Leaving the Comfort Cafe (15 page)

“You sorry old bastard.” Luke laughed. “I’m out fifty bucks. I bet Julie here you weren’t going to show. Austin, this is my fiancée, Julie.”

Together, Luke and Julie formed every magazine-influenced idea of human perfection. Luke’s blue eyes reflected every schoolgirl’s dream of romance. His biceps rippled from the strength of expensive gym memberships. He was blessed with a full mane of blonde hair, and looked as if he sprang perfectly formed from the pages of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog.

As for Julie, she was a trophy Stepford wife, and Austin was quite sure she would have to be surgically separated from Luke’s arm, which she held tenaciously, sucking the life force out of it, as if Luke would suddenly bolt, taking his perfect DNA and spreading his glorious chromosomes across the globe. She leeched onto Luke’s side. She smiled with deep green but slightly vacant eyes that had obviously put a dent into the cash bar.

“And this is…” Luke reached for Blythe’s hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Blythe Shelley.”

“Charmed.” Luke made a big deal out of kissing Blythe’s hand.

Who does he think he is? At what age do you outgrow this kind of junk?

Blythe didn’t seem impressed.

“Where are you from, Blythe?” Luke asked.

“Asheville.”

“Cool place.” Luke took another sip of his Heineken. The rule of thumb at alumni functions was that it was only okay to drink beer straight from the bottle if it was an imported brew. Why, Austin had no idea. Personally, he preferred wine coolers, but he avoided them because it was what all the sorority girls used to drink, and even just saying the words made him feel slightly effeminate.

“I haven’t been to Asheville in a long time,” Blythe said.

“I’ve always thought Asheville was beautiful, progressive—just an overall wonderful area.”

“It is…unless you come from there,” Blythe said.

“My Jules’ parents have a condo at Lake Junaluska.”

Austin hated that he referred to her as “my Jules.” He hated it even more than it didn’t seem to bother Julie.

“You ever been there?” Luke asked.

“Nah. Too many Methodists. They’ve got some state convention there every summer. Can’t find a parking spot. Hate that. Now if it were Episcopalians, that would be different. Those are some church people who can party.”

Luke cast a doubtful glance at Austin. Like deep down, Luke suspected that maybe Blythe wasn’t real but just one of those cardboard cutouts, similar to the celebrity displays seen at grocery stores advertising the latest cola or beer endorsements.

They went through the buffet line and got their food, and Luke made a point of sitting in a non-smoking area without even asking Blythe if she smoked. Blythe requested a Heineken from one of the attendants, and took a large gulp in a manner that was not distinctly feminine, but not quite crass. Austin had never found her more attractive.

“So Blythe, what do you do?” Julie said.

“I’m the front line manager for the largest commercial food supplier in Conyers,” she said.

Well, played, Blythe.

“Well, I’m sure that keeps you quite busy,” Luke said, gulping down a piece of his shrimp cocktail. “Though I’m sure the largest commercial food supplier in Conyers is…well, it is Conyers. Not like you’re running a New York restaurant or anything.”

“I know. Thank God I have Susan to do that for me.”

“Susan?”

“I hired her to manage our New York branch.” Blythe didn’t even lose stride. “We have our head office in Conyers—you know, small-town pace, low property taxes, dirt-cheap rent—and with the Internet and our digital conferencing, it’s really no inconvenience.”

Dear God. Don’t push it, Blythe.

“Well, seems like you’re a regular workaholic just like our Austy here,” Luke said.

“Don’t call him Austy. He doesn’t like that.”

Watch it, Luke. She’s an Ivy League lady…she’s smarter than all of us.

“Jules has just graduated with her master’s degree in—oh what was that again, hon?”

She grinned. “Biomedical materials science.”

“Oh yes, biomedical materials science.” Luke repeated it as if he just liked to hear himself say the words over and over again. “I guess I lucked up, buddy. Beauty and brains all in my Jules. Not that I even know what biomedical material sciences are.”

“You seem to be doing well.” Austin felt obligated to say it.

“Atlanta has been good to me.” Luke laughed—one of those loud, penetrating laughs that are fun to make but annoying to hear. “You’ve got to get your butt out of that small town and go where you can get a real social life. The concerts, the Braves—everything. Listen, this fall, I’m going to buy this condo down at Savannah. We’ll have to all get together and head down there for a weekend.”

“Sounds great,” Austin conceded. “But it’s hard to get away when you run the town.”

“Come on. Delegation is the key to solid management. Besides, what could happen? You afraid that hamster will stop running in its wheel that feeds the town power supply?”

“Well, and there’s that campaign stop,” Blythe said.

“Campaign stop?” Luke asked.

“Campaign stop?” Austin repeated. Don’t do this, Blythe. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—I can’t play this game as well as you can.

“Well, the mayor of our town—and as you know, everything in North Carolina works on the good ol’ boy system—his cousin took the governor’s sister to the prom when they were in high school. The governor went to high school in Conyers. You did know that, didn’t you?”

“No, I—”

“Anyway, the mayor put some scuttlebutt in someone’s ears, and I would not be surprised if you saw Austin running the governor’s re-election campaign.”

“You dawg,” Luke grinned. “And I thought you were just sitting over there with hayseeds in your mouth.”

“And of course, you know the gubernatorial campaign is followed by a Senate campaign which is followed by a pres—oh, sorry.” Blythe smiled and faked an embarrassed ‘oops’ purse of her lips. “That’s all hush, hush, you know.”

“So what’s Conyers like?” Julie asked, as if all of a sudden it became a place of exotic intrigue.

“It’s nice if you aren’t going anywhere,” Blythe said.

“Your name is so beautiful and unusual,” Julie said.

“Yes, Blythe Shelley. I’m related to the Shelleys.”

“Are they with the governor?”

“No, they’re the poets.” She took a long drink. “Of course, they’re dead now. The poets, that is. Dead Poets. Just like the movie.”

“Austin has always gone for those artsy people,” Luke said, maneuvering his comments into place like a four-star general. “Has Austin ever mentioned Kerry to you?”

Luke, what are you doing?

“He had it bad for this artist, Kerry, when he was in grad school. I mean, can you imagine Austin with some hippie chick? Or can you imagine some hippie chick with Austin?”

You bastard. You bastard.

“I mean, what do you ladies see in pragmatists like Austin?”

“They’re incredible in bed,” Blythe said without batting an eye. “Fantastic lovers.”

“I was…I was just kidding around,” Luke admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

“I wasn’t.”

The attendees at the lead table tapped their glasses and someone gave an obligatory welcome speech. Austin wasn’t paying attention; he was focusing on the small, stray strand of hair that curled its way over the top of Blythe’s right ear.

She whispered, “If I have to hang out with your friends all evening, I’m going to need some hard liquor.”

Austin darted a confused glance at her only to see a smile part her lips. She was just kidding, right? She was kidding.

“I’m just kidding,” she whispered, then winked. “I hope I haven’t embarrassed you too bad.”

Austin leaned in close and whispered so close his lips brushed her ear. “I’ve never been more proud of you.”

Julie was nibbling awkwardly on the bite-sized cocktail wieners. She flashed her bleached, Colgate-special-whiting-formula smile at him. When the ballroom light hit her, it a was as if she were lacquered, beautiful, but covered in plastic, the same way Austin’s mother used to protect any new furniture they got.

“How long have you and Blythe been seeing each other?” Julie asked.

“Ooo, it seems like forever,” Blythe interrupted. She leaned in to Austin and kissed him on the cheek.

“Say, Austin,” Luke said, “do you ever hear from Kerry?”

“Once in a while, she drops me an e-mail. She’s opened her own gallery. Seems to like the city.” Austin looked down into his beer as if he were afraid a gnat might have fallen in there.

“Man, I don’t know a lot about art, but could you believe moving all the way to New York with nothing but pictures of a couple of couches?”

“Ottomans, Luke. She painted ottomans.”

“Whatever.”

“In replicas of the masters. She did this one in navy felt and painted ‘Starry Night’ across it—”

“You know, Jules and I have splurged and got season tickets to all the home football games. You guys up for joining us?”

“Sure.” Austin fiddled with his tie whenever he lied.

“How about you Blythe? You a football gal?” Luke’s smile was patronizing.

“I don’t like football unless they let me tackle someone.”

“Whoa, Austy, you’ve got a live one here!”

“You have no idea.” Austin forced a polite smile.

The band started playing, and Austin used the interlude as an opportunity to get Luke out of harm’s way before Blythe decided to demonstrate her football-tackling skills

“Let’s dance,” Austin took Blythe’s hand and gently led her from the table before she could object.

“Dance? Since when do you dance?” Luke asked.

“Since he met me.” Blythe winked.

As they swayed to the music, Austin pulled Blythe closer to him so he could speak directly into her ear.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I mean, anytime you want to, just tell me, and we’ll leave. You don’t have to put on an act for them.”

“I was about to tell you the same thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you take all that crap from him?” she asked. “Why do you let him treat you like you’re only half human because you don’t have Daddy’s money or a house in Buckhead?”

“I do not. I mean, you’re the one making up stories just because I’m—”

“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. You let him push you around. I’ll bet he’s always pushed you around. You were probably the one who held his head with a cold, wet washcloth while he puked in the stairwell from too many tequila shots.”

Blythe’s argument was mixing with the gentle jazz and rattling in his head. “Look, l—let’s just dance and try to enjoy the evening.”

She swayed with him and gave a disgruntled sigh that sounded too much like the frustration of obligation. For a long time, they said nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Austin saw Luke and Julie kissing on the dance floor. Get a room, for God’s sake.

At one time, he hoped there was something like a loser’s paradise, located right beside the dead letter office, where the champions of the middle class all gathered, wept over their pathetic lives, and then all of a sudden God came down and said, “Hey, just kidding. Welcome to Canaan.”

The saxophone melted into “Embraceable You.” Austin immediately recognized the tune: the song they played at his parent’s 25th wedding anniversary. At that time, he’d felt it was the most incredibly hokey thing he had ever heard. Now, as he embraced Blythe, he wasn’t so sure. He was even humming it.

“You know, this song was played for my parents at their wedding. They had it played again at their twenty-fifth anniversary.”

“Married twenty-five years? I can’t imagine living with someone for that long. I’ve only owned a dog for seven.”

“I once had a goldfish. He died the week after I got him, and we had to flush him down the toilet,” Austin said.

“Well thank God your parents faired better.”

They broke into childish giggles that caused the more sophisticated heads to dart in their direction. The laughter rose into its own crescendo until it had a life of its own and was floating slightly above them. She leaned closer to him. Her hair smelled like coconut.

A firm tap landed on Austin’s shoulder. It was Luke. “Hey, mind if I cut in?” he asked.

“Yes,” Austin said. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Luke’s face froze in the confusion of a man who had never met with refusal, who never once was frustrated in searching for what to do. “Well, why don’t we let the lady decide?” Luke said.

“Piss off,” Blythe said.

Austin felt her smooth fingers entwine with his, almost absentmindedly, like it was second nature. For the next hour, nothing existed. There was no band; there was no reunion. There was no dead-end job, no backwoods mayor, no Snake Lady, holding on line three. There was just the silk of her hand and the light smell of coconuts.

He felt her breathing slowing by the faint rising and falling of her chest against his, as if she was finally relaxing after a long, frustrating journey. Everything appeared new, as if Austin had been seeing the world in black and white and was only just now getting a glimpse of his first Technicolor cartoon. The pomp, the circumstance, the gaudy school colors, the old money, the jazz, the linen tablecloths, the fresh bouquets and even the complimentary silver lapel pin seemed so ridiculous.

“Come with me,” Austin whispered to her. “I want to show you something.”

He took her by the hand, and they escaped the dance floor.

The nostalgic jazz faded somewhere far behind across the quaint, bricked campus paths as Blythe, laughing, tried to keep up with Austin.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace where we can get away from all this crap and enjoy the evening.”

The bricked path gave way to cobblestones and then to a small, sculptured garden, complete with hedges in small, square maze patterns and naked cherubs spouting water. There were rose bushes, dead now in the winter season, but they would herald the entrance to where beauty would soon blossom.

The rose garden opened into an amphitheater, the moon carefully creating a silver hollow that graced center stage, like a heavenly spotlight.