Shy Town Girls (12 page)

“
Sorry, Meryl,” I giggled. “We’ve
had Goldschlager.”

Just before we made it to the ballroom, we had to
walk the red carpet. Broadcast reporters, radio personalities,
photographers, and two women with iPads stood at the photo booth
near the entrance.

“
Name?” asked a skinny girl with a
clipboard.

“
Roberta Bertucci,” I replied,
resisting the urge to say, “What’s her name.”

“
Miss Bertucci, who are you wearing
tonight?” she asked.

Proudly, I said: “Red Reem by Acra.”

“
Fabulous,” she purred. As the
cameras flashed like miniature strobe lights, I continued into the
ballroom alone as the girls got their photos taken. I recognized
plenty of designer label tuxes and dresses in the ballroom with
names like Armani and Donna Karan. And tonight I fit in with the
best of them. Tonight I was the one walking the fashion runway, as
eyes turned to ogle my exquisite gown. But at the same time, I felt
somewhat out of place as I entered alone, without a man on my arm.
Then the moment was broken as the girls entered and we took in the
rest of the room together.

The room was jaw-droppingly gorgeous with rows of
hanging chandeliers and swags of red velvet draped over enormous
windows. I looked up to see a Renaissance-style painted ceiling
that made me feel as if I were back in a Roman church: hand-painted
cherubs, naked men and women surrounded by fruits and clouds. A
Spanish guitarist stood playing beside a grand piano, and servers
in black and white circled the party with champagne and crab cakes.
Ivy’s PR firm really knew how to throw a fabulous event. The room
smelled of cologne, red wine, and the brisk fall air blowing in
from the street. My heels clacked on the cold marble flooring, as a
waiter handed me a glass of champagne.

I scanned the room to see if I recognized anyone.

FLASH! I turned as I sipped to see top model
Alessandra Valentino—blonde, beautiful, and legs for days—emerge
from the crowd of paparazzi near the entrance of the gala. Everyone
was bending over backwards to take her picture as she entered the
room. Behind her, with his hand resting lightly on the small of her
back was—Charlie!

Two women standing near me were talking. “You see
that?” one of themasked, looking at Charlie and Alessandra
Valentino walking in together. “I heard this is their public debut
together.”

“
Oh, come on! Everyone knows she’s
been sneaking around with some mystery man for months,
now.”

“
Really? everyone?”

“
Well, her husband just found out.
But everyone else!”

Just as she said that, I swallowed a gulp of
champagne and tried to suppress a fit of giggles. The champagne
almost came out of my nose as I began to choke. My eyes welled with
tears.

“
Jesus, Bobbie, are you okay?” Meryl
asked, patting my back, handing me a napkin. She looked over and
saw Charlie. “Oh God, okay, bathroom, bathroom. . .” She tried to
guide me away.

“
No, no, honestly, it’s no big
deal,” I said, shrugging her hand off of my shoulder. “I’m
fine.”

“
Are you sure?” she gazed at me with
concern.

“
Positive,” I stated, away any
champagne that was still possibly dripping from my nose. Charlie
and Alessandra? Could it be true? I downed the rest of my glass and
waved the server over for another. Watching Charlie, so proud of
his trophy, smiling at cameras, and flipping his hair, I started
laughing. His superficiality was so blaringly obnoxious. Ivy, Ella,
and Meryl looked at me, worried, and then looked at each
other.

“
Guys, honestly. I’m fine. I promise
you. It’s downright amusing to me. Alessandra! This will be really
good for his career...and ego. That only makes me look better.” I
looked at Charlie and Alessandra with dollar signs in my
eyes.

“
All right then,” Meryl said. “Let’s
celebrate! Cheers!” She raised her glass. “To what’s good for your
career!”

“
Cheers,” I exclaimed, raising my
glass. “To the girls of 721 Dearborn, the best friends a girl could
have!” And I meant it. They had been there for me through all of
this. I felt lucky to have them in my life.

We made our way toward the gallery of fine art and
photography where Meryl introduced me to a few of her colleagues
and columnists who worked for Chicago Magazine, the Chicago Tribune
and the Sun Times. I smiled, shook hands, smiled some more, shook
hands some more, but in the back of my head, I marveled that I felt
nothing for Charlie. When I saw him walk in with Alessandra, he had
suddenly struck me as a manikin, perfectly plastic, with zero
substance. The air in the room suddenly felt expansive. I found
myself able to breathe, as if I’d been holding my breath for
days.

I felt a tap on my back. “Who’s the hottie snapping
pictures of you, Bobbie?” Ivy asked, playing with the olive in her
empty martini glass.

“
What?” I turned around to scan the
room and figure out who she was talking about. Oliver. My stomach
lurched oddly as my gaze met his. He looked tall and trim in his
black tie. His eyes had power over me. I couldn’t look away. He
waved. I smiled. “That’s Oliver. You met him once, remember? Maybe
you were too drunk to remember. Oliver is an awesome photographer.
We’ve been friends forever.”

“
Uh, huh,” Ivy said, looking at me,
then back to Oliver and back at me.

“
He’s just a friend,” I repeated,
slightly uncomfortable and nudged her.

“
Well, your friend is coming over
here.”

As I watched Oliver gliding toward
us through the crowd, it was like someone turned up the heat and
sucked all the air out of the room. I fidgeted and fixed my hair,
feeling suddenly shy and uneasy.
Put your
hand down; quit playing with your hair. What is wrong with
you?

Before I could utter a hello, he leaned in and kissed
me on the cheek, taking my hand and twirling me around. He stepped
back and scanned me from head to toe. In a pompous English accent
he said, “My, oh my, Miss Bobbie Bertucci, don’t you look ravishing
this evening.”

I elbowed him playfully, “Shut up.”

He looked hurt. “What? You do look ravishing.”

“
You’re so full of it. Oliver, you
remember Ivy, my roommate.”

“
Hey,” he said. “Nice to see you
again.”

They shook hands. Ivy leaned in and whispered
something in his ear that made him laugh. He looked at me with an
enigmatic smile as Ivy walked away.

“
Hey,” I called after her. “Where
you going?”

“
Bar,” she called over her shoulder.
“Must get drink,” she said amusingly robotic.

Olly held out his arm for me. “Shall we?”

“
We shall,” I said.

We walked across the crowded room together, arm in
arm, following Ivy to the bar.

Oliver was leaning up against the bar, talking to the
bartender, when a blonde woman in a long black dress came up behind
him, touching his arm to get his attention. Her eye makeup was dark
and black, her glossy. “Mr. Prince,” she said, “your work, it’s
just phenomenal. I heard you’re opening up shop.” She held her
white wine out to the side as her body swayed towards him.

“
You heard right,” he
said.

I felt jealous. It was a professional jealousy, I
told myself. Besides, we were friends, right? Good friends. Why had
he not mentioned this to me? I had thought maybe it was a private
project he was keeping secret until it was time to unveil, but no.
This total stranger was dialed in. And so was everyone else,
judging by the comments people were making and the congratulations
he was receiving. Everyone seemed to know about it. Everyone.
Except me.

“
I’d like to stop by your studio
sometime when you’re free,” the blonde said, seduction dripping
from her voice. She was disgustingly forward, I thought.

“
Yeah, sure,” Oliver said as he
brushed back his hair. He seemed a little nervous with the
attention on him. I wished she’d leave. No doubt she wished I would
leave, too, but I stood my ground at Olly’s side. She peered at me
with her frost blue eyes and allowed a half smile, girl code for
competition, bitch.

“
I want to introduce you to some
people,” she said. “Don’t go away.”

“
Sorry about that,” Oliver said out
of the side of his mouth when she turned away.

“
For what?”

“
I think you should dance with me,”
he answered. He reached out to take my hand, but the moment was
ruined by the return of the skanky blonde, who deliberately pushed
herself between us. She dragged over her friends, a bunch of artsy
wine and cheese connoisseurs, who probably took frequent vacations
to Aspen and Naples in the winter months.

“
How are you? Pleasure to meet you,”
Oliver said, shaking hands. The blonde girl leaned into Oliver and
stroked his arm, then his back, as she introduced him, giggling for
no apparent reason.

I decided to let Olly network. I slipped away and
surveyed the room, looking for my friends. None of the girls were
in sight so I made my way to the art exhibit. Moments later I found
myself lost in a black and white photo of a young woman wearing
nothing but a man’s dress coat, sitting on the edge of a brick
apartment building overlooking the city, smoking a cigarette. It
was very Tim Burton-esque, with the dark shadows, dark make-up, and
the backdrop of Chicago looking strangely distorted. The woman
looked sad, sucking down her cigarette, but maybe that wasn’t the
case at all. Maybe she was at peace in this great city she loved,
sitting on top of the world just before dawn, watching over Chicago
while the rest of world was asleep, wrapped in her lover’s jacket
that smelled of cologne and scotch.

I loved it.

“
Mmm. . .” I heard the low throaty
animal growl from behind me as two strong hands grabbed onto my
hips and a large male body pressed up against me. Shocked and
startled, I turned to see Charlie’s bold eyes looking deep into
mine.

“
Leave with me,” he said.

“
Whoa,” I responded, pushing his
hands off of my hips, stepping back. “Charlie!”

“
Still playing hard to get,
huh?”

“
I’m not playing with you, Charlie.
And I’m not sure what else I can do to convince you of that. It’s
over between us.” I marveled at the calm strength in my own voice.
“It’s over.”

“
C’mon Bobbie. Did you not see who I
came with tonight? Leave with me.”

“
I’m not going anywhere with you,
Charlie. We’re done.”

“
Leave with me now, Roberta—you know
you want to. And I’m warning you, I’m not going to ask you
again.”

“
Excuse me, but is that a promise—or
a threat, Charlie?”

“
You can take it as a
warning.”

“
You are disgusting.” I turned away,
but he grabbed my arm and made me face him.

“
Would you just let go and take a
risk?” he said, his voice pleading now. “You’re so
calculating.”

“
Is he bothering you, Bobbie?”
someone asked.

Charlie and I had been so focused on one another,
like two alley cats exchanging insults. I looked over my shoulder
to see Oliver eyeing us. He gave me a is everything okay look and I
nodded. He raised his eyebrows.

Charlie loosened his grip on my arm and dropped his
hand, looking at Oliver with a disdainful expression.

Oliver broke away from the crowd that surrounded him
and began to walk over fire in his eyes. I gave him a stern look
and waved him away. Reluctantly, he backed off. Giving me one last,
pointed look, Olly wandered away.

“
Oh my God,” Charlie said
incredulously. “So that’s what’s going on? You’re screwing the
photographer.”

“
What?”

“
You’ve been hanging out with that
sap!” He threw his head back and laughed hysterically.

“
Oliver is my best friend,” I said
coolly. “We’ve known each other since we were basically
kids.”

“
He’s a square, always has been.
He’s not your friend, Bobbie. You look to guys like Oliver to feed
your ego, to boost your pathetic confidence. That’s
all.”

“
Excuse me? Oliver’s a real friend,
a genuine person. Something you know nothing about,” I
said.

“
Every guy’s nice until they get in
your pants, Bobbie. That’s how it goes.”

“
No, that’s just how you
are.”

“
I don’t know where you come off
thinking I should be kissing your ass 24/7. I’m not that guy,
Bobbie.”

“
No,” I said, “you’re not that
guy—or any other I’d want to be with for that matter.”

“
My date thinks otherwise, don’t you
think?” He looked around for Alessandra, who had been swallowed up
by a sea of admirers.

“
Great,” I said. “I’m happy for
you—you’ve replaced me. I feel bad for the next girl that has to
put up with your shit. I wish you both well. Now, if you’ll excuse
me—”

“
You underestimate me, Bobbie,” he
said. “And you over estimate yourself. I want you, and you need me.
Make your choice now, because at the end of the night it’s going to
be either him or me. And you know who you want. And it isn’t that
second-rate hack photographer.”