Nothing More Beautiful (23 page)

“In Vancouver, yeah,” Danielle answered. “At
the Hostess House.”

“And it’s only ten weeks away!” I added.

“Ah, the end is drawing nigh,” he said,
taking a sip from his glass.

“Excuse me?” Ashley straightened up.

Alarm bloomed on Vince’s face. “I only meant
the end of the planning, not your relationship. Nothing like that.”
He became tongue tied for a moment.

“She’s only messing with you,” I said,
hoping to ease his tension. I picked up my beer glass and raised
it. “To two beautiful women! May they live happily ever after!”

“Cheers!” Danielle clanked my glass. Ashley
and Vince followed suit. “We hope to see you there, Vince, as
Maci’s plus-one.”

Vince turned to me. “Well, I hope to attend
as Maci’s plus-one. I’ve never been to a wedding before.”

“To a gay wedding, you mean?” Ashley asked,
sincerity in her tone.

“No, it will be my first wedding, gay or
straight.”

“But you’re 26,” she said flatly.

“That I am.” He drank a gulp. “And sadly,
I’ve never found myself surrounded by a couple happy enough to tie
the knot.”

“Really?” Danielle said, incredulous. “That
sucks. They’re so fun. All the dancing and drinking with family and
friends.”

“Well, if I’m lucky enough to ever go
through the experience, it will be without family.” His eyes glazed
over as he talked, distant. Melancholy dripped from his words.

“Estranged?” Ashley asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I never knew my
biological parents. I was adopted as a baby. Tragically though, my
adoptive parents died in a car accident when I was eight. With no
other family, I was placed in foster care, moving from one family
to the next until my senior year of high school, when an older
couple took me in. Both passed away two years ago.” Sorrow plagued
Vince’s voice, and I had no idea where his openness was coming
from, as he hadn’t even mentioned his childhood to me, and now here
he was, sharing with everyone. I made a mental note to ask him
about it later.

A somber quiet had settled in the room.
“Sorry to ruin the mood,” he said a minute later. “I’m happy for
you both. May you share eternal bliss!” He raised his wine glass
for another toast.

“Hear! hear!” Danielle knocked her glass
against his. After the round of clanking, she asked, “Is Bridgett
coming tonight?”

“She never gave me a definite answer either
way,” I replied, finding my phone inside my clutch. “I’ll ask her.”
As I opened up the text log, a gentle thump came from the entrance.
“Oh, that’s probably her.” I scurried to the door and opened it,
and was a little shocked to see the fiery ginger hair of Becky,
since she was usually the last to arrive at any event. She was
wearing close-fitting leggings and a moderately cut blue
blouse.

“Hey, Maci.” She reached in for a hug.

“Hey, Becky.” I returned her embrace. “I’m
glad you could make it. It’s been months.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you since you and
Bridgett opened the bakery,” she said, releasing her hold.

I stepped back. “You should stop by some
time. I can hook you up with a free lunch.” She smiled, and as I
gazed at her, a feeling crept into my brain, a feeling that told me
I was forgetting something important. And then it hit me. “Oh my
God. I never called her.”

“What?”

I waved her in and shut the door. “This
woman from the gym,” I replied, my voice shooting for a squeaky
high. She stared at me, not following. “She told me we could stay
at her beach house in Cannon Beach for Hood to Coast, but I had to
rush out that day, and I completely forgot after that. I forgot to
even ask you if we have a place to stay.”

“Yeah, I already booked a beach house,” she
said. “Oh, which reminds me, it’s $132 for the race, and it’d be
cool if you could pitch in 30 or 40 for gas.”

“Wow, Danielle didn’t say it would be so
expensive.”

“Sorry, I should’ve told you earlier. I’ll
send you an email to remind you.”

“Thanks. That would help.”

“So, have you seen her since?”

“What?”

“The woman that offered her beach house,”
she elaborated.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well then I wouldn’t worry about it,” she
advised. “You’ll probably never see her again.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I shrugged it
off. “Anyway, the party’s in the kitchen.” I led her through the
condo to the kitchen, where Ashley and Danielle were now talking to
both Alma and Vince.

“Boy, do I feel underdressed,” Becky said,
as way of greeting. I scrutinized her closer. She was the only one
not wearing a dress, even though mine was flowery instead of fancy.
As I studied Becky, I noticed how much fitter she looked,
especially her butt. At that moment an unbidden dirty thought snuck
into my mind, and I pictured kissing her, contemplating what it
would feel like. I had wondered on several occasions what it would
be like to kiss another woman. It was hard not to, living with your
best friend who also happened to be a lesbian and constantly talked
about how lush women’s lips were.

Now with the list and Vince’s fantasy in the
open, I had contemplated it actually happening and how it might go.
It obviously couldn’t be with someone as close as Danielle or
Ashley, but Becky was further removed as a friend, one that the
scenario could work with; and if it ruined our relationship, it
would be sad but not the end of the world. The idea, while hot,
also carried a gloomy weight with it. I mean, how could our
relationship ever be the same afterward? What if Vince decided I
wasn’t the lover he wanted after all? He had only been with one
other woman, so why settle for my inexperienced repertoire of
conservative moves? Did I even have any moves?

I put the thought far from my mind before it
boggled me down.

While Ashley and Danielle hugged Becky, I
introduced her to Vince and Alma. Alma had lost the conceited and
malicious attitude, adopting a more peaceful appearance, with a
friendly smile. I was afraid that she might stab someone at any
moment, though—except Vince of course. She didn’t come across as a
woman who enjoyed other women’s company at all. I thought to make
it my mission to befriend her, but the idea just didn’t sound
appealing enough to make it my resolve.

“When Bridgett shows up, we can begin the
tour,” Vince said, which was accompanied by
oohs
and
ahhs
of my sophisticated, yet surprisingly goofy friends. I
was actually looking forward to a tour, since I hadn’t seen much of
the enormous condo, save for the master bedroom and the game
room.

Bridgett replied to my text a short time
later, confirming her attendance, and saying she was almost here.
When she arrived, I did the standard introductions, poured her a
beer, and shook my head at her fishnet stockings, laughing.

With Alma staying behind in the kitchen to
stir the risotto, Vince began the tour. He started in the foyer,
which he called a solarium, where the elevator dumped you. Through
massive arched windows, you could see the entire city. Three
beautiful chandeliers hung in the center of the room from a soaring
fourteen-foot ceiling. The room was set up like a quiet living room
with a three-cushion sofa, an armchair, and a loveseat arranged in
an open square. “That door leads to the western terrace. Since it’s
a little cold, we can skip that part.” He turned around and headed
right, toward the master bedroom. “The Envoy people label this the
‘Great Room,’ but I just call it the game room.” The room was
massive, with hardwood parquet flooring, and surrounded by more
arched windows. “Up those stairs is the master bedroom.” He whirled
on his heels, about to move on to the three upstairs bedrooms.

“Can we see it?” Danielle asked, giving me a
mischievous look.

“Yeah, I’d like to see a billionaire’s
bedroom,” Ashley threw in.

Vince hesitated for a second. “Sure, why
not?” He grabbed my arm, and whispered in my ear, “The pillow in
the closet,” while the rest went on ahead.

“I’ll keep them distracted.” We followed the
group, and I pointed out the window at the terrace and the view.
With them occupied, Vince charged for the closet to hide the sex
pillow in one of the million built-in cabinets. The view didn’t
distract them long, and soon the four women were in the master
bathroom, which was split so that the tub was on one side and the
shower was on the other, with closets and sinks on both ends.

“I’ve never seen such a huge bathroom,”
Becky exclaimed. “It’s bigger than my bedroom.”

“And look at this closet,” Bridgett shouted,
snooping in the back. “It’s insane!”

“All right, ladies, shall we move on?” Vince
was wearing a pink hue, hoping they wouldn’t pry into every nook
and cranny and discover the pillow. He waved them out in a
commanding manner.

“Very impressive,” Danielle said as we
entered the game room again. “I’ve noticed you have a lot of art
all over. Are they all mostly fantasy-oriented?”

“A lot of them, yeah,” he answered. “I’ve
contracted some local artists to paint fantasy and sci-fi scenes.
As you can see, a lot are of majestic landscape stuff and space
battles. That one over there”—he pointed to a giant canvas between
the last two windows—“is the cover of
Towers of Midnight
, a
fantasy book that I loved, and I actually contracted the original
artist to replicate it.”

“I bet that cost a lot,” Bridgett said,
off-hand.

“It did indeed,” Vince laughed. “These were
much cheaper.” He tapped the poster of a soup bowl by his shoulder.
Inside the bowl were quotes from “Seinfeld” with the tagline “No
Soup for You” in bright red font. “These I bought at the Saturday
market. There are a dozen or so throughout the house. If you’ll
follow me up the stairs here, I’ll show you the guest rooms.” We
explored the three rooms, but they were pretty minimal and
standard, except one room was full of boxes with all of Vince’s
toys and collectibles, including binders of basketball cards. It
didn’t take long to poke around, and we were soon downstairs in his
office. Two desks took up most of the room, a Mac display on one
and a PC on the other, both towers hidden in the cabinets.

The utility room lay next to the office,
which looked like a skinny kitchen, including a sink and a second
dishwasher. We entered the kitchen, which shared the same floor as
the open dining area, where a depressed-looking Alma was setting up
the table. Beyond the dining area through three arches lay the
final room of the tour.

Vince leaned into Alma’s ear and whispered
something before he joined us. “The Envoy calls this the ‘Living
Room,’ but I like to think of it as my library, as you can imagine
why.” Bookcases twice my height covered every wall in the room.
Vince even had a tiny stepladder to grab the top-shelf books. There
must have been thousands of paperbacks. A fireplace sat at the far
end, unlit and unused.

Bridgett glanced outside with interest. “Is
that a life-sized chessboard?”

We all flocked to the last window. In the
corner, a light outside revealed a giant checkered floor with huge
chess pieces aligned as if ready to start a game. “Yeah,” Vince
replied. “I’ve never used it, but it’s a cool idea. You’re welcome
to play later if you’d like.”

“I’ll play you, Bridgett,” Ashley said. I
had seen Ashley and Danielle play chess a few times over the years,
and as with everything else, she was very competitive.

Bridgett smiled. “Maybe when the weather
warms up.”

Vince drew our attention. “So that concludes
the tour,” he said, clapping his hands. “I believe the risotto is
done.” He glanced at Alma for confirmation, and she nodded at him,
so we all sat down around the colossal table.

Vince took the head of the table, so I sat
to his right, with Danielle and Ashley beside me, Alma across from
me, and Becky and Bridgett next to her. Everyone had wine except
for me. “Danielle, do you want to see Vince’s tap selection?”

“No, I’m fine with wine,” she said, placing
a cloth napkin on her lap.

“Really, I think you should take a look at
it.” I grabbed her arm and cleared my throat.

“Oh, right. You were going to have me taste
that one,” she said, getting the hint. We withdrew from the table
and crossed the long hallway to the game room. “I know this isn’t
about beer, so what’s the deal?”

“It’s Alma.”

“What about her?”

“I just wanted to know your impression of
her,” I said, masking my feelings toward her.

“She seems really sad and lonely,” Danielle
answered, looking over the taps.

“Anything else? Any other vibes?”

She cocked her head at me and glared. “Maci,
would you just ask me what you want to ask?”

“Does she bat for your team or mine?”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you seriously just
ask me if she was gay with a baseball metaphor?”

I threw out my arms unintentionally. “Is
she, or not, Danielle?”

“No. I don’t think she’s gay,” she said,
turning back to the tap. She found a clean glass and poured herself
a pale, unfiltered ale. “Why does it matter?”

“Because look at her!”

“Your point?”

I folded my arms across my chest, glancing
over my shoulder at the hallway. “Vince and her dated,
remember. . .? But they never had sex.”

“Never?”

“According to him.”

“Maybe he lied about it,” she said, taking a
sip. The drink left a foam mustache afterward.

“Why would—you have foam on your lip,” I
said, rubbing my fingers across my upper lip to show her where.
“—Why would he lie about it?”

She wiped the foam away and licked her
finger. “Thanks. Maybe he did it to make things less awkward
between you and her. I don’t know. What I
do
know is she’s
definitely not gay.”

“Do you think you could test her?”