"That's not the point, dear. It's just better if everyone's names are displayed so that the lines of communication have already opened."
I thought maybe she was trying to be funny but then realized this was impossible to do without a sense of humor.
"What's your name, dear?" she said.
"Beulah. My name is Beulah," I told her.
Her eyes darted from mine to Nathan's, but he backed me up with a quick nod in her direction.
"How is that spelled?" she asked.
"Just as it sounds, B-e-u-1-a-h," I said. Then she ripped off the adhesive and stuck it right above my right breastplate. "I love your head ornament," she said with a closed smile.
"I love your personality!" I said with wide eyes and an open smile. I had used this look before when a bank teller at Wells Fargo had threatened to put a ten-day hold on a check from my father because my average balance was $3.56.
Nathan grabbed me by the arm and pulled me toward the patio. There were various food stations all around and two bars positioned at either end.
"I'll get us drinks, you find somewhere to sit," I told him. I went to the bar and ordered two Ketel One and sodas.
"Fourteen dollars, please," the bartender said.
"This isn't an open bar?" I asked.
"Only for well drinks," he told me. "The well vodka is Gordon's."
"Who's Gordon?" I asked him.
He half smiled at me, shrugging only one of his shoulders.
"Hold on," I said and ran over to Nathan. "Give me money, it's not an open bar. This party is starting out very badly, Nathan. Not so good, so far!" I intimated that an unhappy Chelsea would lead to unhappy times. He got the message.
After I paid for our drinks, I came back to find Nathan being harassed by a middle-aged white woman wearing a strapless cotton-poly blend that pushed her breasts out like a shelf. Her blond hair was three shades too light and she was holding what I presumed could only be a chardonnay. Women like this love chardonnay, especially while it's still light out. She seemed very taken with Nathan, as many women were; he has a way of making women feel beautiful and sexy, which is why my friends and I liked him so much in the first place.
She kept moving closer to him and I didn't want to steal her moment, so I discreetly took a seat at the table behind where they were standing and observed. Five minutes later, she noticed me and introduced herself. "I'm Lynn," she said, extending her free hand.
"Beulah, how are you?" Nathan said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, are you two…" she pointed back and forth between us.
"Oh no, no, no, he's just my swim instructor, we're very close, but not like that." I winked at her.
Nathan turned his head in order to avoid eye contact with me and with her.
"Are you a professional swimmer?" she asked.
"Synchronized swimming, actually. I'm the only professional synchronizer who can compete without a nose plug," I told her.
"Is that right?" she asked excitedly. "How are you able to do that?"
"It's not easy," I told her. "I've trained myself to hold my breath underwater as well as above water for close to six minutes at a time. Each competition is five minutes." I, of course, didn't have the faintest idea if this was true, but five minutes sounded like a reasonable time to be able to hold your breath. Why anyone needed to hold her breath above water was beyond me, but when I make things up, I rarely have a filter.
She had a confused look on her face and opened her mouth to say something when I jumped in.
"There's a good chance I'll be competing in Athens in 2004."
Nathan coughed loudly and sat down, "Actually-"
I interrupted. "He's so superstitious, he doesn't like me to talk about the Olympics before the trials, he thinks I'll jinx myself," I said dismissively. "I keep telling him God gave me a talent and there's nothing to jinx about that."
"Amen!" she said.
"Hallelujah!" I responded.
She turned to Nathan and put her hand on his arm. "A swim coach. You must be in fantastic shape!" Nathan smiled sheepishly as I got up to excuse myself.
"I'm going to see if I can't find a fish in this big swimming pool. You kids get to know each other." Nathan averted his eyes and looked down at his hands in his lap. I winked at the woman and mouthed, "He's single!"
I wandered over into another room dominated by a massive chandelier. The club was huge and extravagant, with four separate patios. I love places that are spread out like that; this way once you embarrass yourself in one area, another forum is just a hop, skip, and jump away.
This being an all-boys school, there were guaranteed to be dozens of men to harass. I sauntered over to the sushi bar, filled my plate, and went to sit by a window all by my lonesome. I put on a sad, wounded, dovelike expression to let any potential male suitors know I was available and, more important, vulnerable.
After a good ten minutes of no one approaching me, I saw a hottie walk by me in a beautiful Ted Baker shirt. I knew Ted Baker shirts like the back of my hand, and anyone who wears one deserves to be complimented.
"Excuse me," I said as he glanced around, trying to see where the voice was coming from, "I absolutely love your shirt."
"Thank you," he said, finally noticing me. He smiled. "That's sweet."
"Is it Ted Baker?" I asked.
"Yes, yes it is." He was pleased.
"I used to work for him in London." I wasn't planning on lying, but I needed to keep him here long enough to get my rhythm going.
He sat down next to me and we talked for a couple of minutes about what a brilliant designer Ted was, and then he said, "By the way, I'm David, and you are… Beulah? Is that how you pronounce it?" I couldn't let him think that was my name.
"Oh, no, the lady at the front was a little intense. I was just messing with her. I'm Chelsea."
"That's funny," David said. "Beulah's gotta be one of the ugliest names I've ever heard."
David told me he was a real estate attorney and had just moved back from Atlanta to be close to his family. He didn't know that many people and came here to try and reconnect with some friends from high school. Most of his friends were married and he had just ended a two-year relationship with someone because he hated her family and didn't want to expose his future offspring to them.
"I like your scarf," he said. "Not a lot of people can get away with that look."
I got the feeling he meant that no one could get away with the look, and I started laughing. "Point taken," I said and took off my scarf. He quickly wrapped it around his own head. "You're right," I said and pulled it off his head.
This could definitely turn into a relationship. I knew because I didn't want to sleep with him right away, and I've felt that way only a couple of times. He was solid, good-natured, and most of all he was sarcastic.
He had just asked me who I was there with when I saw Nathan out of the corner of my eye.
"Beulah! There you are! Where have you been, my little bean dip? I hope not flirting with other men," he said as he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me on the mouth. He looked at David. "Oh, hey, I know you, right?" he asked.
"Yes, David Stevenson. I'm sorry, what is your name again?"
"Nathan," said Nathan with a venomous look on his face. "I think you were a year or two older."
"Yes, I think you're right," said David. "So how are you doing?"
"So you met my wife?" Nathan said to my horror.
I started to object, but Nathan jumped in, saying, "It's hard for her since she got out of rehab… I mean to be around other drinkers, you understand." He picked up my drink and sniffed it. "Goddamn it, Beulah! No drinking!" he reprimanded, pointing his finger in my face. Then he shook his head, took me by the elbow, and said, "Let's run along now, dear, shall we?" I couldn't even look at David. There was no point in explaining myself out of that one, so I just turned and walked away, as if everything Nathan said had been true.
"Why are you being such a queen?" I asked him. "He was adorable and he was straight."