Blogger Girl (11 page)

Plum nodded her head eagerly even though her face showed no recognition whatsoever.

“Dumb Sheridan! Been a while. So nice to see you!” Bridget said, with her hand extended.

Plum grimaced as she gave Bridget’s hand a limp shake. “It’s Plum.”

Mirroring Plum’s gesture from before, Bridget clamped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. So sorry about that
Plum
. My bad. I don’t know why I can never get that right.” She giggled innocently while Jonathan stood behind her laughing.

I glared at Bridget and then turned back to Plum. “Anyway, it was good to see you! Maybe we’ll see you inside,” I said, before grabbing Bridget by the hand and whispering, “C’mon,” to Jonathan.

“Dumb Sheridan. Priceless, Bridged,” Jonathan said, still laughing.

When we got to the entrance of the banquet room, I stopped for a second so we could get ourselves together. “Was that really necessary, Bridget? It’s been ten years since high school. We should just let it go.”

Bridget snorted. “Let it go, huh? Is that what Plum was doing? She called you Kim
Short
. Seems to me like she’s still in high school.”

I mumbled, “You’re right.” Finally appreciating the humor of the situation, I started giggling. “Although I’m not entirely sure Plum was being intentionally mean. It’s possible Hannah’s joke went right over her head.”

“Hence,
Dumb
Sheridan. Betcha she didn’t get
that
joke either,” Bridget said, rolling her eyes.

“Probably not.” I said.

I looked inside the banquet room where I estimated there to be about one hundred of my former classmates. I immediately spotted Gilbert Ames who had proudly donned our school mascot’s uniform (tiger) at every football game. I had pictured the room set up with lots of tables for six or eight, like a wedding, but the Club Room was far more intimate. Almost everyone was either sitting on or standing around the many cozy looking couches that were spread around the room. There was even a roaring stone fireplace. There was a constant buzz in the room but it was too loud to make out any particular conversation. Beyonce’s
Crazy in Love
was playing in the background. I guessed someone on the reunion committee had made a playlist featuring the most popular songs from 2003 since the class voted against spending money on a DJ.

“Nice,” Jonathan said. “Very old school New York.”

“Agreed,” Bridget said.

Turning around to do a 360 of the room, I contemplated who to talk to first. “Should we stick together or go our separate ways?”

“I see Andy and Pete. I’m off,” Jonathan said and without awaiting a response from us, walked away to meet up with his own best friends from high school.

“Okay, then. And then there were two.” I looked at Bridget whose eyes watched Jonathan as he walked across the room. “Unless you want to follow him and say hi to Andy and Pete. Haven’t seen them a while.”

Bridget shrugged. “Nah. Let’s go to the bar! I’m sure we’ll see someone we want to say hi to there.”

I didn’t think Bridget needed another drink but since my own buzz was beginning to wear off, I took a quick look at my chest to make sure I wasn’t exposing any boob and followed her toward the bar. We made it there without being stopped, possibly because I refrained from making eye contact with anyone in the hope that I would have a drink in my hand before being approached by another alum. I was pretty certain Bridget had done the same.

Bridget handed me a bottle of Amstel Light, I clinked it against hers and turned back around to face the crowd. Relieved I didn’t see Hannah anywhere, I took a long gulp of my cold beer straight from the bottle. I contemplated asking for a glass since I doubted Christian Louboutin would have wanted his shoes worn by someone who drank beer straight from the bottle, but before I turned back around towards the bartender, I spotted Denise Porter approaching us. I recognized her immediately even though her naturally blonde hair had been dyed chocolate brown and her attire, a light blue knee-length wrap dress and simple black pumps, strayed dramatically from her old school wardrobe of obscenely short and tight-fitting mini-skirts. She had the legs for it back then and nothing had changed.

Bridget jabbed me in the side and excitedly yelped, “Denise!”

Smiling brightly, Denise said, “If it isn’t the Two Musketeers! Not surprisingly together.” As she reached down to hug us, it occurred to me that almost everyone in my graduating class towered over both Bridget and me. I was usually the shortest person in any room, with the exception of children, but at least in the real world, there were other height deprived people walking the streets.

“How have you guys been?” Denise asked. “I’ve thought about you two a lot over the past few years.”

“We’ve thought about you too!” Bridget said nodding.

“Actually, you were the person we most looked forward to seeing tonight,” I said.

Denise put her hand over her heart and looked at us with bright eyes. “That’s so sweet. What are you guys up to? Do you both live in the city? I guess you guys have kept in touch all of this time?” She paused. “I’m sorry for all of the questions!”

“No worries,” I said. “I work at a law firm as a legal secretary and I also run a book blog. I’ll let Bridget tell you what she does. But, yes, we both live in the city and we’ve kept in touch all of this time.” I turned to Bridget with a smile.

Bridget proceeded to tell Denise what she was doing and then we directed the same questions back at her.

“I’m actually a mommy of two.” Denise said proudly. While Bridget and I tried not to look quite so shocked, Denise reached into her bag for her wallet and showed us her family holiday photo. I had to suppress a gasp of surprise when I saw Denise standing next to a very handsome man who, at least in the picture, looked almost nerdy with his short hair and glasses. He was a far cry from the burnouts she had dated in high school. Looking at the fair-haired little boy and girl toddlers in matching New York Mets T-shirts, I asked, “Are they twins?”

“Yes! Can you believe it? Me with twins. Who would have guessed?”

“Not in a million years,” Bridget said a little too certainly and then let out a hiccup. “Damn hiccups. Happens every time!”

Denise laughed. “Do a shot of bitters and suck on a lemon. Trust me.”

While Bridget asked the bartender to prepare Denise’s hiccup cure, Denise looked at me fondly. “A book blogger, huh? You always loved to read!”

“I still do,” I said.

“Word on the street is that Hannah Marshak, queen in her own mind, is publishing a book,” Denise said with a frown. “I’m surprised it’s not a memoir considering how self-absorbed she is.”

My chest felt weighted and I took another glance around the room. “Is she here tonight?” Since I hadn’t seen her yet, I held onto hope that she had decided to skip it.
Wishful thinking.

Denise nodded. “How else do you think I know about her book? She told me.”

My eyes bulging, I said, “She told you?” I didn’t remember Denise and Hannah being friends in high school although I did recall that Hannah made sure to be friendly with anyone who could either help her or potentially hurt her. And if Hannah didn’t play her cards right with Denise and her friends, they would not have hesitated to yank out every curly brown hair on Hannah’s inflated head.

“She’s making the rounds telling everyone. She’s even talking to the little nerds from math club.” Looking at me questionably, she added, “You weren’t in the math club were you?”

Laughing, I said, “No. Did you think I was a little nerd?”

Denise shook her head. “I always thought you were cool as shit. Both of you guys. So, no, not nerdy but yes, little.” Glancing at Bridget who had the bartender in hysterics, she said, “Both of you were little. Always made me feel like a fucking giant.”

Before I could respond, I felt an arm on my shoulder, “Little Miss Long!”

I turned around to face Patrick Vaughn, quarterback of our school’s football team. I took him in from his flawless brown skin, to his chestnut eyes to his bulging biceps. “Patrick! Still gorgeous after all of these years.”

“And little Ms. Long. Still the perfect height for me,” he said making a reference to his joke that my head was parallel to his groin, making me the perfect height to give him a blow job without even kneeling. “I can’t believe I used to say that to you. I’m sorry. I swear, I’ve matured,” he said crossing his heart.

Laughing, I said, “For some reason, I was never that offended when it came from you. I’ve heard it many times since then and wasn’t quite as forgiving.” In fact, I had started a few fights back in college when my guy friends insisted on defending me against some douche bag making inappropriate comments about my height.

“I guess I got lucky. For a tiny chick, you always were a tough cookie.”

I stood taller and lifted my chin in the air. “Still am.”

“Let me buy you guys another drink. Or shots?” Patrick said.

From behind us, Bridget called out, “Shots!”

After reminiscing with Denise from our days in middle school, doing shots with Patrick and talking to some other people I hadn’t seen in forever, we were waxing nostalgic with Jonathan, Pete and Andy who had joined us at the bar, probably after smoking a doobie in the hotel’s outdoor courtyard, “The Yard.” Andy was refreshing my memory of him cheating off of me in Intro to Accounting junior year. Since Andy stood at 5’5” stretched out, people used to say that we’d make a perfect couple, but even though he was cute, our platonic feelings had always been mutual.

“I would have totally flunked if you hadn’t let me look over your shoulder,” Andy said.

“I honestly had no idea,” I said.

“You must have known on some subconscious level,” Jonathan said.

Ignoring Bridget who kept tapping me on the shoulder, I said, “Says the non-practicing Psych major.” I turned to Bridget, “What?”

She gave me a sidelong glance and whispered, “Two o’clock.”

I felt an ache in my chest as I realized it might be too late to meet up with Nicholas. “It’s two o’clock already?”

Bridget said, “No. Han…”

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you all night!”

I immediately recognized Hannah’s whiny voice and in what felt like slow motion, stood up a little straighter, planted on a smile and greeted her for the first time in ten years.

HER NATURALLY CURLY DARK BROWN HAIR
had been flat ironed within an inch of its life and fell past her shoulders and her thick bangs were meticulously cut right above her eyebrows emphasizing her topaz eyes and long black eyelashes. She had never been what I would describe as a “pretty” girl but she was “striking” and always knew how to play up her best features. That night she was wearing a strapless black bubble dress that was cinched at her narrow waist with a white belt and fell slightly above her knees to show off long, toned legs. Her black stiletto sandals probably gave her five inches of extra height and so even with my four-inch heels, she towered over me. I begrudgingly, although not surprisingly, concluded that she looked just as good if not better than she had in high school. Of course, I had no intention of telling her that.

I braced myself for the conversation I had been dreading for a month. I planted on a fake smile. “Hi, Hannah. Good to see you,” I said, almost choking on the words. “But why would you be looking for me all night?” I already knew the answer but wanted to watch Hannah perspire. Maybe her pit stains would seep through the designer dress she was wearing and I could call her out on it the way she had done to one of her pitiful wannabes at our 8
^th
grade prom. I shook my head in memory of the girl whose lavender dress turned dark purple from the sweat she excreted probably from trying so hard to stay off of Hannah’s shit list. Of course, in typical Hannah fashion, it came across to others that she was merely concerned the girl was suffering from the flu, but I knew better.

Hannah smoothed out her bangs. “I figured you’d want to talk to me about my book, obviously.” Then she gave me a smile that on anyone else’s face might actually be described as “warm.”

My mouth fell open, although it probably should not have shocked me that Hannah would assume I was anxious to speak to her and not the other way around. I quickly recovered on the outside while contemplating on the inside whether to play dumb or admit to knowing about her book. “Oh yeah, your book.” I brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of my dress.

Beaming at me, Hannah said, “So exciting, right? Back in high school, I never imagined I would write a novel, much less publish one.” She looked over my head and around the room. “Although I probably did have enough material. As the most popular girl in our class, I’m sure you can imagine the stories I could tell.” Hannah sighed and looked at me thoughtfully. “Well, maybe not. You didn’t really hang with my crowd.” She placed a hand on her chest. “In any event, I still can’t believe it.”

I wondered if she was trying to sound humble. Since she had no actual experience being humble on which to base her performance, it wasn’t working on me.
Maybe it worked on Dumb Sheridan though.
And so much for the proclamation on her website that her “childhood dream” was to be a writer. I knew that was bullshit. As she continued to beam at me in pride, I tried to hide my disgust and smiled again. “Yes. Candy at Novel Book PR asked me to review it for my blog.” I reached for the phone in my bag. Pretending to type a note, I said, “Which reminds me, I have to get back to her.”

Hannah looked at me expectantly. “Yes?”

I nodded. “Yes. I completely forgot to tell her I finished reviewing Jenna Weinberger’s book and want her to do a guest post on
Pastel is the New Black
. Have you read any of Jenna’s books? She’s amazing!” I grinned widely at Hannah.

Hannah shook her head and proceeded to examine her perfectly manicured nails. “I actually haven’t. But I was wondering if you…”