The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

A Sunday Lunch with Scrambled Seating

Previously: "Flirting with Disaster" 

You should probably get together with Elise, but there will be time for that later. The prospect of seeing Chelsea, Chelsea's mom, and Gordon all together at the same time and place is too delicious.

You ask Chelsea to pause everything while you run upstairs to shower and change.

* * * * *

"You clean up pretty good there, son," your dad says as the four of you are waiting for Gordon in the restaurant patio area. There's a critical edge to his voice, which tells you it isn't a compliment he's giving you, but a back-handed criticism of the way you usually dress.

But Chelsea dimples. "I think he does, too," she coos, and she brushes down the lapel of your jacket. "You know, Jordan, you should dress up more often. You look really nice. And I bet Elise would like it. Girls like it when their guys dress up."

You return her a tight smile and glance at your mom, who is staring with a frozen expression at a wall. But she makes no reaction.

Nor is your smile the only thing that pinches. Behind your jacket, your dress slacks are cutting you hard under the belly. Gotta start working out again, you tell yourself. Get some of this weight off! You flinch when your eye falls on the restaurant's dessert display tray, with its towering slabs of chocolate cake, its clouds of tiramisu, and its goblets of candy-colored gelato.

Ristorante Locarno is the toniest restaurant in town, and eating there is a rare treat. It is a rambling building built of rough, black rock—basalt, maybe—under a red tile roof, with a short, circular tower poking up at one end. Ivy climbs the outside wall that faces onto the back patio and its outside bar. A few couples, mostly elderly and clearly well off, sip cocktails at glass-top tables under burgundy-red canvas awnings. No one has been doing much talking. Chelsea has been rubbernecking with a vacant smile on her face; your dad has been thoughtfully studying the Specials menu; and your mom has been staring at that ivy-covered wall with a hard, distant stare.

After ten dull minutes, Gordon finally arrives. At six-foot-six, with wide shoulders and a deep chest, he is physically even more intimidating that Tyler Hendrickson, with a physical presence only slightly softened by a soft, gray sports jacket and slacks. He's even wearing a tie!

Chelsea gives an audible squeak and runs up to him. She and Gordon lightly embrace, touching each other only from the shoulder up, then she leads him back to where the rest of you are waiting. Handshakes and hellos are exchanged all around; your mom, you notice, is very gray in the face, except for a flush at her cheeks and throat.

You fall in beside her as the five of you go in. "Are you okay?" you murmur.

"I'm fine!" she hisses back. But she doesn't look fine. Apart from the flush in her face, she has changed into a dark gray suit that looks at least two sizes too small for her, so that it looks like her hips and boobs are about to burst out; you fancy you hear the stitches creaking and groaning as totters into the restaurant. You have to catch her at one point as she almost falls off those stiletto heels. How much did she have to drink this morning? you wonder.

However much it was, it wasn't enough. "I'll have a Long Island Ice Tea," she mutters at the hostess as you're being seated. The hostess only smiles and says she'll pass the order on to the server.

"Why did they put us at such a big table?" Gordon asks. The five of you have been put at an eight-top.

"There's another couple joining us," your dad says. His eyes flick over at your mom, who doesn't react. "If you two want to move down," he tells Chelsea, who is seated at his right hand.

She smiles. "I like sitting her between two such handsome guys," she gushes. "And across from a third," she adds, dimpling at you.

"Who's joining us?" you ask.

"Frank and Betty Vredenburg." You jump at the names, but no one seems to notice. "Some school business they want to discuss. Honey," your dad says to your mom as a waiter in a starched, white shirt and tie appears at his shoulder. "How about you just get a regular ice tea instead of a, uh—"

Her mouth tightens. "If I'm going to talk to Betty Vredenburg—"

"Mom," Chelsea says in a low voice. Kelly falls silent, and lets your dad order her an Italian soda.

"Think we can kill a bottle of Burgundy between us?" you ask Gordon. His eyes widen slightly, and after darting a glance at your dad he shakes his head. "Whiskey sour," you tell the waiter, and listen for someone to stop you. But no one does. Gordon hesitates, and says he'll stick to water.

"Italian food two days in a row," your dad says as he studies the menu. "Someone's trying to spoil me. Chelsea made the best lasagna I ever had last night," he tells Gordon.

"Mom showed me," Chelsea says. Her face shines. "But I think I did pretty good for my first time." It looks like she has taken Gordon's hand under the table.

"Hey, I been meaning to ask you," you tell Gordon with a reckless abandon that makes you want to laugh out loud. "Who got the key this year?"

Gordon's brow furrows. After a pause, your dad says, "What key?"

"Key to a special break room up at the high school," you tell the table. "A little perk Coach Brooks likes to give his favorite guys at the start of each year." You can hardly keep from giggling as the blood drains from every face at the table except your dad's. "I was just wondering who his 'favorite' was this year."

"I dunno," Gordon says in a barely audible voice. There's a glint in his eye that might be fear, but might also be anger, but you just grin back at him.

"Coach usually gives it to the team captain with the best chance of going to state," you say.

"We don't know who's got it," Chelsea says. "We don't pay much attention to—"

Your dad jumps in. "Westside's going to state this year, aren't they? Gordon?"

"Sir? I mean, yes sir!" he stammers. "Doing our best to! Me and Steve—"

"Who had the key when you were at Westside?" Chelsea demands of you. Her face has suddenly grown hard.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know who it was when I was a freshman. But when I was a sophomore it was John Simonson. That was the last year we fielded a decent football team, you know." You laugh at Gordon. "No way Coach would give the key to any of the football guys this year, right? Like, from what I hear they'll be lucky not to finish in last place. But, uh, my junior year it was Logan McMinn and his gang that got the key, and my senior year it was Nathaniel Heard. And last year I know Coach gave it to—"

"Have you ever been up in that break room?" Chelsea asks. Her eyes bore into you.

You shrug. "A couple of times, sure. It was a lot nicer than hanging out in the library during study hall. Now that I think about it, McMinn was the last time Coach didn't give it to one of the basketball teams. 'S'amatter, Black?" You grin. "You do something to piss off Coach Brooks?" When Gordon says nothing, you add, "I dunno, maybe he gave it to Ansell or someone. Lacrosse doesn't get the respect at Westside it should, so—"

"Actually, now that you mention it," Gordon says, "I think I did hear something about the coaches giving some kind of, like, pass or key to Jason Lynch." He flushes as he holds your eye. "He's the pitcher for the baseball team."

"You friends with him?"

He hesitates before muttering, "We hang out sometimes."

Before you can start working at that angle, your dad grabs the conversational baton again, asking Gordon about the basketball team and its prospects. You settle back and ignore the darting frowns that Chelsea is giving you. Instead, you lean over to ask your mom, who's seated on your right, how come the Vredenburgs are joining you for lunch.

"Business with the cheerleaders," she says. When you press her, she adds, "Chelsea's going to ask Cindy to co-captain with her." There's a soft hiss inside her voice as she says it.

You have to let out a low whistle. "I kinda figured Chels would wanna grip that position to herself with both claws."

"Well, it's going to be part of a deal, a reorganization. And I'm going to start taking a hand with the squad. Kind of a part-time coach," she adds in a tone of grim triumph.

You feel your jaw slacken. "You're going to start coaching the cheerleader squad?"

"Help coach it," she says. "Chelsea asked me to."

"Wait, she wants your help and she wants Cindy to be co-captain with her? She thinks the job's too much for herself, or something?"

You sense your mom stiffening, but before she can reply you're interrupted by cries of greeting. A middle-aged man and woman, hardly older than the Coopers, approach your table with wide smiles, and your mom and dad get up to welcome the newcomers. After introductions, your dad makes you move around to the other side of the table, next to Gordon, so that Betty Vredenburg and your mom can sit side by side.

You content yourself with buttering and eating a roll while listening to the table talk, and it's not long, you notice, before your mom drops out and Chelsea takes over, telling Mrs. Vredenburg how she wants Cindy to take over some of the responsibilities for managing the squad.

And Cindy's mom is very sympathetic. "I know how hard it can be," she tells Chelsea. "You know, Lucy was squad captain her senior year, and she can tell you all about— Well, I guess she can tell you herself when she gets here."

You freeze at her words. Lucy will be joining you all for lunch as well?

That's all for now.

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 1)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)"