Good bye, Mr. Wilkes. I’ll call you soon to set up another meeting, I said loudly over the noise of the engine. This had only been a meeting. And I would have to have meetings if I was going to be in charge of things like this. Just a meeting. I pulled out of the lot with a little more speed than necessary and turned the wrong direction down Second.
Victoria, Tracy and I met at Season’s for salads. Leslie VanHouten cancelled at the last minute. She said she had a facial she’d forgotten about.
Tell us what the club is like, Victoria said.
It’s very exotic, I said. You could picture women with feather boas and cigarette holders dancing there. The looks on their faces indicated that Tracy and Victoria could not picture that.
On Saturday afternoons in the summer my mother and I would sit in her bedroom and watch old black and white movies filled with women wearing glamorous clothing. The bedroom was dark green and pleasantly cool on a hot summer day. She would make us popcorn, popped in olive oil. I would be allowed a soda while she would have a tall glass of vodka with ice. We watched Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Cyd Cherise … These elegant people danced effortlessly, as if they were simply walking. Like all my girlfriends, I wanted to be a dancer. I wasn’t sure what kind, but I knew I wanted to move like those women moved, to look like they looked. At tiny round tables encircling the dance floor, the patrons in the movies would drink cocktails from elegant glasses and admire the dancers. I wanted to wear fancy costumes and be stared at the way those women were stared at. I wanted to be admired.
Victoria and Tracy were staring at me. But it didn’t look like admiration. More like puzzlement. I wondered what I had said that could have prompted them to make those particular faces they were making at me.
Everything okay? I asked.
Yeah, said Tracy. Are you?
I tried to laugh. Then it was silent. Then Victoria said she thought it was great that I was so into my assignment.
Tracy quickly agreed and asked what the owner’s name was. I didn’t want to say. I don’t know why exactly, but I felt a need for secrecy, privacy. Then I said his name. Tracy laughed because I called him Mr. Wilkes. I stuffed a forkful of spinach into my mouth, dripping vinaigrette onto my pink silk top.
I just realized, said Tracy, that my cousin is married to a friend of his. Victoria was happy to hear this bit of news. Until then she had apparently been somewhat leery of taking the party to Detroit.
So, Tracy, you think this place is okay? I mean, you know, safe and everything? Victoria asked.
It’s fine, Victoria, Tracy said. I told you, Robert had an office gathering there once. It’s well lit. And not like it’s downtown or something. Plus, I hear “Mr. Wilkes” is quite good looking. Well, is he, Maria?
Definitely, I said before I had time to think.
Maybe I should come with you next time, Maria. Just in case! She nudged Victoria in the arm.
I felt my face start to burn. I mean, if you like that kind of man, I said.
The way I said it didn’t come out quite right. And I knew right away that it was one of those things that would just get worse if I started trying to fix it. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and then the meeting was over and we walked to our respective cars. Tracy got into her beige BMW. Victoria slid into a white Range Rover. We all waved politely as we pulled out of the lot.
To my next meeting at ‘All-Blues’ I wore a red sun dress and white Bernardo sandals. My mom wore Bernardo sandals when I was growing up. It seems all the memories I have of her were in the summer. The rest of the year our house was so busy with my dad’s functions and all that his job required. But in the summer we relaxed; my mother had time to do things with me. She wore t-shirts and shorts and read books in the sun.
I brought a white silk sweater with me to the meeting, assuming the air conditioning would be on inside the club. I looked good; my skin was already a light tan and the early summer sun had given me highlights in my hair. I had tried to look good, I realized as I walked toward the club.
Mr. Wilkes opened the door, which was locked this time. The cold air whooshed out and hit my warm skin with force. Mr. Wilkes ushered me to one of the tables near the dance floor and offered me iced tea. I asked him to call me Maria. He said I could call him Joe. All was well and any hurt feelings from the other day had apparently healed.
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