The Black Dress
Pillars of Salt: Episode 2
I’m chatting with Glenda, the church secretary, when the office phone rings.
“Hold that thought.” She smiles at me and picks up. “Hello . . . ? Why . . . yes! What a coincidence, she’s right here in front of me . . .”
Perplexed, I take the receiver she holds out. “Hello?”
“Michaela?”
“Eeeeyeah . . . that’s me.”
“This is Brad Hansen. You know — Gabriel’s friend? Of Brad-and-Sharon?”
“Ahhh . . .”
“You were at our wedding party four years ago . . .”
“Yeah, right, of course!” I wonder — is Brad calling to tell me Gabriel is dead? That he and his wife were killed by hostile non-converts — burned at the stake, or shot full of arrows, or something? I mean, they are missionaries; it happens . . . but Brad actually sounds pretty cheery. So I wonder what he wants?
“It’s really something I caught you like this,” Brad says. “I was gonna try to track you down by calling your church first . . . I didn’t even know if you still go there.”
“I do, when I’m in town. I’m back for Christmas.”
“Well, the timing’s awesome.”
“For . . . ?”
“Oh! Yeah! What am I calling for?” He laughs. “I wanted to invite you to a baby shower. For Sharon.”
“Oh! Congratulations!”
“Thank you! Yeah, I think it’d be such a great surprise for her if you just suddenly showed up . . .”
“Um . . . Brad? If memory serves, I don’t think Sharon’s all that crazy about surprise women showing up at parties.”
“Oh, gosh — you remember that! Well, but the thing is . . . I mean, she still talks about you, all these years later . . . how she wishes you two could have kept in touch.”
“Really? After only — ”
“She only met you once, I know, but you made an impression.”
“Huh! Wow. Well . . . okay . . . where do you live?”
“Oh. We’re not having it where we live. It’ll be in Laguna Hills again, at her parents’ house. Two weeks from Saturday, around noon. It’s a brunch-kinda deal.”
“Okay.”
“So you’ll still be in San Diego? You could drive up?”
“Yeah, but even if I wasn’t — ”
“Cool! Let me give you the address . . . oh, this’ll really make Sharon happy . . .”
When I get off the phone, Glenda closes her compact — she’s been fixing her lipstick — and purses her lips at me.
“Boy, oh boy,” I exhale. “When does Pastor Simon get back from lunch?”
She sits back in her office chair. “I have time, dear . . .”
. . .
Just over two weeks later, I park outside that luxurious Laguna Hills home, which looks different in daylight — somehow more imposing. Maybe it’s my nerves. I’m afraid I look too much like Wednesday Addams in this dress, even with my hair down rather than braided. I love this dress. Mom got it for me for Christmas, and I doubt I’ll be able to wear it much, the way life is right now. I just hope it’s not too short for a daytime party. But hey — I’m wearing tights. It . . . should be okay . . . ?
When I ring the doorbell, Brad answers. He yelps when he sees me.
“Heyy! I remember Gabriel said you didn’t do fashionably late.” His grin is huge and warm. “Actually, this works out perfect — gives you and Sharon some time to talk first, before everyone gets here.”
“Lots of girlfriends coming?” I ask as he ushers me in.
“Uhh . . .” He gives a little cough. “Well, sisters and cousins and aunts . . . I mean, all her family’s in California . . . I guess I didn’t tell you we’re based in Wisconsin these days?”
“No.”
“Yeah, well . . . today . . . you’re the girlfriend.”
“I see.” I hold up the gift bag I’ve brought. “What should I do with . . . ?”
“I’ll take that. Sharon’s in the kitchen, I think. Follow me. Cool dress, by the way!”
“Thanks.”
“And . . . here she is!” Brad gestures. “Here’s the mama-to-be!”
Sharon’s in profile, standing by the counter where we had our PB&Js and that great talk four years ago. The kitchen hasn’t changed. But Sharon — well, of course she has! What did I expect? She’s pregnant! Hugely, hugely pregnant . . .
And she’s hastily gulping something orange from a champagne flute.
“Yes, Brad,” she says without turning. “I wanted a mimosa. And I really don’t think one will . . .” She turns and sees me; her face goes blank for a moment. Then she drops the champagne flute. It doesn’t break — just lands on a mat. Phew.
“Hi,” I say softly.
She blinks, bends to pick up the glass, but can’t quite manage it. “Am I dreaming?”
“Nope,” Brad grins. He goes to her and kisses her cheek. Then he retrieves the glass, and sets it on the counter.
Sharon looks me up and down. A smile slowly spreads over her face — the gentle, welcoming smile I remember. She holds out her arms. “Michaela. Michaela.”
I go to her and we hug as best we can, considering the burgeoning baby between us.
Now Sharon’s eyes twinkle. “Wanna sit on the counter? Have a PB&J?”
I can’t tell if she’s joking. “If you’re having one.”
“Actually, the food’s all vegetarian today. I’ve had an aversion to meat for the past seven months.”
“Oh, that’s great! I mean — not your aversion, but — ”
“I know what you mean,” she laughs. “Well, have a seat somewhere. Want a cup of anything? Tea?”
She sees my little wince as I sit at the kitchen table.
“Ugh, sorry,” she says. “That was Gabriel’s thing, huh?”
“No worries.”
“Want coffee?”
“Love some.”
Brad backs out of the kitchen. “I’ll let you two catch up.”
“So!” Sharon goes to the big, full coffeemaker on the counter and pours out a mug for me. “You haven’t changed at all. Haven’t even aged . . .” She brings me a little sugar bowl and pitcher of milk.
“Well, it’s only been four years.” I doctor up my coffee and take a gulp.
“Yeah, but look at me!”
“You’re having a baby,” I smile.
“Yeah, well. Just don’t say I’m radiant. I look like hell. You should see the backs of my legs.” She sits down across from me. “But enough of that. How are you? Got a new special guy in your life now?”
“Um, not at the moment. I mean, with my course load, and my job . . .”
“Where do you go to school?”
I tell her.
“Oh! That’s not that far from here.” She makes a little face. “I’ve heard of that one. Bible college, right? They’re kinda . . . strict?”
“They are, but for what I’m going into . . .”
“Church work for you too, then.”
“Uh huh . . .” I drink more coffee.
“Wow. And you have a job around there?”
“Knott’s Berry Farm.”
“Michaela! Really? Not Disneyland?”
“No . . . Disneyland’s, like . . . too important to me. I mean, if I had a bad confrontation on the job with some rude tourist . . . y’know?”
Sharon nods. “It might ruin the magic for you.”
“It might. But . . . I like Knott’s. I really do.”
“What do you do there?”
“I’ve done a lot of things so far, but right now I operate Montezuma’s Revenge.”
“Okay, well, that’s just awesome. Although I kind of hoped you’d be a stagecoach robber.”
“Nah. I don’t like guns.”
“I hear you.” She steeples her fingers for a moment, then says, “Did you and Gabriel stay in touch?”
“Uh — not really. I mean, he got married . . .”
“And you never met his wife?”
“No . . . did you?”
“Yeah, a couple times. Huh! Leigh. She seems like a piece of work.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Seriously. She has none of your beauty, none of your charm. I mean — she’s got this nose . . . well, anyway. I cannot understand why he’d leave someone like you for someone like her.”
I swallow. “Left me . . . for her?”
“Yeah, I hated the way he handled that.”
“To my understanding, she was an old friend . . . but they didn’t get together until he and I had . . .”
“Is that what he told you?” She shakes her head. “That prick. You know, Brad didn’t like the way Gabriel treated you, either. I don’t know why he insists on being friends with those two.”
“Aren’t they still overseas?”
“Mostly, but they visit.”
“Ah.”
She laughs now. “I wonder if Gabriel ever told Leigh how mad I got at him that time . . .”
“You mean — at your wedding party?”
“That’s right . . . or about that girl at your church who tried to kill herself over him . . .” She looks up as the doorbell rings. “Oh, boy. Well . . . as James Joyce said . . . Here comes everybody.” She holds out her hands to me; I leap to my feet and help her up. Arm in arm, we trundle into the living room.
. . .
It’s pretty much like other baby showers I’ve attended. There’s food, small talk, little games. It’s interesting to see this group of expensively-groomed ladies who are related to Sharon — they all resemble her in some way, even if it’s just a certain eyebrow arch or a dimple in one cheek. And they all have high, soft voices like hers.
Well, they start out soft. And then the mimosas start happening.
Sharon looks quizzical when, I, like her, opt for plain orange juice.
“You’re old enough to drink now, right?” she whispers.
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Ohhh.” Her voice scales up. “It’s the school you go to, right?”
“Well. Yeah.”
Her Aunt Marla chimes in. “What school’s that — Juvenile Hall?”
“Ignore her,” says Sharon. “So — what, it has a behavior contract, or . . .?”
“Uh huh.”
“Ah, one of those,” nods Marla, sipping her mimosa. “So what else can’t you do? Uncover your head in the presence of men? Show your ankles?” She looks at my legs and raises her eyebrows.
“Leave her alone.” Sharon makes a shooing gesture at her. “Don’t harass my only friend!”
Awkward silence for a moment. Then —
“I remember you from the wedding party, Michaela.” That’s Sharon’s mom, Yvette. She’s elegant and classy. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I manage to smile.
“Next game!” announces Sharon’s other aunt, Estelle. She starts handing out pens and blue sheets of paper. “Because they’re having a boy,” she whispers to me, and then raises her voice. “Okay, so it’s a True or False quiz about Brad and Sharon . . . the darling little parents-to-be!”
Oh man, I’m going to be terrible at this. I’ve only met them once before today! I look down at the paper. Well, actually, I do know the first one, about their honeymoon. And the second one, well, I can make a decent guess . . . but number three . . . geez, who wrote this? I tap my lower lip with the pen and look up at the chandelier. Then I get the sense of being watched. I look at the person across from me.
“Sorry,” says Sharon’s teenaged cousin, Laurie. “I was totally staring at your dress. And I love those little heels. You’re just so cute! Like Wednesday Addams.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, thinking a word I could definitely not say on campus. Shouldn’t have worn this dress, I was right . . . I look back down at the paper and make the best guesses I can for the rest of the questions.
“Times up!” calls Estelle. “Let’s go around in a circle one by one with the answers — I’ll let you grade your own if you promise to be honest! Okay, starting with . . . Laurie.”
“Ahem.” Laurie begins to read. “Brad and Sharon went to Spain for their honeymoon, where they went to lots and lots of bloody bullfights.” She looks up, eyes huge. “That’s totally false, omigod, everyone knows they went to Egypt.”
“Correct!” Estelle beams. “Now, of course, we skip over Sharon, so . . . Hannah! Number two!”
A cousin about my age reads out, “Brad and Sharon have the same favorite play, which is Curse of the Starving Class, by Sam Shepard.” She squinches up her face. “You know, I’m gonna say that’s . . . true.”
“Correct!” says Estelle. “Now, Michaela — number three?”
Me, for number three. It couldn’t go any other way, could it?
“That’s the one I had to leave blank,” I confess.
“Read it out anyway,” says Marla, a wicked gleam in her eye.
I look at Sharon. She just smiles.
“All right.” I take a deep breath. “When Sharon first met Brad, he was interested in her, but she initially turned him down. Then one Sunday at church she watched him give the Children’s Message, and realized she wanted his tongue down her throat right then and there.”
“Look at her blush!” Laurie squeals — and the way my face burns, I know she means me. I hear them all titter as I keep staring down at the paper.
“True, true, true!” sings Sharon’s sister, Pam. “Right, Sharon?”
Sharon nods. “I’m afraid so.”
Pam makes a purring sound like Roy Orbison, which gets the whole room howling. And then Brad walks into the room, and the howls turn to screams.
“What?” He looks behind him.
“Nothing . . . whatcha want, honey?” coos Sharon.
“Well, I was just gonna ask if . . . well, actually . . . now I forget what I was gonna ask.”
“I’m sure it’s right on the tip of your tongue,” says Hannah, and they all scream again.
Brad looks at everyone, perplexed. “Uh — cheesecake. I was gonna ask if you’re ready for cheesecake now.”
They just keep laughing. I feel so sorry for the guy, standing there looking all innocent and — huh. You know what? Cute. He’s really cute. Sweet, too. Good for Sharon!
Sharon . . . who is watching me watching her husband. I meet her eye; she smiles kindly at me. Phew.
“We’d love cheesecake, darling,” she tells Brad.
So much for the True or False quiz, then. Probably for the best.
During dessert and more coffee, Sharon opens her presents. She seems to like the big illustrated collection of Bible stories I brought.
“So you’re a church person too, Michaela?” asks Hannah. “Wow, just like Brad?”
“Yep,” Sharon answers for me. “Michaela even had her own youth pastor once. But . . . good riddance to that guy. Now she’s doing it herself.”
“You’re a youth pastor?” asks Marla. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two . . . I’m in college, and — ”
“Oh, you want to be a youth pastor.”
“No. A . . . regular pastor.” I grip my fork and squish the blueberries on my plate.
Laurie coos. “You are just too cute! Your little voice. You’re like . . . Minnie Mouse.”
“I thought you said she was Wednesday Addams,” says Hannah.
“Well, okay, both. But . . . I’d never guess pastor!”
You know, this is a bit much. I want to get up and leave. But I don’t want to cause drama. So I say, “We never did finish that quiz.”
“Oh yeah!” they all chorus, and everyone picks up their papers again for the last four questions. Pam gets a perfect score, and is awarded a Trader Joe’s gift certificate.
All that coffee has suddenly hit me, so when the chatter picks up again I ask Sharon where the bathroom is. She tells me. I pick up my purse and head down the hall, looking back once to see her watching me. We smile at each other.
In the bathroom, I blot my shiny forehead, fix my smudged eyeliner, and give my hair a quick brush. I look a bit . . . frazzled. Why would anyone call me cute? Then I say a quick prayer, apologizing for being so mad at women in general right now. Jesus wouldn’t want me to feel so resentful toward other women. He had women disciples, which I applaud . . . although right now I’d prefer the company of the Twelve . . .
But today isn’t about my preferences! It’s about a new baby for my friend Sharon and her nice husband, Brad. I need to get back out there and be gracious.
Sharon is waiting for me outside the bathroom door.
“Oh,” she says. “Good. So you didn’t fall in?”
“I’m sorry, I was in there a while, wasn’t I? Just freshening up.”
“So I see.”
My mouth trembles as I try to smile. Damn coffee always has that effect on me when I have too much.
Sharon puts her hand on my arm — her fingers are strong. She leans close. “You know what, Miss Skinny Mini-dress? I know what you’re doing.”
I can’t speak — I just stare at her.
And then her voice drops to the growl I’ve heard one time before. “Michaela? How . . . fucking . . . dare you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
The room turns a somersault. I plant my feet and steady myself.
Then I whisper, “Goodbye, Sharon.”
Shrugging out of her grasp, I click down the hall, past Brad . . . through the living room, past the women . . . and out the front door.
Without looking back, I get in my car and drive.
Concluded in Episode 3: The Wolf
