The Casual Rule (29 page)

“Would you like a glass of Chablis, Julia?” Stuart asks as he’s positioning a CD in their stereo.

Before we arrived, I promised myself I would not drink. I think I may have to revise that… I’ll only drink enough to make Ben’s family interesting. “Yes, thank you Stuart. A glass of Chablis sounds nice.”

Stuart hands me my Chablis in a crystal wine glass that I’m sure cost more than I make in a week, then sits next to Elizabeth. He’s really into the Christmas music he has playing in the background, closing his eyes and humming along to the songs.

“Who is that singing?” I ask.

“Oh, that’s Judy Garland. Stuart is a huge Judy Garland fan,” Elizabeth answers.

“Love, Love, Loooove Judy,” Stuart sings.
Apparently Stuart loves Judy.

The room is pretty quiet with just some polite chit-chat going on between Ben and his dad. I feel everyone’s eyes on me… and my toe, which I swear is getting bigger by the minute.

Elizabeth has a sour look on her face, her eyes scanning up and down, looking me over from my hair to my exposed toe when she thinks I’m not paying attention. I know girls like her. She’s a Stealth Bitch. They seem nice on the outside, but they’re secret bitches; oozing their bitchiness when they think no one is looking. I’m going to have to be careful around her. My Bitch radar has never let me down before.

Finally, some life is breathed into the room when two of the most adorable Yorkshire terriers prance in.

“Miss Lily! Miss Blue Belle! Come to Daddy my little sweethearts!” Stuart exclaims, holding out his arms.

I can’t help but smile at these sweet creatures. One has a sparkly red bow on the top of her head and the other’s is sparkly green. Stuart is fussing over them, lifting up each dog and kissing them repeatedly. Then it hits me…

The one comical irony to Stealth Bitch’s life is that she is not aware that her husband is a GIND… a Gay IN Denial. How can it be that no one else sees this? They all think he’s adorably quirky. He is…he’s an adorably quirky gay man…in denial.

The floral shops, Judy Garland, the outrageous outfit, the dogs…She landed herself a gay husband. Unless you’re a gay man…this is not the husband you want to be married to. Oh, this is rich.

Ben is a smart guy. Doesn’t he see this? My family may be on the insane side, but his is completely blind. When Stuart finally figures out who he is, I can think of a few guys in my neighborhood I could fix him up with.

Tired of feeling like my giant toe and I are on display, I get off the couch and walk over to admire the Christmas tree. Ben is busy talking with his father. Elizabitch sidles herself next to me.
Super.

This is the ugliest damn Christmas tree I have ever seen. It’s so dull. There are hardly any lights, gold bead garland and just a few sparse ornaments. They look handmade, like crocheted doilies.

“What a lovely tree,” I lie. “The ornaments are very different.”

“Aren’t they lovely? Stuart crocheted them.”

Of course he did… because he’s a GIND.

I’ve just experienced a Christmas miracle; a flamboyant gay man has managed to make a boring Christmas tree.

“So how did you and Ben meet?” I guess Ben never filled them in about us. I suppose that’s because there’s no “us” to speak of.

“I’m editing his book.”

“Really? You’re an editor? You seem so young.”
Maybe I’ve impressed her.

“I’m an assistant editor,” I explain.

“I see.” She purses her lips.
Nope, not impressed.
“And how long have the two of you been dating?”

“Oh, we’re not dating.”
We’re screwing around, however.

She cocks her head and crinkles her nose. “He invited you to meet his family for Christmas dinner and you’re not dating?”

“We’re friends,” I clarify.

“Of course, you’d understand why we’d assume that. The only other girl he’s ever brought to any family gathering was Camille. She and Ben are old friends. For a time, they were inseparable. I’m sure he must have mentioned her. They still see each other on occasion. We hoped they would eventually…” She stops her thought and changes tack. “Lovely girl. Have you met her? ”

I’m not stupid. It’s clear to me that Stealth Bitch and Cam-eel are friends. It makes sense; they travel in the same circles. I bet they all belong to “The Club”.

Cam-eel has Ben’s sister doing her dirty work, trying to finagle info about our relationship status and sizing up what she perceives as her competition. Ben may think they’re “just friends”, but I’m no dummy, Cam-eel would jump at any opportunity to get back in his bed. Lizzy is probably wearing a Team Camille T-shirt under that red sweater.

“Yes, I’ve met her. She seems nice,” I lie.
I’m surprised my nose didn’t grow as the words left my mouth.

“Isn’t she fabulous? We were doubles partners at the Club when we were teenagers,” Elizabitch gushes.

I nod and plaster on a fake smile.
Yeah, she’s just ducky
.

“Nice tree, sis.” Ben sneaks up behind us.
Are we looking at the same tree?

“Isn’t it?” She smiles tightly. “I’m going to check on dinner. Be right back.” She leaves for the kitchen. It’ll probably take her a half hour to get there judging by the size of this house.

“Is everything all right?” Ben asks.

“Sure,” I answer flatly.

“What’s wrong? Did Elizabeth say something to upset you?”

“No, why would you think that?”
Other than the fact that your sister just told me that you should be with her bitch twin and not me.

“You get a wrinkle on the bridge of your nose when you’re upset about something.”

“Do I?”

“You do. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

He rubs his hand under his chin, studying me. “There’s something,” he muses. “Tell me or I’ll have to torture it out of you.”

“Promises, promises.” I roll my eyes.

“You don’t believe me?” His lips curl into a devilish grin.

“Your family is right here…what are you going to do?”
Torture me with more of Stuart’s song choices?

“Dinner’s ready everyone,” Stuart calls out from the dining room, ringing a brass dinner bell.

Saved by the GIND.

“Later,” Ben warns in a low menacing tone.

~o0o~

The formal dining room is ornate, dark mahogany table with enough seating for eight. The table and chairs have elaborate carvings. It’s nice, in a King Henry the Eighth kind of way. There’s more of my grandmother’s drape pattern on the fabric of the seat cushions. The table is set like a page out of a magazine. Crystal and china, sparkling silverware, too may different sized forks to count. There’s fabric napkins in brass napkin holders laid on top of each place setting. I think they’re brass, for all I know they’re twenty-four carat gold.

“Stuart, can I help you with anything?” I offer.

“Just sit your pretty self down. Magda is here.”

“Magda?” I ask.

“Silly me, Magda is our housekeeper. She is also a fab chef.”

We take our places at the table. Stuart is sitting at the head of the table with Elizabitch on his right. Dick is on the other end with Beverly and Kitty on his left.

Dick, Dick, Dick. Damn, still immature.

Ben sits to Stuart’s left, and I’m next to Ben. The seat next to me is empty. Lizzy is probably keeping it open in case Cam-eel drops by.

An older woman, whom I assume is Magda, comes out of the kitchen carrying a beautiful ham with pineapple slices with maraschino cherries tooth picked on and garnished with roasted root vegetables served on a silver platter. The ham smells delicious. There’s a green bean casserole and a small wicker basket of seven dinner rolls. Seven? Who puts out seven rolls? This is it? This is all the food they’re serving? Are they rationing?

Magda leaves and comes back with a pitcher of ice water. “Thank you, Magda,” Ben says as she fills his water glass.

“Thank you,” I say when she fills mine. She smiles warmly and continues making her way around the table.

I can’t help but notice that Ben and I are the only two people who have acknowledged that this woman is in the room. Once everyone has their dinner on their plate, Magda excuses herself, getting only a quick nod from Elizabitch.
Yup, warm and cuddly.

The Martin family dinner conversations are so civilized. It’s making me uncomfortable. I’m used to fighting over voices to get your opinion heard. Here, everyone waits their turn and speaks one at a time.

“Julia dear, I understand you’re editing Ben’s book,” Beverly says.

I quickly swallow my ration of the dinner biscuits I just jammed into my mouth and clear my throat. “Um, yes. Ben’s writing is brilliant. It’s been a pleasure to work on it.”

“Perhaps once he stops wasting his life away on this book nonsense and gets it out of his system, he’ll snap back to his senses and get a real job,” Ben’s dad adds in a condescending tone.

“Dad, I think we’ve beaten this topic to death,” Ben warns.

“Ben, you worked hard for that Masters from Columbia University, you have your brokers license. Do something with it, make a name for yourself. You have a natural talent for the business. Use it.”

“When are you going to accept the fact that I’m not coming back to your firm? I’m happy doing what I’m doing,” Ben argues.

“You’re wasting your talent,” his dad chides.

This conversation is really pissing me off. The more his dad talks, the more I picture the evil villain from those old black and white silent films, that guy with the dark cape and long mustache curling at the waxy ends. How can his family sit here quietly and let that idiot tear him down like this? No one here is going to defend the guy for following his dreams? Before I can stop myself, the words pour out of my mouth.

“Mr. Martin, I’ve read many manuscripts. I can honestly say Ben has a natural talent for writing. There are many writers who make an excellent living. Writing is a calling to them.”

“Julia, a small percentage make a living at it. There’s too much risk,” he argues.

“Brokering stocks, bonds, futures, that’s your business. Isn’t that all a risk too… Dick?” I retort, stressing the word “Dick”.

Ben turns his head and looks at me with an amused smile. Mr. Martin opens his mouth, I’m sure to reprimand me, but before he can get a word out he’s interrupted.

“Richard, I’ve heard enough. This conversation is over. I have faith in Leonard’s ability and I look forward to reading his book,” Ben’s grandmother admonishes. Dick retreats at once. There’s no doubt who wears the pants in this family.

I like grandma.

Fortunately, the conversation changes direction. Stuart is giving us a long list of the newest tropical flowers he’s had imported into his flower shops. As the conversation flows, Ben places his hand on my knee, his fingers slowly inching up my inner thigh. Slowly, slowly, slowly. Never quite reaching my sex…but close enough that I’m getting aroused.

The bastard. This is the torture he promised. Two can play at this game. We’re both pretty horny for each other. We always are.

Discreetly, I place my hand on his leg, easing up until I’m caressing his crotch, my fingers tracing the outline of his growing erection, while he continues to tease me with his fingertips brushing across the edge of my panties.

He leans back and slowly blows out a breath. My eyes dart back and forth between his family members.  Everyone seems to be oblivious to our wicked game playing under the table.

“Touché Julia,” he whispers in my ear, retrieving his hand back from my thigh.

I smirk subtly, placing my hand back on my lap, rubbing my thighs together, in a desperate attempt to relieve some of this pent-up frustration.

~o0o~

After dinner and our under the table antics, the party is moved back to the living room.

“It’s time for presents,” Elizabitch exclaims, clapping her hands like a school girl.

Everyone sits down on the couch and loveseat and Stuart hands each person a gift.

“Here’s one for you too, Julia, from Beverly and Dick,” Stuart says and he hands me a small box.

“For me? Oh um… Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Martin,” I stammer.

“It’s just a little something to open. It’s not much,” Beverly says, waving her hand dismissively.

“And Julia… it’s Dick,” Ben’s dad adds.
Now that I know you a little better, your name is fitting.

“Stuart, why don’t you open your gift first?” Elizabitch instructs.

“You open presents one at a time?” I whisper to Ben.

“Yes, this way everyone can see your gift.”

Crap. Maybe this was the torture Ben was talking about. Opening gifts one by one? So if you hate it you have to plaster on a fake smile and make a comment. I don’t want to seem ungrateful…it’s just I was brought up in chaos, so masking your dislike of a gift was never an issue. Half the time I didn’t know who gave me what. And that was fine. No feelings ever got hurt that way; we were too focused on our own stuff.

Stuart looks like he’s about to explode with happiness when he opens up a box with a rainbow colored scarf. Apparently he requested it. It’ll be the perfect accessory to wear at the Gay Pride Parade he’ll attend when he figures things out.

One by one, the rest of Ben’s family opens their gifts. It’s slow and torturous. How many times are you going to ooh and aah a new shirt?

It’s my turn. I feel so self conscious. The temperature in the room feels like it just jumped up twenty degrees. I unwrap the box, feeling all eyes on me. It’s unnerving.

I recognize the box immediately. There’s no mistaking the robins egg blue color. It’s something from Tiffany & Co. I carefully open it and inside is a delicate sterling silver chain with a solitary pearl charm. It’s exquisite and probably the nicest piece of jewelry I now own. They’ve never met me before, and
this
is what they give? Wow, it must be nice to have money like this. I’m grateful and completely stunned. Somehow I manage to find my voice, “Mr. and Mrs. Martin. I don’t know what to say. It’s lovely. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“I hope you don’t have one already dear,” Beverly says dryly.