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My only objective tonight is to ensure everyone is having fun. Oh, and also, Dr. Missick has insisted that I remind everyone that there are complimentary condoms in a bowl near the door that guests can (read:must) take at the end of the night.
I like to think I’m putting on a pretty great event. The energy in the room is lively and fun. We have a DJ onstage blasting hits from the ’60s and ’70s. A few waiters traipse through the crowd, passing around cocktails and denture-friendly light bites. I’m wearing a huge flower tucked behind my left ear and a flowy pink dress courtesy of Lara. Also, I’ve been given free rein on the microphone, which was a bad idea from the start.
“... And so that’s why we had to put down my childhood dog,” I say, wrapping up a long-winded story.
Eyes blink up at me in stupor.
Right. I’m losing them.
I think fast and draw another ball so I can call out the corresponding number.
“B-5!”
“God fucking damn it!” Mr. Leroy shouts loudly enough for everyone to hear.
I don’t miss a beat.
“Wee-oh, wee-oh, wee-oh!” I singsong like a siren, pointing Mr. Leroy over to the limbo station set up in front of the stage. There’s a house rule: if people get out of hand with the cursing and foul language (which happens a lot with this group), they must limbo. I wave for the DJ to turn the music up as Mr. Leroy stands to accept his punishment. It’s silly and dumb, but it’s also really fun. And Mr. Leroy actually clears the pole, which is good because earlier I accidentally sent a guest to Dr. Missick after they accidentally threw their back out.
The crowd cheers for Mr. Leroy as I reach for another ball in the bingo cage.
Just when I hold it up, my gaze falls on the figure in the back of the ballroom.
I’m not sure how long Cole has been here watching me onstage, but seeing him is thrilling in the same way it is, say, when you get electrocuted.Zap.
I stutter over the number, and the crowd starts mumbling.
What’d she say?!
I didn’t catch it.
Was it G-48 or B-48?!
“B-48!” I clarify, dropping the ball back with the other dead ones and then surreptitiously wiping a sweaty palm on my dress.
I’m desperate to look back up at Cole—to try to read his expression—but then someone near the back of the room shouts, “BINGO!”
They know the drill. The person’s card will be checked by a staff member, and if they haven’t cheated (at their age, these people have very little to lose), they get to pick something from a curated prize table, which includes such priceless items as a plastic Siesta Playa key chain, a large-print sudoku book, a needlepoint pattern of a whale and dolphin holding flippers, and a bag of Werther’s Originals. They rave about the offerings.
“Okay, we’ll take a short dance break while we check their card!” I tell everyone, waving for the DJ to turn up the music a bit. “Then we’ll start the next round!”
I hop offstage with plans to head toward the bathroom, but instead my feet carry me straight to Cole because I’m a glutton for punishment and I haven’t seen him in a few days. He watches me approach with a level of arrogance that makes me shiver. I’ll never understand why he’s so intimidating. He’s notthatmuch older than me, just a few years. It’s the black suit, maybe. The shiny metal name tag:COLECLARK, ASSISTANTDIRECTOR OFOPERATIONS.
Ooh la la.
We skip the polite greetings because neither one of us has bothered with them in months. I go straight for the kill.
“Come to play with your friends? I’m sure we can find you a bingo card. Be warned, though, the needlepoint patterns are going fast. I hope luck is on your side.”
He almost smiles. “Just checking in on things.”
He surveys the room as if to prove his point, and I’m treated to a view of his jawline. I focus my attention there before he looks back down at me and stares a beat too long at the big purple flower in my hair.
“I’m assuming you heard about the limbo incident earlier ...”
It’s probably why he’s here, to slap me on the wrist and dole out the necessary punishment.
I swear he’s fighting back a laugh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. I hold perfectly still, like maybe he’ll give into the feeling if only he forgets that I’m here watching him. Laugh, damn it.
