For Just a Moment

14

"You totally botched that fairy tale," Noah answered, still wearing his uncharacteristic scowl.  "Listen, Mary does what she wants.  Not like I invited her here or anything...."

He looked at me quickly and I smiled back.   "Well....that stung!  Sure, Layla.  I guess I can hang out at your place....."

Noah slumped a little more in his chair, but I figured it was nothing compared to how I felt at his complete and utter dismissal.  I kept smiling, though.  Seemed to be the only way to survive Hinsdale.  Layla beamed as though euphoric.

"Yay!  Come on, Mary, let's go get ready!  Oooh, we're going to have so much fun!  G'night, Noah!  Hope your head feels better!"  She called, as she sashayed out of the kitchen and out the back door, and I hung back for a second, realizing I hadn't yet given Noah the plate of still-warm cookies in my hands. 

"Um..." I wrinkled my nose and looked down at the aluminum foil covered paper plate.  "You probably don't want these anymore.....I mean.....Layla's look a lot better but.....I don't know what to do with them and so....maybe you can give them to Josh I guess?"

I glanced at him, feeling rather pathetic and silly, and he looked like there was something he wanted to say, but all we both heard was Layla, bellowing from the back yard:  "MARY!  Come on!"

Startled, I set the plate on the counter.  "Hope you feel better.  Good night," I tried to smile, but am afraid it came out as more of a grimace.

Back at her house, Layla wasted no time.  "I'm actually really glad you're here," she smiled sweetly.  "Will you help me get ready?"  She breezed through the kitchen without so much as a cursory nod at Consuela, who was busily setting food and drinks - apparently alcoholic drinks - out on the enormous, white granite island.  I trailed behind her, through a hallway in the kitchen and up a staircase, down a long, wide second floor hallway to Layla's bedroom.  Only to call it a bedroom is not exactly accurate.  Layla had a suite.

"Is this.....your room?" I stammered, positive at first that it must be her mom's.

"Yeah.  Duh....." she eye-rolled, and I followed her through the huge room, big enough to furnish not only a bed, but a couch, two chairs, a table, and a large armoire.  She led me into her closet, itself larger than my entire bedroom.  My mouth dropped open as I surveyed her expansive wardrobe.

"Wow," just escaped from my lips.  I couldn't help it.  I had never seen so many pairs of shoes, all meticulously lined up in two rows on both sides of the closet.  A fuschia-colored velvet cushioned chair punctuated the white carpet, and on either side rows and rows of shirts, pants, dresses, sweaters, jackets and every other conceivable garment in every imaginable color lined up orderly.  There were easily hundreds of hangers, but the closet was ample enough that nothing needed to be squished and wrinkled, like in my closet.  Everything draped nicely, as if it had all just appeared there directly from the mall.

She looked judiciously at the bounty, one hand resting on her chin, and then proceeded to pull one hanger after another.  "Help me pick an outfit for tonight, will you?" She said distractedly.  She laid the dozen or so choices on her gray and white chevron-patterned bedspread and began stripping down to her underwear.

"Layla, it doesn't matter which of these outfits you choose," I sighed.  "You're like.... gorgeous.  No matter what you wear you're stunning."

"Hmph," she flung on the first fashion statement, a silky black tank top and gray skinny jeans.  "What do you think?"

She regarded herself in the full length mirror beside the closet, and I peaked over her shoulder, watching her as she made duck lips and other instagram-worthy faces.  "It's um.....good...." I shrugged.  The outfit likely cost more money than everything in my closet put together.