"Over here, Diana," a woman's voice called from the alcove on the far side of the room.
"Hi, girls. Look who I found just walking along the street," Diana said. "You remember Lara."
"Oh my gawd," a rather large and seriously middle-aged woman shrieked. "I don't believe it!"
"Hello, Cybil," I said. I didn't believe it either. "And Grace! How are you?" I said to a slim dark-haired woman who in truth did look much the way she had in college. And…" For a moment the name escaped me. "Anna," I said. Even though Diana had already mentioned Anna, I had trouble identifying the rather shy and retiring woman of indeterminate age in front of me with the dynamo called Anna I'd known in college. "It's great to see all of you."
"We have a surprise for you, too," Grace said, gesturing toward an empty chair and a lipstick-smudged drink glass. "She's just gone to the ladies room."
"Who is it?" Diana asked.
"Guess," Cybil said. "You never will."
"Hello, Diana," a voice said behind us. "And Lara! I didn't know you were coming. What a nice surprise."
"Hello, Vesta," I said. "I didn't know I was coming either."
"You have to call her Morgan now," Cybil said. "It's her professional name. Doesn't it suit her?" It did, rather. Morgan was tall, very slim in a smashing scarlet silk suit, beautifully made-up, with matching fingernails and red silk shoes. I immediately felt like a middle-aged frump.
"One could hardly have a modeling career with a name like Vesta Stubbs," Morgan said.
An extra chair was found and squeezed in around the circle, another glass of wine fetched. "I can't believe my eyes," Diana said. "The Dovercourt Divas together again. After all these years!"
"Wasn't that the most awful place?" Morgan said. "The way the bugs in the kitchens scurried about if you turned on the light without making a lot of noise first. The smell from that restaurant below. The whole place should have been condemned as a fire trap. We did have fun, though, didn't we?"
We did, indeed: six University of Toronto students who lived in a little warren of tiny bachelor apartments over a Chinese restaurant on Dovercourt Road. You got up to the apartments through what the landlord rather optimistically called a courtyard at the back. We named ourselves the Dovercourt Divas, and for a year or two we'd been inseparable.
But that had been a long time ago, and at first it was rather heavy going with none of us quite knowing what to say, other than "it's been years," or "you haven't changed a bit." By the time the second round of drinks had been ordered however, we were all talking at once.
"Stop," Diana said. "I think we should each summarize our lives since we left Vic. Let's make it twenty words or less. I'll start. Graduate school, master's degree, doctorate, taught for awhile but failed to get tenure. Took up bookkeeping. Never married. I think that's too many words."
"It is, but I'll make mine shorter to compensate," Cybil said. "Got knocked up, shotgun wedding. Never graduated. Had four kids. Gained forty pounds. Divorced the creep. How many's that?"
"Sixteen," Diana said. "Unless shotgun is two words, or knocked up is one. I never was so hot at spelling as you may recall. Lara?"
"Traveled. Brought back stuff. Opened store to get rid of it," I said. "Got married. Got divorced. Lost store in divorce. Started another one. Got back in business with ex-husband. Not sure why. No kids. Live alone."
"You and I always were the talkers," Diana said. "That's way too many words. You'll have to buy the next round. Morgan?"
"Traveled. Modeled. Got too old," Morgan said, counting on bejeweled fingers. "Married well. Big house. Husband screws around. No kids. Starve to keep thin. Love botox. I believe that is exactly twenty."
"What's botox?" Cybil said.
"It's a poison you inject into your forehead to get rid of your wrinkles," Morgan replied.
"You're kidding," Cybil said.
"I'm afraid not," Morgan said.
"A poison?" Cybil repeated.
"It's related in some way I do not understand to botulism."
"Yikes," Cybil said.
"I tell everyone I have it done because it helps my migraines," Morgan said. "Which maybe it does. But since you know me all too well, I'll confess that's a lie. I do it to look younger. I've also had my eyes done, twice, in fact."
"All I can say is that you're gorgeous, and you would be even with wrinkles," Cybil said loyally. "And you don't need to be a toothpick, either. Not that I'm suggesting you let yourself go the way I have. I said forty pounds, but it's closer to fifty. Okay, sixty."
"I envy you. I put on three pounds and my charming husband tells me I'm getting fat," Morgan said.
"You envy me?" Cybil snorted. "Not. Why don't you just leave him if he's so picky?"
"Given I have no marketable skills to speak of, the modeling thing being a young person's game, I have to hold on to him. Did I mention that I have to walk on my toes when I'm in my bare feet because I've been wearing very high heels for too long?"
"A rather pathetic attempt to gain our sympathy, Vesta. I mean, Morgan," Cybil said. "It won't work."
"You're also cheating on the number of words, Morgan," Diana said. "With all these additional comments. And we have yet to hear from Anna and Grace. Anna, you're next in the circle."
"No, please," Anna said, blushing. "I couldn't."
"Have another sip of wine, " Morgan said. "I've been candid. We all have."
"Anna doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," Cybil said in a protective tone.
"Why not? How bad could it be?" Morgan asked. Cybil shot her a warning look.
"I want to," Anna said. "It's just… Give me a minute."
"Okay," Diana said. "Grace, your turn."
"Hmm. Medical school in the States. Family practice five years. More medical school. Surgeon at Toronto General. Married ten years to a really wonderful man. Widowed now, and haven't found wonderful man number two. I would say no time to find man number two, but I've run out of words."
"You're cheating too," Diana said. "Sneaking in extra words under the guise of an aside."
"A surgeon!" Cybil said.
"Very impressive," Morgan said. "What kind of surgeon? Plastic, I hope, so I can get a discount for old times' sake." We all laughed, even Anna.
"Heart," Grace replied. "Sorry."
"Boy, two doctors here, Diana the PhD, and Grace the surgeon. I always knew you two were smart. All of you were smarter than I was. Yes, you were," Cybil added as we all demurred. "Grace, you make me think of that riddle we used to tell each other while we were in college," she went on. "You know, the one about the man and his son who are in a car crash. The man is killed and the kid is seriously injured, and when he's brought to the hospital, the surgeon says "I can't operate on this boy because he's my son,' and you're supposed to guess how that might be."
"The surgeon is a woman," Diana said. "I remember that. Some people actually couldn't guess the answer. I suppose we've come a long way. I'll bet you have lots of stories to tell about what it was like for you along the way, though, Grace."
"I do, but it would take a lot more than twenty words."
"Would it be way too awful to ask about your husband's death?" Cybil asked.
"Heart attack, wouldn't you know?" Grace said.
"Oh dear," Cybil said.
"Yes. The way I see it, he died because I wasn't there. One could argue whether I should have been at the time or not, or if I had been whether it would have made any difference or not, but there you are."
"Oh dear," Cybil said again.
"Got married. Had three beautiful children," Anna suddenly blurted out. We all looked at her. She was twirling a lock of dirty blond hair around her finger and her face was red. "The little boy died. I had a nervous breakdown. Daughters live with their father. I live with my mother." There was an audible gasp from the rest of us.