Cutlass and Bobo’s villa glittered to showcase Rosa Azul’s sapphire rose pin. Secured behind glass and lit by gallery lights, its sparkle was dazzling. A pianist played movie themes. Glasses clinked toasts. Laughter filled the air.
Bobo asked the guests to wear something blue. Blue roses were stuffed in crystal vases. Frozen Blueberry Margaritas were served.
Of course, Max had been teased out of retirement (without too much coercion) to cater. Bobo had asked for all blue food but Max told him the only natural blue food was blueberries, however, he assured Bobo that the menu would please. On silver trays we arranged Moroccan Duck Patties with Date Confit, Peruvian Clams a la Parmesan, Spicy Cajun Crab Rangoon, Lamb Stuffed Phyllo, and Miniature Blueberry Crumble Cups. The fragrances were heavenly.
Looking handsome in a midnight blue shirt and Hermes silk scarf, Max was buoyed by compliments, like a marshmallow floating on hot chocolate.
I was wearing a periwinkle blue Norma Kamali dress I bought a few years ago (alright, I did have it taken out just a weensy bit) and I received compliments. I wove through the crowd listening to comments about Rosa’s pin.
“I heard it was designed by Faberge and part of the Romanov collection and given to her by a Russian millionaire!”
“I heard by an Arabian shiek!”
“No! By Clark Gable!”
I caught Bobo’s eye and we smiled at each other. Only Cutlass, Bobo, Max and I knew the truth and we’d never tell.
In a sea of elegant gowns and tailored shirts, one person stood out – a massive, frumpy woman in lime green vinyl boots and mini dress with an unfortunate 70’s pattern. There was something oddly familiar about her. She was talking to Max whose eyes had glazed.
I took Cutlass by the arm and asked, “Who’s that woman talking to Max?”
“I really don’t know. She’s a guest of one of our friends. Her name is Fiona Blaha and I think she lives in Troy, New York. But personally, my dear, from the looks of her it could be ancient Troy.”
Fiona Blaha? The girl who had bullied me in grade school? The girl I had put in a file on my computer on New Year’s Day then clicked the “Delete” button? It had to be. How many Fiona Blahas from Troy, New York are there? Of all the galas in all the world, she had to walk into this gala. Even though, I had clicked “Delete,” sometimes trash comes back.
Time had marched on and it marched right over her face. She had had so many facelifts she bore no resemblance to her family. It seems like her best years might have been in grade school.
Ah! Sweet revenge. I have her in my sights. I can go over and smile graciously. I could say, “Fiona, dear! What a surprise! My, how you’ve changed! Remember me from school days? I’m Sylvia and I so want to tell you all the marvelous things that have happened to me.
But why? I do have a marvelous life. Why hurt somebody on purpose?
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