Champagne Life (20 page)

Before walking out of the office in shame, they graciously thanked me but told me that they were looking for someone with more skills in—whatever—I couldn't even remember the excuse they gave. Whatever it was, they were searching for in a qualified candidate, it wasn't on my resume. I sincerely hoped DeShaun was having a much better day.

“
S
o, man, what do you think?” M.J. asked. “Should I go streaking through this party to give the ladies a little something to look at?”

“Yeah,” DeShaun said. “I dare you.”

M.J. brushed off his shoulder. “Don't think I won't. But these old women might go crazy.”

“You need to stop,” DeShaun said. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” He looked out into the crowd at the party. There were over two hundred people in attendance, most of them fifty and over. He spotted Jenn in the crowd, standing alongside her husband while he chatted it up with another couple. When Jenn spotted him, she whispered something to her husband, politely nodded at the couple and then made her way over with an empty glass in her hand.

“Uh-oh,” M.J. said. “Here comes the barracuda and she's on empty. Look out.”

Jenn staggered over and smiled lazily at DeShaun. “Hi.” She'd already had too much to drink.

“Hi,” M.J. said, poking his head between the two of them.

Jenn looked at M.J. She leaned in and read his nametag. “Hello, Micah. I don't believe we've met.”

“Call me M.J.” He tipped the bottle and refilled her glass. “I've serviced several of your parties.”

“Sorry, I don't remember, but nice to meet you anyway.” She took a sip from her glass. “Do me a favor. See to it that the people under the canopy have a glass of champagne? It's running low over there.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Thank you.”

“And you.” She turned back to DeShaun. “Would you be so kind as to keep the wine flowing for us, especially the couple my husband is talking to? He's trying to make another business deal and feels as though getting them sloppy drunk is the best way to do it. It must work.” Jenn shrugged. “That's how he got me to marry him.”

M.J. laughed.

Jenn looked at M.J. “See? He thinks it's funny. Now, if you could take care of the guests under the canopy, that would be great.”

“Yes, ma'am.” M.J. disappeared into the kitchen for the champagne, but not before turning back to DeShaun and making a lewd gesture with his tongue behind her back.

Berti walked over to the both of them. “My good man.” He grabbed DeShaun's hand and shook rigorously. “Glad to see you again.”

“Same here, Sir.”

Berti placed a hand on DeShaun's shoulder. “I'll let you in on a little secret. See that couple over there?” Berti nodded toward the older couple he was speaking to a minute ago. “They have a lot of money and are close to making a deal with my company. Here's what I need you to do. I need a good wine to help seal the deal. Any suggestions?”

“Well,” DeShaun began, “I'd suggest a good Pinot. I can get a bottle right now, open it up, and let it breathe for ten minutes.”

“Really?” Berti asked, impressed. “Why Pinot?”

“It's not pretentious. It's not as if you're trying so hard to impress.
However, its full-bodied taste will make an impression all on its own. And besides that, it's damn good.”

Berti patted DeShaun on the back. “Bring it over in five minutes.” He started back over to the couple but stopped abruptly and turned around. “You should be there, too, Jenn.”

“I'll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Make it one minute.” He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “This dress looks nice, but I prefer the red one.” He walked away.

When he was out of earshot, Jenn mumbled, “That's why I wore this one.”

DeShaun cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I'd better get that wine.”

“Let me ask you a question? Do you believe Berti still loves me?”

Caught off-guard, in his head, DeShaun scrambled for an answer to the odd, yet inappropriate question.

“He's really not that bad,” Jenn said, her slurring more pronounced. “He still loves me, but it's more like a business partner than a wife. We haven't had sex in over three months. And I've never once cheated on him.”

He wanted to ask her if she actually wanted to have sex after witnessing him with some dude, but decided against it. “Two wrongs don't make a right.” As soon as he said that stupid shit, he wanted to kick himself.

“See the guy over there.” Jenn pointed to a crowd of servers, none of which DeShaun recognized. “The young guy with the braids in his hair—that's the one Berti has been fancying. He thinks I don't see him check these guys out. I see everything.”

DeShaun looked over at the waiters. The one Jenn referred to was really young, like, barely legal young.

She finished off her glass of wine. “As soon as this party is over, he'll tell me he has to clean up a business deal at the office. Berti honestly believes I'm an idiot.” She held up her empty glass and DeShaun filled it again.

“Maybe I should get you a glass of water, too,” he offered.

“Water? I don't need water. I need for my husband to get off those young boys. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I care that he's screwing around, not really. I just don't want it to affect my finances. The more time he spends screwing, the less time he's in the office making million-dollar deals.”

DeShaun was speechless. He guessed that answered the question as to whether or not she wanted to sleep with her husband after finding out about his extracurricular activities.

“Regardless, he will be tested before he even attempts to touch me again.”

DeShaun took the glass from her hand. “Um, I'll get you some water.”

“Don't bother. Didn't you hear my adoring husband? He needs me. I've got to go.” With shaky legs, she stumbled back to her husband. DeShaun headed back into the kitchen to find that bottle of wine. After that conversation, he was the one that needed a drink.

At three in the morning, most of the guests had left except for a few stragglers who sat in lounge chairs by the pool. Although it wasn't his job, DeShaun stayed behind to help the caterers and his crew fold up the tables and clean the grounds. On the last table, he pulled out his phone and checked his messages. He had one, but didn't recognize the number. When he listened to the message, he heard Naomi's voice. She was going on an interview and was wishing him luck tonight. That was early afternoon. He wanted to
call her but decided against it. It was too late and she was probably asleep.

“I have a message for you,” Jenn said, walking up to him. She had changed out of her dress and wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Her face was stripped of makeup and she was wearing her trademark casual hairstyle; a ponytail. She looked like she had sobered up some, too.

DeShaun folded up one of the tablecloths and placed it into a box labeled,
Supplies
. He grabbed another one. “Looks like you're feeling better.”

She grabbed a corner from the tablecloth he was holding and connected it with his end. “You mean less drunk. Oh, and Berti says thanks for the tip. That bottle of wine you suggested was perfect. Mr. Reinhardt, the man he was speaking with, loved it. Berti gave him a bottle to take home.”

“Did he seal the business deal?”

“Of course,” Jenn said, grabbing another tablecloth. “He wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Tell him I said, ‘You're welcome,' and ‘Congratulations.'”

“I would but he had to go to the office to handle some paperwork.”

DeShaun wondered if Jenn had remembered what she told him about the waiter earlier. He quickly scanned the grounds and while most of the other waiters DeShaun had no affiliation with were still doing last minute clean up around the house, the young waiter with the braids was gone.”

“Later this week, we're having a progressive party,” Jenn said. “I'd love it if you'd be there.”

Progressive parties were like a mobile party, in which each course was served at a different location, usually one of the attendees' houses. DeShaun had serviced a few and found it easy work. He made the
same amount of money as a four-hour event, but in a third of the time since he would only be working one course.

“Which course are you doing?” he asked.

“I've been elected for the desserts.”

“How many people? I'll need to know how many servers to bring.”

“Oh, no,” Jenn said, shaking her head. “I wasn't asking you to work the party. I was asking you to come along with me. Berti will be out of town and I hate going to these things alone. I need a buffer there to keep me from falling asleep…preferably, someone under the age of sixty and with a pulse.”

“Um, I'm not sure about that.”

“Of course you'd have to clear it with your wife first, but, look at it this way, you could make some great business contacts. You could pass out a card. These people are always having parties and looking for any excuse to throw around their money.”

DeShaun found it amusing Jenn was describing these people exactly the way he and Naomi had described her.

He did like the idea. She may have actually been on to something. “I don't have business cards.”

“You're so good at what you do, you need to really consider doing this full-time. You could make good money.”

“Maybe.”

“It was just an idea,” she said with a shrug. “I just thought—”

“No, it's a good idea,” he said. “Really.”

“So you'll go with me?”

“I'll talk to Mimi and get back to you.”

“Oh, by the way,” she said. “Before I forget, here's the money for tonight.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. She stuck the bills into DeShaun's shirt pocket. “Thanks again, DeShaun. And let me know what you decide about that party.”

“I will.”

When she left, DeShaun reached into his pocket and pulled out the money. He was shocked to see she had given him five, neatly folded, one-hundred-dollar bills. That was more than double his normal salary for working a gig like this.

W
hen Jeremy pulled onto the driveway, the house was completely dark. The outside lights weren't on so, as expected, I had beat DeShaun home. The time on the car dash read 9:37.

Jeremy and I were supposed to come straight home, but, after thinking about it on the way home, I made him stop at a restaurant to get something to eat. Along with my chicken salad sandwich, I chugged down an ice-cold beer—maybe not the best thing for me when I was feeling sick.

“Are you feeling better?” Jeremy asked, when he turned off the car. “I can take you to the hospital, if you want.”

I shook my head. “I'm fine, thanks.”

I wasn't fine. I was the furthest I had ever been from fine. I felt tired all the time, and, according to the doctor, it was mostly stress related. However, the stress was there because of life. Unless you rolled over and died, how could you just stop living your life?

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No. DeShaun should be home soon.”

Jeremy looked at me and took my hand. “Please, don't get all worked up. Everything will work out. It's not as bad as it seems.”

“I know it's not,” I lied, trying to get out of another “Everything-Happens-For-A-Reason” speech. When I was younger, my mother kicked that line to me every single time something went
wrong. I fell off my brand-new bike and busted my knee. When I wailed all the way back to my house, Mom inspected the gash and told me, “Oh, please. It's not the end of the world.” You'd think a psychologist would have a better method of comfort for a child.

It may not have been the end of the world, but that mile long scrape running down my leg hurt like hell. That's what I was feeling now; that mile long scrape of life that never seemed to find any relief. I'd get over it; I always did. But hearing another lecture wouldn't help.

“Call if you need anything,” Jeremy said. “I'll keep my eyes open for more jobs.”

Before I got out of the car, I reached into my purse and found my keys. “Thanks.” I stepped out of the car and headed toward the front door. Before I opened the door, I turned around. Jeremy was watching me, waiting until I got into the house, like a parent did.

When I went to open the door, I noticed it was slightly ajar.

Was DeShaun home already?
I pushed open the door and reached for the light switch. When I turned on the light, the air rushed right out of me. I thought this day could not have gotten any worse…. I was dead wrong.