#44-Clouds
Darryl came back, but we didn’t talk. We didn’t have time. Darryl shaved and showered. I ordered room service. We ate. I showered. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Darryl had turned on his cell phone and the world had swirled back in on him. Richard, Tamika, Sylvia, Dave and Pete had all called. I turned on mine and got three calls in quick succession from clients who were having a hard time dealing with the holidays. I had messages from four others. I sighed, called back, consulted my schedule and set up phone sessions for those who really needed them.
Lunchtime came. Darryl at first claimed he wasn’t hungry, but I’d Googled a host of filthy jokes, including the original one about the little Dutch boy, and began telling them until he cracked up. After lunch, we struggled with our formal attire. Darryl complained about the cummerbund on his tuxedo, which was made for a man with of more substantial girth. I used an entire package of safety pins to double up the stiff fabric and pin the excess down on either side. Then I begged his help with the little black dress and its built-in bra.
His suggestion that I lay face down across the bed, supporting myself on my hands while letting my upper torso hang over the edge of the mattress so that gravity could assist my boobs to fall into the cups proved to be the only method that worked. He had to straddle me and ease the zipper up an inch at a time while I held my breath. Darryl’s comments, about whether my father had often done this for my mother and whether we would now have to get married, did not help. Both of us were breathing heavily by the time the invisible catch on the bra was fastened and the dress zipped, and not necessarily from exertion.
“Did you try this on before you bought it?” Darryl asked.
“Yes! But I was wearing my regular bra and Helene undid it so Greg could do the fitting. The fit was a hell of a lot less precise then. I’m going to make my brother shoot Greg! And if you mention this to Richard, I’ll have Tom shoot you both!”
Darryl put his hands up in the air. “Not one word, sugar. But please spare Greg. The results are, uh, magnificent.”
“Thank you. You look lovely, too.”
I told myself the neckline was modest even if the form-fitting bodice made my bosom stand out. Against the black lace-textured fabric, the pearls gleamed like miniature moons. Studying my reflection in the mirror, I saw Darryl’s eyes straying downward. Okay, I’d noticed the slit in the skirt of the dress before—it had to be there so I could walk. But I hadn’t walked or sat down in the dress and the inch wide overlap of fabric on the edges of the slit had seemed like plenty. It wasn’t. Before I wore this thing to a funeral I was going to have to find black stockings so the flash of my thigh through the slit was not so damn startling. Although Darryl did not look startled—he looked lobotomized. I made a mental note that although I was supposed to sit close to the speaker’s platform so Darryl could see me I needed to make sure I had enough tablecloth to cover my legs.
By the time I had jammed my feet into the slut shoes Greg had insisted on, I was in an explosive mood. Darryl walked tiptoe through the minefield, carrying the garment bag with my evening wrap.
“Is your shoulder bothering you?”
I wiggled it. The stretchy lace of the dress moved with me. I allowed Darryl to ease me into my coat. “No. It’s fine. The pills Dr. Harriet gave me worked better that that stupid sling.”
“I was afraid Jerry had re-injured it.”
“No, he re-bruised my bruise. It’s okay. I’ll survive.”
We’d timed our entry into the modest lobby of our comfortable hotel just right. A familiar limo pulled up under the shelter over the front door. My heels clacked against the marble floor as I strode toward it. Darryl galloped to get the doors for me, opened the limo and offered me his hand. I pivoted to face him. The five-inch heels did nothing to erase the discrepancy in our heights. I eased down onto the leather seat of the limo the way the Queen of England took her throne. Keeping my ankles together, I swung my legs in, fastened the seat belt and folded my hands primly in my lap. I blinked at Darryl, just daring him to ask me to scoot. He went around.
