliciting a mutual burst of quiet adult laughter.

“What’d you think?” Seedy teased, ushering the ever-blushing Miss Paletsky across the foyer. “You were in trouble?”

“No,”
Melissa scoffed. “I just . . .” She pattered downstairs and addressed her pretty young teacher directly. “I didn’t know you played piano, Miss Paletsky.”

“Oh.” Miss Paletsky glanced over her left shoulder as the three of them continued down the hall and into the Meet-and-Greet room. “I don’t really —”

“Hello,” Vivien sang in an everything-is-fine tone, interrupting Miss Paletsky midsentence. She planted her Diet Coke on the glass coffee table and extended her left hand, forcing Miss Paletsky to clumsily shift her sheaf of music from the crook of her left arm to her right. “I’m Seedy’s fiancée,” she said, shaking her hand. Noticing the cool flicker of judgment behind Vivien’s violet contact lenses, Melissa bristled, instantly protective. So what if Miss Paletsky wore opaque L’Eggs Suntan pantyhose with dove gray peep-toe pumps and reeked of Suave hairspray?

At least she was nice.

“So.” Miss Paletsky set her papers on the piano, and smiled. “Let me begin by saying I am so
pleased
to meet someone who appreciates classical
mewsic.
” Vivien smiled, avoiding Seedy’s gaze, but Miss Paletsky continued, far too nervous to register the tension. “Can I ask, please: is there a period you like more than another? Baroque period? Romantic period? Modern?”

“Um.” Vivien flipped her spiraling jet-black extensions with her left hand, shifting her weight from one long leg to the other. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Miss Paletsky nodded, meeting Seedy’s eyes. She flushed, quickly looked away. “I was thinking a piece from the Impressionistic style.
Mewsic
from this period sounds very much like . . . how do I put this. What it sounds like to be underwater.”

“I don’t know if Seedy told you,” Vivien laughed. “But this is an engagement party.
Not
a pool party.”

“Forgive me . . . I miscommunicate.” Miss Paletsky smiled, reaching to squeeze Melissa’s arm. “Sometimes, when I play for my
stewdents,
I try to give them images to keep in their head. In case it gets too boring.”