Shake Down the Stars (3 page)

But Mr. Hoffman never showed up that day, and Mom and I loaded the U-Haul and started the drive to Maryland without a good-bye or a telescope. I wrote Mr. Hoffman within a week of our arrival. The gist of my letter was
I hate it here and miss you more than anything. Can I at least have your telescope?
His reply arrived in less than a week, written on the prep school's stationery. The gist of that letter, which was more than three pages long, was
I miss your mother more than anything. Is she seeing anyone?

•   •   •

I
'm half watching the news, half dozing, when I hear a knock at the door. Danielle, Margot's event planner, greets me by saying, “Tell them to serve the champagne right after the second speech. Not a fucking second later. Got it?”

I'm tempted to nod yes, but then I notice she's speaking into the phone clawed around her ear.

“And the waiters need to enter stage left. Just like we discussed. And tell Walter not to dim the lights until they've started pouring. I'll have his fucking head if there's a single spill.”

Danielle is all height thanks to the ten-inch stilts posing as shoes she wears. Her form-fitting, shell-colored suit highlights her red hair, swished tonight into a seashell-shaped pinwheel that rests on the top of her head. She's the dame in a Raymond Chandler novel, the vamp in a 1940s thriller. She's also Margot's best friend. Their friendship almost ended recently when Margot told Danielle that she'd hired the one-name wonder Firth to oversee the wedding.

“We need you downstairs in exactly ten minutes flat.”

It takes me a second to realize she's talking to me.

“Curtis has put together a video montage, and we need all family members present. That means you. Front table.”

I look down at my sweats and socks. “I'm supposed to watch the girls.”

“Not anymore. We're switching things up. I'll watch the twins while you're downstairs.”

“Why don't I know anything about this?”

“It's a surprise. Curtis had it in the works for weeks but didn't want anyone to know. Piper—” She exhales a smile. “He's written a song for her, ‘We Are a Family Built on Love.' He's going to sing it while showing the video he put together. It's so romantic. He's releasing the song as the first single from the new album. His people are already saying it's going to be a hit. Wait—hold a sec.” She's suddenly all business again and begins pacing the room as she bosses around the unfortunate person on the other end of the phone.

Danielle and Margot met when they were cast together in the music video for the hit “Black Bitch/White Bitch: It Ain't No Thang.” By the end of the video, Margot and Danielle were hosing each other down with water while the star rapper and his cronies sat on a fake stoop, pointing and laughing. But Margot and Danielle hit it off, despite the circumstances, and now go on annual Best Friends Forever vacations and talk and text incessantly. Seeing that her video and modeling days were numbered, Danielle used the money from her second divorce to start a catering business, which led to her gig as event stylist. No one would know from looking at her elegant hair and makeup that she's capable of doing the wide splits while hanging upside down from a pole, as seen in the heavy metal video “Five Licks of Your Cherry Pie.”

Off the phone, she rests her hand on her hip with a straightforward no-nonsense look in her eye. “Did Margot tell you why she didn't pick me?”

She means for the wedding. Luckily, I don't have to lie. Margot may have told Mom her reasons for choosing Firth over Danielle, but she said nothing to me—although it's easy to assume that she's going for name over friendship.

I reply with the oft-used “Well, you know Margot.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “But I don't care what anyone says, damn it; I would've made her wedding as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than that fucking Firth. Fucking bigheaded twit. I'm her best friend, after all, and if anyone knows what she needs, it's me. Shit. Hold on.” Her finger pops up, and the pacing resumes. “That is
not
acceptable. He was hired for his fucking expertise, so he should have a plan B. Everyone has a fucking plan B. Wait. Hold on. What are you waiting on? We've got to get you dressed and downstairs!” Even though she's looking right at me, it takes me a moment to realize she means me. “The song and video presentation should only take fifteen minutes tops. And please greet people, Piper. No one has seen you all day. And don't be too embarrassed to cry when Curtis sings. He wants it to be a moving experience.” Before I can respond, she takes me by the shoulders and ushers me toward the door. “Go, go, go!” she gunfires. I wait to feel her five-hundred-dollar shoe in my ass before she shuts the door behind me.

•   •   •

T
he ballroom is decorated art deco style with miniature Chrysler buildings and Model Ts made from finely cut crystal on every table. The male waitstaff wears spats and coattails; the females, beaded flapper dress with feathered headbands. A quartet plays jazz tunes near one of two gurgling champagne fountains. The lighting is low enough that everyone has a warm, golden glow. The football player and his teammates huddle around one of two makeshift bars, their huge round bodies stuffed into their tuxedos until they look like steroid-pumped penguins huddling before a play. Girlfriends and wives cluster at tables. Their barely-there gowns show off their well-oiled skin and firm bodies shaped by personal trainers and silicone. There are enough weaves in the room that I imagine whole villages of Chinese and Indian girls running around newly bald.

I'm helping myself to a few hors d'oeuvres when Mom walks over, decked out in silk organza, cut to show off her bare shoulders and cleavage. Even now that she's a self-proclaimed child of Christ—or whatever—her old ways still tend to make themselves known: low neckline, a skirt above the knee, too-tight sweaters. She can't help herself. Mom has gotten by on her looks even more than Margot has. And I suppose it would be hard not to; she's always reminded me of those classic beauties—the Dorothy Dandridges and Sophia Lorens. Growing up, she'd wanted to be an actress, and she even starred in a few off-off-Broadway plays. Her first and only Broadway play, the short-lived
Cat's Cradle
, starred an up-and-coming actress named Piper Michaels. Mom loved Piper's acting and her name. Mom's career as an actress ended when she turned nineteen and met my dad, a wannabe playwright and all-around loser.

Her smile fades as she looks over my dress. “What's with the burka?”

I'll admit that I'm a tad underdressed, but what do people expect from a high school teacher? Besides, my dress is still nice, in a sixties-style, post-mod kind of way. “I like my dress just fine.”

“That makes one of you,” she quips. “How are the girls?”

“Fine. They were asleep when I left. Danielle is with them.”

She leans in close to my ear. “Did you see the mother?”

I have no idea what she's talking about.

“Curtis's mother. To your left. Tacky silver dress?
Braids
.”

I spot her in no time, laughing with a group of women. Her dress is the silver and black of Curtis's team, and her tiny synthetic braids are cut into a bob.

“What about her?”

Mom lowers her voice. “She brought
collard greens
.”
She points to the buffet table against the east wall. I notice three large gray pots that don't fit in with the buffet-style service platters and crystal glasses. “Collard greens,” Mom repeats. “And corn bread.”

“Oh my God,” I say in mock horror, “collard greens and corn bread. What's next?
Chit'lins?”

“You know what I mean,” she retorts. “Ghet. Toe.”

“Guess some of us have forgotten some of the crappy neighborhoods we lived in. Remember the place on Huds—”

She shushes me as if someone might overhear. “Let's leave the past where it belongs, shall we?”

No one in her congregation knows about her—
our
—past. More specifically, they don't know that for most of her adult life, Mom behaved far more like Mary Magdalene than Mary, Mother of Jesus. Since I look so much like my father, she can't separate me from the guy she blames for ending her acting career. And I didn't come up with this idea because we don't get along. Back when she drank and drank too much, she used to go on about all she could have been if she hadn't gotten pregnant. If Mom lives vicariously through Margot—and boy, does she ever—I'm the daughter who symbolizes all she'd rather forget.

The group of football players bursts into laughter, catching Mom's attention. “I guess Danielle told you about Curtis's surprise. He's amazing, that man.” She begins to seek out Mr. Amazing himself from the mass of laughing testosterone. One extra-large player steps off to the side and—
wait a second.
It's not Curtis holding court, as I'd thought, but
Selwyn
—standing next to Curtis in his silver suit, drink in hand—life of the party!

“That little bastard.”

“What?” Mom says, looking around.

“Nothing.” I swig back my sparkling water. “I'll be right back.”

“Don't take too long,” she calls from behind. “They're going to need us at the front table any minute now.”

I march right up to Curtis, who stifles his laughter. “Oh hey, y'all. Look who's here—it's my future sister-in-law.” And then he does this thing I hate: He hooks his arm around my neck and pulls me in for a quick kiss on the cheek. I have to fight off the urge to wipe my face.

Curtis is the male version of my sister—dimpled, doe-eyed, completely self-centered. “So, listen up, everybody. I have a big surprise I got goin' on, and I have to make sure everything is situated. You all should grab your girls, fellas, and find your seats. They're gonna love what's comin' up next.” They all fall into some kind of fist maneuver that involves a series of punches and hand claps that end in a loud “Woop!”

I, meanwhile, shoot a mean glare at Selwyn, who only shrugs and sips his drink. As soon as Curtis leaves, I say, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

One of the Hulk-sized penguins looks from me to the troll. “You know this guy?”

I take Selwyn by the wrist. “Not exactly.”

I march him over to the other side of the room where no one can hear us. He looks up at me sheepishly.

“I told you not to show up here!”

He raises his hands as if completely innocent. “That was Curtis Randolph! I couldn't resist. Besides, my cousin's wedding was weak.” He sips his drink. “Wait until I tell everyone at work. Curtis Randolph!” He takes a step back as though suddenly surprised, then looks me up and down while letting loose a slow whistle. “You look good, Kilowatt. Nice dress. Kinda shaped like a sack, but I like it. Shows off your legs.”

“You really need to leave.”

“Hey,” he says, “party's just getting started. You heard Curtis. We should find a seat, watch the surprise.”

I motion up toward the long banquet table. Mom is already seated and chatting with the Reverend. Margot sits next to Curtis's mom and his four siblings. “I'm supposed to be up there,” I say. “And you're not supposed to be here at all.”

His eyes glisten in the low light. “Nice to see you again, Kil.”

I take the drink from his hand and help myself. Ignoring the big grin on his face, I give the glass back and head up to the table.
“Leave.”

“Catch you later?” I hear him say.

I keep walking.

I sit next to Mom, who immediately leans over and whispers, “Who's the short guy?”

The lights dim as the musicians move into an R and B tune. It's not long before the football player walks in from a side entrance. He's changed from his tux into a new suit, striped and with tails, as if he's about to introduce the first circus act of the evening. He asks everyone to be seated. “I have a surprise for my lady.” He waits as everyone takes his or her seat; then he walks over to Margot, who brings her hands to her cheeks in disbelief. “Baby, are you serious? What's going on?” Curtis grins and gives a nod. At this point, a large screen rolls down from the ceiling, and the lights dim. The sound of a keyboard is heard as images fade in and out: Margot as a baby; a group shot of the football player's sisters; the football player's mom; Margot and the Reverend. I can only assume that Danielle helped him find and sort all the pictures.

After the intro is played, the football player says, “I wrote this song for you, Margot. It's the first song they're releasing for my new album. The title of the album, y'all, is
We Are a Family Built on Love
, and that's the title of this song. You ready? Here it is.” He begins to sing as the pictures continue to flash on-screen. Even I'll admit he has a nice voice, beautiful even, and I won't be surprised if his next album reaches number one as well.

I spot Selwyn sitting at a table with an older couple near the back of the hall. I try to catch his attention so I can mouth the word
Leave
, but he's oblivious.

The football player starts working the stage, grinning and pointing to family members as he sings. Mom takes the Reverend's hand when an image of their wedding flashes on-screen, followed by the twins as babies. There are more pictures of his side of the family, then back to Margot sitting on the couch in sweats and no makeup. She screams in embarrassment when the image appears but then laughs good-naturedly. Curtis gives her a kiss and dips into the chorus: “Our song soars like a dove, and we are a family built on love.”

Next is a picture of me at my college graduation, followed by a picture of me at one family function or another. The football player is suddenly in my face with the microphone: “Love never ends even when some of us go to heaven.”
The music swells, and he rises to his feet and stands directly behind me. Feeding off the energy in the room, he half sings, half speaks: “We lose our children, we lose people too soon, but our song soars like a dove, and we are a family built on love.”