Excerpt from Void - Short stories, first draft in 2012. Edited in 2017
In
this early fall afternoon, the weather is perfect - almost artificial. We sit
around the best table by the window at Le Cygne. I stare at the cypress trees in
the patio, wondering whose idea it was. Le Cygne has degenerated into the hangout
spot for the third world nouveau riche – I make a mental note not to check in on
Instagram.
The
maitre d’ smiles and nods at my direction. I'm busy studying the eggshell satin
weave tablecloth, its pattern neat and precise - I pray it isn’t Made in China.
Today Madeline wears a beige cashmere V-neck from I'm guessing Jil Sander’s
spring collection.
“Did you get another boob
job?” I say, it is that obvious.
She puts down the wine
list wrapped in white feathers and announces, "Chilean chardonnay!”
Claire, wearing the Lanvin
houndstooth blazer I once contemplated getting, protests, her burgundy nails
dance on her iPhone screen, “Can't drink, I’m on this diet… thé de la rose for
me.” I let out a chuckle.
"Nobody at this table
isn’t on some sort of diet,” I hear myself say that as I check my freshly manicured
fingers. Not to be self-conscious, but it's time to fire the Colombian nail
girl. Madeline darts her a playful wink, “you can have a rosé alright.”
“I’m starving,” Valerie chimes
in, taking another drag of her hand-rolled cigarette; vanilla mint, which is
the sole reason I allow her to take the seat next to mine, considering her god
awful taste in men. Her current victim: a meth head rock star, six years minus
her age. I like her vintage Yves Saint Lauren leather jacket regardless. The
chardonnay arrives, Claire, for the first time, glances up from her phone and
flashes a red lipsticked smile at the maitre d', his dark hair slicked back,
young and 8/10, but generic GQ looking.
“So you fucked the maitre
d’? Is that why we're here?” One puzzle at a time… though I must admit the way
she pouts drives men utterly insane. I take a large gulp of the chardonnay – regrets
of not having gone with the French Chablis make me tremble slightly.
Valerie taps her index
finger on another page of some magazine and mocks a demanding tone, “Maddy,
tell me your husband is not serious with this wannabe nobody...” In the middle of
her sip Madeline pauses and snaps, “Seth just bought me this villa in Cote
d’Azur. You should see it.”
If only she could hear herself. I can’t
resist, “but he totally ditched you at the swinger party...”
The garçon, with practiced
patience, nods and smiles at Val, as she struggles between a gâteau aux
noisettes and sorbet à la pêche. Does any of this matter? Everything that goes
down will be forced out in exactly fifteen minutes.
My Céline phantom tote is giving
off a steady buzz from under the table.
“I thought you said Napa
the other day,” Claire looks up from a half finished tweet with a serious, perplexed
expression; she looks down again and screams a little. “Front row in Milan...oh
– my – gosh.”
The
way Valerie pretends not to care, chances are she is going to show up with her
sleb boyfriend; Madeline has likely secured a place with her collection
of designer Friends With Benefits. To break this
embarrassing silence, in unison they turn the attention on me.
“So, how are
you and Ralph?” In the most casual manner, Madeline throws out the question,
eyes checking her reflection in a Chanel compact, looking all selfie ready. Paparazzi
outside at this time of the day? Unlikely. Still, I sit up a little and take
another sip of wine.
“We’re settling at 25 mill
... is that a lot?”
Madeline makes this face
as if she’s still that eleventh grade cheerleader. “Aw – don’t show off.”
I try to hold back a yawn
- even the music is boring now. “Can we get out of here?” I plead, hoping at
least Claire would concur.
My phone vibrates with a fierce
determination, stirring up certain uneasiness in the table. Now the entire presence
pressures me with the “are you gonna get that” look. I fish it out from the
bottomless pit named a woman’s handbag. The screen illuminates; three missed
calls and one text from S, “I wanna hear your voice”, it reads.
*****
