Slipping on my heels, I walk from the closet to find Rod grimacing at my feet as I click across the room to the bathroom. “You’re wearing heels?”
“Yes, this dress needs t-strap shoes.” My tone is sharp but I’m in no mood to argue over how it makes him appear small. The conversation is annoying and the insinuation that he’s average size whereas I’m a freak is always noted.
“This one has ballet flats.” He lifts his phone to reveal a black-and-white photo of a flapper girl wearing flat shoes.
“Well, I don’t have t-strap flats. I have a two-inch heel.” I walk to the bathroom to finish my hair which I curl quickly. Fortunately, my shoulder-length dark-brown hair is the perfect shape for the roaring twenties. I spray the curls again and place the headband on so it flattens the curls against my forehead.
I take a selfie and send it to my group chat with Liz and Shawnee.
Immediately, both respond with praise and compliments.
My confidence over the whole outfit soars as I walk from the bathroom. Rod is in a navy pinstripe suit with shiny black shoes. He has his mustache winged into something a villain would wear and his eyebrows are darkened, likely with my eyeliner that I’ll now have to throw out. His hair is darker than normal as it’s slicked back with gel. “How do I look?” he asks.
“Good.” I wait for him to compliment me back, but he doesn’t. Punishment for the heels, though the one-and-a-half-inch heel on his shoes still make him half an inch taller than me. “Then let’s get going before we’re late.” He turns on his huge heel and strides out of the room.
I can’t tell if he’s annoying me with his childish behavior or if I’m just over this, deadening myself in preparation for us separating eventually.
How has this become my life?
Sighing, I walk to the front door.
The ride is silent for the first ten minutes. I spend it agonizing over the fact I’ll see Elaine. Will she come to me right away and make up a story or apologize in hopes I don’t tell Brent? Or will she simply laugh at me, thinking I’m pathetic for staying? Does she love Rod? Worse, does he love her?
My stomach twists into a ball my dress doesn’t have room for. I push the thoughts to the back of my mind and decide to pretend everything is fine. It’s not something new at this point.
“Do you have your character memorized?” Rod asks, finally speaking to me. “When I talked to Paul earlier, he made it sound like there wouldn’t be any reading of the cards. They wanted everyone in character and no breaking it. You say the things to the people you have been instructed to say them to and stay in character all night.”
“No. Have you?”
“Nope.” He laughs. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“I was thinking we could sneak the cards in and carefully peek at them when we need to.” He shrugs.
“Why would they ask us to do this party?” I groan. “They don’t even know us.”
“We want them to like us so he hires us to manage all his properties and not just the ones in Dartmouth.” He leans over, offering his cheek for me to kiss. Forcing myself to keep the peace, I place a soft peck, leaving behind bright-red lipstick and not bothering to wipe it away. It suits the villain eyebrows and villain soul.
Paul and Saroula’s house is stunning. It’s a Mediterranean oceanfront mansion on the edge of Point Pleasant Park, quite near our office. It’s a dream house and suits the murder-mystery parties they’re famous for. This is our first time going since Rod started managing some of the buildings Paul owns across the harbor in Dartmouth.
Brent and Elaine have been before, as Elaine is Saroula’s yoga instructor and Brent is practically as rich as Paul, with several franchises in his holdings.
We are the odd ones out, a property manager and an accountant, but Rod likes to pretend we’re nearly as wealthy. Exaggeration wouldn’t come close to describing that lie.
A valet opens the door for me, and another takes the keys from Rod when he hands the man our invitation. The valet nods and points to the enormous double-door front entryway.
“Thanks,” I say and walk up to the door, trying to discreetly adjust my Spanx.
“Good evening, Professor Callow and Ms. Fortescue. I see you carpooled. How efficient of you.” A man I do not know greets us wearing an expensive suit with a pocket watch and monocle. His mustache, as well as his whole look, reminds me of something from a Sherlock Holmes remake. He’s older, maybe sixty, but quite handsome and fit. “I am Lord Bartholomew and will be your host for the evening, for it is I who has invited you here.” He opens the door wide for us, revealing the most magnificent entrance I’ve ever seen. “Please come in.” His flawless English accent suggests he might in fact be from the UK.
Rod and I walk in. Immediately, our jackets are taken by two members of the staff who are dressed for the period.
“Everyone else is waiting in the parlor.” Lord Bartholomew offers me his arm. I take it, glimpsing back at Rod with nerves fluttering about in my stomach. He shrugs, also wide-eyed and worried.
The parlor is filled with people. Some I know, most are strangers. Everyone is dressed to the nines and in perfect period attire.
Brent sees us and comes over, smile wide and hand out. He’s incredibly handsome in his old-fashioned breeches and waistcoat. I don’t understand how Elaine could possibly think to cheat on him, and not with someone like Rod. Brent is successful and wealthy, sure. But he’s also considerably better looking than Rod and way fitter. “Captain Emerita, at your service, milady. I’m currently in the city on rest.” He takes my hand and kisses it delicately.
“Ms. Fortescue, a friend of the family. Charmed,” I say, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“Professor Callow,” Rod adds, taking Brent’s hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
Brent reaches with his long arm and drags Elaine over as she pretends to be too busy talking to another woman. “And this is Lady Godin. She is the heiress to a massive whiskey distillery.”
The good thing about being so tall is Elaine is way below my eyeline. Even in her short heels she is only five foot two, maybe.
“Milady,” Brent bows, making Elaine giggle. Her eyes don’t meet mine and she doesn’t greet me. I’m assuming guilt has her tongue. I don’t offer anything back and instead take in the massive room. But if the lights go out and weapons are nearby, she could be the murder mystery we’re solving tonight.
The host begins speaking, introductions are done, and the first round begins, though it is not indicated or spelled out. Everything is subtle and everyone else is good at this.
“These people are not messing around, Lil. You need to bring your A game,” Brent whispers when he catches me sneaking a peek at my conversation card in my purse. His mannerisms and jovial nature suggest Elaine has not told him about the weird phone call I intercepted. Her evasiveness toward me is read loud and clear. She doesn’t want to talk about it. And since we have never gotten along, likely because she was having sex with my husband, there is no reason to talk at all.
I’m fine with that but haven’t yet taken murdering her and Rod off the evening’s itinerary.
The party moves fast and the drinks are potent. I’m struggling with maintaining sobriety, remembering my character, and the possibility this will turn into some weird Eyes Wide Shut sex game at some point.