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~ Bridget ~
Past
“OMG.”
Both mine and Amy’s jaws drop as the driver Amy booked using a ride-hailing app pulled up in front of a mansion with gabled roofs and the largest windows I have ever seen.
“Damn,” the driver whistled. “You ladies must be going to some party.”
“I can’t believe he lives here,” Amy whispered, her eyes wide with awe.
Dressed in a black halter dress she bought just for the occasion, Amy pulls out her cell and snaps a photo of JD’s house. I adjust the white crepe jumpsuit I borrowed from Simone. It’s a little tall on me, as I have to shop the petite section in stores, and necessitates wearing high-heels so the bottoms of the pant legs don’t drag on the floor. The shoes I borrowed from Kat run small on me, and heels and I don’t get along for the most part.
Wearing clothes that aren’t mine and having let Amy do my hair and makeup, I feel like an imposter. At least I probably look the best I’ve ever looked since prom.
Two valets opens the car doors for us. I grab Darren’s jacket and drape it over my arm. We step out of the car and stand beneath soft golden lanterns hanging from the archway above the entry. A beautifully dressed hostess greets us, takes our names, checks her tablet, and tells us the reception is being held on the back balcony.
In the foyer stands a young man with a tray of champagne flutes.
“Just one,” Amy tells me. “I bet it’s really expensive champagne.”
“It’s an Armand de Brignac,” the server tells us.
Amy turns to me. “See?”
I’m willing to bet Amy has never heard of Armand de Brignac. I certainly haven’t.
After Amy takes a glass, the server presents the tray to me, but I shake my head. Seeing a woman manning the coat check, I decide to have her hang up Darren’s jacket. She takes the jacket and tells us to head down the hall, which will take us to the balcony.
We walk on gleaming stone flooring, past Asian-themed art and windows draped with stylish window treatments.
“This house is gorgeous,” Amy says as we approach an expansive living area with wall-to-wall glass doors leading to the balcony, which was already filled with guests.
“I’ve never been in a more amazing house,” I agree as I nearly trip over a rug. I fear I’m going to have to spend most of the time sitting down. These heels are not my friend.
Right before we make it outside, a server offers us a selection of appetizers: puff pastries with some kind of pâté, caviar and smoked salmon canapés, and lobster salsa with guacamole on top of a mini fried wonton wrapper.
“OMG, all this looks sooooo good,” Amy drawls.
I help myself to the lobster appetizer, but Amy doesn’t partake.
“Miss?” the server asks her.
“No thanks,” Amy replies. She turns to me. “I don’t want to get anything stuck in my teeth.”
“I’d do a teeth check for you,” I assure her before taking a bite of my appetizer. Oh, man, she is missing out.
“But what if I can’t get it out?”
We step outside, which would have been chilly to say the least if not for the outdoor heat lamps. Garlands of string lights glow softly overhead. I gasp at the view of the bay and Golden Gate Bridge. Across the water, the lights of Marin County twinkle back at us.
Amy and I hang back for a moment. We’re probably among the youngest event attendees. We know no one.
“I can’t believe JD’s asking at least two thousand per guest for Drumm,” a man says to another as they walk past us to enter the house. “That’s almost the max for the primaries.”
I spot a blond wearing a low-cut dress standing beside a table with remit envelopes. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline flirts with her and eventually takes out his checkbook.
“Is this a fundraising event for Drumm?” I ask Amy.
