Элизабет Чандлер: Kissed by an Angel

"Hey, swimmer. Sssswimmer."

It was someone from school calling him, probably one of Gregory's friends. Tristan had never liked the guys or girls in Gregory's crowd. All of them had money and flaunted it. They did some stupid things and were always looking for a new thrill.

"Sssswimmer, are you deaf?" the guy called out. Eric Ghent, thin-faced and blond, lounged against the wall, one hand hanging on to a candle sconce.

"I'm sorry," said Tristan. "Were you talking to me?"

"I know you, Waller. I know you. Is this what you do between laps?" Eric let go of the sconce and swayed a little.

"This is what I do so I can afford to do laps," Tristan replied.

"Great. I'll buy you ssssome more laps."

"What?"

"I'll make it worth your time, Waller, to get me a drink."

Tristan looked Eric over. "I think you've already had one."

Eric held up four fingers, then dropped his hand limply.

"Four," Tristan corrected himself.

"This is a private party," Eric said. "They'll serve under age. Private party or not, they'll serve whatever to whoever old Baines wants them to ssserve. The man buys everybody, you know."

That's where Gregory learned it from, Tristan thought to himself. "Well, then," he said aloud, "the bar's over there." He tried to move on, but Eric placed himself squarely in front of Tristan.

"Problem is, I've been cut off."

Tristan took a deep breath.

"I need a drink, Waller. And you need some bucks."

"I don't take tips," Tristan said.

Eric started to laugh. "Well, maybe you don't get them-I've been watching you bump around.

But I think you'd take 'em."

"Sorry."

"We need each other," Eric said. "We've got a choice. We can help each other or hurt each other."

Tristan didn't reply.

"Know what I mean, Waller?"

"I know what you mean, but I can't help you out."

Eric took a step toward him. Tristan took a step back. Eric stepped closer again.

Tristan tensed. Gregory's friend was a lightweight in Tristan's book, the same height but nowhere near as broad as Tristan. Still, the guy was drunk and had nothing to lose-such as a large tray loaded with vegetables.

No problem, thought Tristan. A quick sidestep would send Eric plunging to his knees, then flat on his face.

But Tristan hadn't counted on the bridal party passing through at that moment. Catching sight of them out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly had to shift direction. He slammed into the lurching Eric. Celery and cauliflower, mushrooms and pepper curls, broccoli and snow peas were launched toward a chandelier, then rained down upon the party.

And then she looked at him. Ivy, sparkling Ivy. For a moment their eyes met, hers round as the cherry tomatoes that rolled onto her mother's train.

Tristan was sure that she finally knew he existed.

And he was just as sure that she'd never go out with him. Never.

"Maybe you were right, Ivy," Suzanne whispered as they looked down at the splatter of raw vegetables. "On land, Tristan's a klutz."

What is he doing here? Ivy wondered. Why didn't he stay in his pool, where he belongs? She knew her friends would be convinced he was following her around, and it embarrassed her.

Beth picked her way toward them, spearing a tomato with her high heel. "Perhaps this is how he earns money," she said, reading Ivy's troubled face.

Suzanne shook her head. "Throwing broccoli at the bride?"

"That cute redheaded swimmer is here, too," Beth went on. Her frosted hair was up on her head that night, making her look even more like a sweet-faced owl.

"Neither of them knows what he's doing," Suzanne observed. "They're here just for tonight." Ivy sighed.

"I guess Tristan's hard up," Beth said.

"For money or for Ivy?" Suzanne asked, and they both laughed.

"Oh, come on, Ivy," Beth said, touching her gently on the arm. "It's funny! I bet his eyes got big when he saw what you were wearing."

Suzanne made her eyes gigantic and started humming the theme from Gone with the Wind.

Ivy grimaced. She knew she looked like Scarlett O'Hara dropped in a bucket of glitter.

But it was the gown her mother had picked out especially for her.

Suzanne kept humming.

"I bet Gregory's eyes got big when he saw what you weren't wearing," Ivy told her friend, hoping to shut her up. Suzanne was in a plunging black sheath.

"I certainly hope so!"

"And speaking of," said Beth.

"There you are, Ivy." Gregory's voice was warm and almost intimate. Suzanne swung toward him. He offered Ivy his arm. "We're expected at the head table."

With her hand resting lightly on his arm, Ivy fell into step beside him, wishing Suzanne could go in her place. Her mother looked up as the two of them approached, beaming at Ivy in her plantation-poof gown.

"Thank you," Ivy said as Gregory held out her chair for her.

He smiled at her-that secret kind of smile she had first seen at the swim meet. He leaned down, his lips close to her bare neck. "My pleasure, ma'am."

Ivy's skin prickled a little. He's playing, she told herself. Just play along. Since the swim meet, he had been teasing her and trying to be friendly, and she knew she should give him credit for that; but Ivy preferred the old, cold Gregory.

She had understood completely his icy response when she arrived at his school. She knew it must have been a terrible shock when he found out that Maggie was moving her brood from their apartment in Norwalk to one his father was leasing in Stonehill, and that this was in preparation for marriage.

Andrew and Maggie's affair had begun years earlier. But affairs were affairs, people said, and Andrew and her mother were such an odd romantic pair-a very wealthy and distinguished president of a college and his wife's hairdresser. Who'd have guessed that years after their fling, years after Andrew's divorce, he and Maggie would tie the knot?

It had been a shock even to Ivy. Her own father had died when she was an infant. She had grown up watching her mother run through a series of boyfriends, and thought it would always be that way.

Ivy leaned forward to look down the table at her mother. Andrew caught her eye and smiled, then nudged his new wife. Maggie beamed back at Ivy. She looked so happy.

Angel of love, Ivy prayed silently, watch over Mom. Watch over all of us. Make us a loving family, loving and strong.

"Should I tell you that your-uh-sparkles are dipping in the soup?"

Ivy sat back quickly. Gregory laughed and offered her his napkin.

"That dress can get you in a lot of trouble," he teased. "It nearly blinded Tristan Carruthers."

Ivy could feel the warmth spreading in her cheeks. She wanted to point out that it was Eric, not she-"I feel sorry for the table he's waiting on tonight. He and that other jock," Gregory said, still grinning. "I hope it's not ours."

They both glanced around the room.

Me too, Ivy thought, me too.

Shortly after the raw vegetable shower, Tristan was told he could leave and should leave, immediately. Tired and humiliated, he would have been glad to clear out, but he was Gary's ride home. So he poked around behind the kitchen until he found a storeroom to hole up in.

It was dark and peaceful there, its shelves stacked with large boxes and cans. Tristan had just settled down comfortably on a carton when he heard rustling behind him. Mice, he thought, or rats. He really didn't care. He tried to console himself, imagining himself standing on the top winner's block, the flag of the United States rising behind him while the anthem played, Ivy watching on TV and sorry she had missed her chance to go out with him.

"I'm an idiot!" he said, dropping his head in his hands. "I could have any girl I want and-" A hand rested lightly on his shoulder.