Fiction

Laelia’s father steered her across the room. He held champagne in the kind of glass that is supposed to look like Marie Antoinette’s breast, and as he walked, the golden liquid kept sloshing over the edge. “Paul, this is my daughter, Laelia. Laelia, my colleague, Dr. Gibson.” He said. “Laelia just got into Columbia. She dances.” Laelia smiled modestly. “Dr. Gibson” – he paused for effect – “is an actor.” Her dad turned, champagne splashing, and walked away. He always introduced people well.

“Pleased to meet you.” Dr. Gibson had dimples and a tiny southern accent.

“Nice to meet you.” Maybe thirty-five, Laelia guessed. He held himself like an actor, easy posture and a boyish face with a big, ingenious smile. They smiled at each other for a moment.

“Congratulations on Columbia. Do you know what you want to study?”

“Not for sure, but I think I’m going to be pre-med. What kind of doctor are you?”

“Radiation oncology.” Great dimples. “Your dad’s my boss.”

“And you act?”

“Your dad’s kidding. In college.”

She swayed a little to avoid a girl carrying a tray and he stepped closer and put his hand out to keep her from falling. “What kinds of things?”

“Different stuff. Equus. A lot of Shakespeare.” Laelia moved toward him again to let the girl pass. “The most fun production I was in was Twelfth Night. I liked comedy. What kind of dance are you interested in?” He had nice eyes. Gray.  She looked down and then up again.

“Ballet. Or that’s what I do. But I’m interested in everything.”

“Can I get you some champagne?”

This was the first year her mom let her come to her dad’s New Year’s party, which, according to her dad’s dumb girlfriend, was always a big deal. More people kept coming in, handing her father’s girlfriend their coats, shaking hands, kissing on the cheek, and adding their voices to the murmuring crowd. Laelia had met two doctors, an anthropologist, and now Paul. She smiled into her glass. He was totally hitting on her. She was having a ball.

Laelia always spent the last week of Christmas break in New York City. Her dad took her to late lunches at fancy restaurants, and shopping, and to the ballet. This year there was the Chaconne she wanted to see, and something by Twyla Tharp. And he loved taking her shopping, waiting outside dressing rooms, rolling his eyes. It was a little ritual. Laelia wore black jeans and heels and a sequined gray tunic top her dad had bought her, on her advice, for Christmas. The sequins were tiny, smaller than normal sequins, and arrayed in diagonal lines. It was a little casual, but she was glad she wasn’t overdressed. And she liked the way she looked in heels. Heels and jeans made her look older. Her face, in contrast, looked very young. She wore no makeup because she liked the effect.