By Barbara Borst
Charlotte propped the announcement of her 10th college reunion up on her bureau. She had signed up a month earlier, so the reminder was to think about what to pack. That was hard to do between bouts of crying over the collapse of her marriage to her college sweetheart and of raging against his infidelity.
But it was important. It was part of her plan to put her life back together or build a new one. She needed to dazzle at the reunion and to see if any of her old beaus were available. Which distracted her with thinking back through her epic sex adventures as a student and the many men who had had their eyes on her.
And the one who no longer did.
Revenge dressing. Not that he would be there, since he had been a graduate student. But she still looked good, and she knew it and she needed it.
Or did she? Did she look good? Did she need it? Wasn’t that flare, that quest for the show-off partner what had gotten her into this problem in the first place?
Put that thought back in the closet while getting out the slinky turquoise dress with the plunging back.
*
“Charlie! So good to see you.”
Charlotte turned around. There was her former roommate Jenny calling out to her from the line of people registering at the reunion.
Jenny darted forward, arms outstretched to hug her.
Charlotte returned the hug, bumping up against Jenny’s round belly. “Great to see you, too,” she said, realizing she hadn’t thought about the women who might be at this event. Only the men.
Jenny asked whether Dan was coming. Charlotte said simply that he couldn’t make it. She wasn’t ready to broadcast the end of their marriage.
“Then you should room with me. Bill didn’t come. He said I should enjoy a girls’ weekend – last chance before the baby comes.”
Charlotte realized it would be rude to say no. So now she was boxed in. Forced to think about the baby she wasn’t having.
*
Charlotte and Jenny headed to the cocktail reception under an enormous white tent, Jenny in a loose black dress and Charlotte in her turquoise stunner, both with name tags clipped to their shoulder straps. Jenny stopped to talk with an old friend.
Charlotte wended her way through the crowd at the bar, on the lookout for former lovers. As she leaned over to order a drink, she caught the eye of a man she had once dated. One after another, the men she had known gave her an admiring head-to-toe look, clinked plastic glasses, then belatedly remembered to introduce her to their wives, some pregnant and some holding babies.
She ended up sharing a table for ten with an old flame and his fiancée and his former roommates and their wives. The crowd was loud already, so shouting a few pleasantries at people she hardly knew was enough.
As dessert was being served, she got ready to leave. But the sound of the band warming up inspired her to stay. The musicians began to pound out the dance numbers from her class’s years in college. Too many memories. Couples started to crowd the floor. She slithered among them, swinging her long dark hair to the beat, shaking her hips, freeing herself from thought. Just on the move. Swirling wildly across the dance floor, she barely avoided crashing into people.
*
Breakfast was lavish, but Charlotte sat alone nursing a cup of coffee at a table far from the crowd.
“May I join you?”
She looked up. Marcus. She smiled and pulled out a chair for him.
“I saw you last night,” he started, “but it looked like you were working something out on the dance floor.”
She laughed. “You always understood me best,” she said. “How good to see you. How are you?”
“Well, really well. And you?”
“Not good at all, as you guessed.”
“If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”
Charlotte wondered why it had been so long since they had been in touch. He was such a dear friend in college, the one who helped her pick up the pieces after one wild romance or another.
“You first?” she asked.
“Well, I’m getting married.”
“Who is the lucky one?” She knew he was gay but didn’t want to say it aloud as he had always been very private.
“Stanley. You’ll have to come meet him. I’ll send you an invitation.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she said, beaming, though she was holding back tears. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
He gave her time until she was ready to talk.
After a long wait, she said, “I’m getting unmarried.”
“How did that happen?” he asked gently.
“Not my idea. I kept telling Dan that I wanted to have a baby, and he kept saying it was too soon and that we needed to advance in our careers more, and blah, blah, blah.”
“And that was it?”
“No, just the start. Turns out he was having an affair with a woman at work. Got her pregnant and chose to dump me.”
“Oh my God.” He reached across the table to stroke her hand.
“Like some half-assed soap opera.”
“You know, I never thought of him as good enough for you.”
“That’s sweet of you to come to my defense. You didn’t say it when we were in college, but I could tell you weren’t keen on him.”
“But you were, so I held my tongue.”
“Wish I’d taken the hint.” But the sex was great, she remembered. She had been enthralled.
They sat for a few minutes.
“What do you think is next?” he asked.
She paused to try to answer that. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I don’t want to be a single mother or to wait until I’m too old to have a baby.”
He listened and waited.
“You see through the facades,” she said. “If I ever date again, I’ll want your advice.”
Tables around them began to fill, ending their conversation.
*
Charlotte strolled through some of the buildings that were open during the reunion, remembering much happier times – with Dan, with others – and wiping stray tears with the back of her hand. She could hear someone down a long hallway playing the piano. Drawn to the music, she heard the pianist play the signature notes of “Lara’s Theme.” It could be Marcus, she thought as the music drew her onward. They had watched the movie together more than once.
At the open door of the practice room, she stood silently until he finished.
“I always loved that one,” she said.
He turned as if he had expected her arrival.
“But I thought I would be the beloved, not the betrayed,” she added.
He motioned for her to sit beside him on the piano bench as he played it again.
When he finished, they paused to let the music sink in. Then she asked him to tell her more about Stanley. Marcus showed her a picture of his beloved and told her how they had met – on a singles cruise – and their wedding date and plans.
“You have to come,” he said.
“Are you sure? I’ve been so out of touch.”
“You’re the only college friend I would invite.”
She thought about what it meant that he had stayed out of the loud gay party scene on campus. He was so private. Theirs was a friendship of opposites.
“I’ll be there for you,” she said.
“I’m glad,” he said. “Most of my family won’t come.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered.
“It’s OK,” he said. “I expected it.”
After a pause he added. “My favorite cousin is coming. I’ll introduce you. He might be just the right man for you.”
* * *
Barbara Borst teaches international affairs and journalism at New York University. Previously, she was an editor at The Associated Press. While based in Nairobi, Johannesburg, Paris and Toronto, she wrote for Newsday, The Boston Globe, The Dallas Morning News, the Los Angeles Times, Inter Press Service news agency, and others. Prior to living abroad, she reported for The Denver Post and the Clarion-Ledger of Jackson, MS.