Turn My 6's to 9's

Chapter 6: She sallied forth into the village

Beth hiked her duffel bag on her shoulder and double-checked Carla's address one more time. She'd taken the train in to D.C. and then made her way to Adams Morgan where Carla lived, walking with wide eyes past the rainbow-colored architecture. Every building was painted a different color, all of them bright and eye-catching. The neighborhood had an energy and an excitement to it that she'd never felt before.

Carla had not been exaggerating about the different restaurant options. Beth saw Korean, Persian, and Japanese food, and multiple bourbon centered bars. There was more to do in one block than in her entire town. The benefits of city living, she mused. She pressed the button on a nondescript building and Carla buzzed her up with an excited squeal.

Carla greeted her on the ground floor in the tiny foyer by the mailboxes, and they had a loud reunion filled with hugs. Inside was dimly lit and musty smelling but nice enough. Beth couldn't imagine what the really nice apartments must cost. Up a few flights of stairs and she was ushered into the apartment by Carla.

Carla's apartment was tiny. The walls had a fresh coat of white paint, there were pretty wood floors, and the kitchen was the tiniest Beth had ever seen: more like a kitchenette than anything anyone could do any cooking in. But then again, what was the point of living near 5 restaurants if you wanted to cook. The bedroom was small, with just enough room for a bed and a nightstand, and the bathroom hadn't been updated in many, many years. Despite its size, it did have some charm to it with windows that faced into the courtyard in the back. She could see Carla's influence all over in the few pieces of artwork on the walls and the knick-knacks. For a first apartment, Beth thought it was pretty and stylish. She told Carla so and watched her glow with the compliment.

"I'm glad you like it. Here's your favorite comfy couch." Carla said. "Hope you don't mind crashing on it." She looked at Beth thoughtfully. "Are you hungry? I've heard the sushi place around the corner is really good..."

Sliding into the booth, Beth looked around with appreciation. She opened the menu and inwardly groaned at the city prices but tried to remind herself that this was a last hurrah before she started college and that she was allowed to splurge. Holding a small cup of green tea, she smiled across the table at Carla. "How has it been? Are you adjusting?"

Carla sighed, one corner of her mouth turning down. "Honestly it's been a little lonely. Everyone at work is friendly, but it's a small operation and they're all middle-aged women. Turns out I don't really know how to make friends. I either met them at school or through work, so I've been a little bummed this first week. Maybe I'm just homesick, but I feel anonymous and replaceable. And a little lost."

She looked forlornly at Beth, who felt a pang of sympathy. "I bet that's hard." Their sushi had arrived, and she dug in eagerly with chopsticks.

Carla spoke around the piece she'd popped into her own mouth. "In college it's easy. Everyone is all starting out new at the same time and are receptive to making friends. I guess I imagined it would be like that. But people my age already have their set of friends, and so no one tries or goes out of their way to meet someone new. I've been watching a lot of television, let's put it that way."

Beth looked at her friend, remembering how friendly she'd been to Beth when she first started her waitress job, how smart and funny Carla's conversation was, how generous she was as a person, and how beautiful she was with her coffee colored skin and brown eyes. Beth couldn't imagine that Carla should feel lonely or have trouble making friends. She wished she had advice, but she was far out of her own range of experiences.

"I've been thinking I might join a kickball league or something. The vibe seems to be more about the drinking as a team than anything athletic. But the other problem is that all the people my age are junior staffers for senators or judges and so into politics. Not the kind of person I'm trying to meet. But," she said after a pause, seeming to gather up her spirits. "It's just the first week, and everything else about moving and my job has been great, so I know I just need to give it time. Speaking of my job, I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"Tomorrow night is the opening of a new collection and I have to be there to work it. You could do some exploring on your own, but I thought you might like to come to the gallery. There will be free hors d'oeuvres and champagne. And there should be all sorts of socialites and minor politicians. "

"That sounds amazing!" She bit the corner of her lip. "But I didn't bring anything to wear to something like that." She thought about the clothing she had packed, and nothing seemed appropriate for a more formal event.

"You can borrow something of mine," Carla said with a wave of her hand. Their styles weren't that similar, with Carla favoring much bolder colors and patterns than Beth usually did. But anything would beat wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

She ran her hand over the shirts and dresses in Carla's closet. Dark blue velvet, a shimmering red skirt, linen pants, green silk, a sheer tunic in coral red. Her hand rested on a satiny, silky black fabric, and she pulled it free from the rest. The dress was simple with a 90's era style. Thin spaghetti straps led to a cowl neckline with a bottom cut on the bias. She pulled it over her head to see the effect in the full-length mirror. The cowl made the neckline modest, while somehow accentuating the bust at the same time. It fit through the waist and then draped prettily against her hips and legs, landing just below the knees. The cut was sophisticated but not overly fancy. Simple, tasteful, but somehow still a little sexy. She could wear it with the black flats she'd brought from home.

Carla was leaning against the door frame to her room, and she nodded in approval. "That's perfect. You'll fit right in."

"It's not too much? I don't want to be overdressed."

"There's no such thing, darling."

She slept surprisingly well on Carla's couch, and they spent the morning out in the neighborhood getting coffee and visiting the boutique stores. Beth got to see the hustle and bustle of the morning commute and the relative calm of the afternoon. Then it was time to get ready for the gallery showing. She borrowed a necklace with a large, single red stone on a chain from Carla to complete her outfit. She liked the way the cold stone felt against her neck. It wasn't every night that she got to dress up for a party, and so Beth took extra care in getting ready, choosing a bold red lipstick and just mascara and light eyeliner for her eyes.

Beth was giddy as they walked and took several buses from Carla's neighborhood to Georgetown where the gallery was located. The bus map had been incomprehensible to Beth, but Carla was unphased as they took the route that she traveled to work every day. Beth was more than jealous of Carla, who suddenly had a big-girl life of her own complete with an apartment and a steady job where she got to attend expensive parties for free. She tried to remember the downsides and the loneliness, but that was hard when the night's weather was so beautiful and they were on their way to a party.

They detoured momentarily so that Beth could see the C & O canal that flowed slowly beside the street and sidewalk. The scene was beautiful in the twilight as trees lofted gently over the water; the reflection of the classic brick brownstone buildings reflected clearly in the still waters. The neighborhood didn't look like any she had seen before in her small town and reminded her instead of what she thought Europe must look like.

The gallery was empty as they arrived. Catering was setting up small tables and filling champagne glasses and trays with small bites of food. Beth felt small compared to the arching white walls and the expansive dark hardwood floors of the gallery. Finally, it was time for the evening to start, and Carla brought her a glass of champagne. They toasted each other, and Carla promised to stop by whenever she had the time to check in on Beth. At first there was no one, and then all at once the space was crowded with people. Everyone was slender, and she felt happy that she'd chosen to wear black, as the colors people wore were almost uniformly monochrome.

Beth suddenly smiled to herself, feeling everything was right in the world. She liked the taste of the cool, crisp bubbles, and the feeling of importance she got from standing in a posh gallery drinking champagne. She wished that Jane could be with her to enjoy the party, and that Lydia could see her just so she would be jealous. Beth was free to wander the gallery by herself, and she was fascinated by the artist's style and use of colors. She was happy to be alone, as she could take as long as she liked to look at the artwork on display. Some of it was simply astounding, like the painting with the mass of swirling colors that looked like chaos until it became clear that the picture was just as strictly ordered and beautiful as a melody. Beth stared at the painting for a long while, wondering if everyone was seeing the same beauty she was.

Standing amid the crowd of people in her borrowed dress, drinking her second glass of champagne, Beth was both happy and a little tipsy. Not having her own conversations allowed her to listen to others talk about the artwork, and she couldn't help but inwardly laugh at the pundit who was loudly trying to explain the "deep meaning" behind the pieces of spun glass in a case that were so obviously shaped like sperm. Beth rolled her eyes at him and turned to see Carla waving her over.

Beth joined her friend, who was standing and talking with an older woman. Her hair was cut in a severe bob that was gray but with a fashionable streak of white running along the hair that framed her face. She wondered if she was Carla's boss. A sense of authority radiated from her. Carla confirmed her suspicion as she introduced Beth. "Catherine, this is my very good friend Beth, who took the train in from Maryland. Beth, this is Catherine Bourgh. She owns this beautiful building and the gallery."

Catherine was tall, at least a full four inches taller than Beth, and Beth could tell that she had once been very beautiful. She had a few fine lines around her mouth and eyes, but her skin had a luminous quality that spoke of expensive skin care. Beth couldn't tell exactly how old she was, but she was aging well, as only the very wealthy could do. Her handshake was firm and Beth tried not to flinch as the long bony fingers grasped her own. Her dress was simple, conservative and black, but the ostentatious diamond necklace gave away the fact that she was very rich. No wonder she could afford to own a gallery in Georgetown.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Catherine murmured, her eyes running critically over Beth's outfit. Apparently, she passed the test because Catherine turned her eyes to the crowd without a comment or facial expression. Beth signed inwardly, grateful that she had borrowed the dress and wasn't here in street clothes. She could imagine Catherine being severe about anything she disapproved of.

"It's a good showing, Carla," Catherine continued. "I think your posts on the interwebs must have done something. A better turnout than normal."

Beth tried to hide a smile at Catherine's use of "interwebs". Older than she appeared then, making Beth wonder just how expensive her night cream was.

"Well," Catherine said, turning her attention back to Beth. "Bennet was your last name you said? Any relation to the Bennettes in Santa Monica?"

Beth had to shake her head no, and Catherine sighed. "That's a shame. They make wonderful diamond jewelry. Where is it in Maryland that you live?"

Catherine was very interested in her family. She seemed to be trying to find a mutual acquaintance to talk about. Unfortunately, the Bennets and Ms. Bourgh came from very different social circles. Catherine surmised that fact quickly, and Beth had the feeling that Catherine's interest in her would soon wane. Connections were useful but a little nobody from the suburbs was not. She was looking critically at Beth again, and Beth braced herself for a nasty comment. However, all Catherine asked was her age.

"I'm 21." Beth decided to lie on the spot. She had no idea if Catherine had seen her with the champagne flute and she couldn't imagine a worse person to be scolded by. She didn't envy Carla the pressure of working under her.

Catherine smiled a patient smile, not without condescension. "Ah yes; the age where one thinks they know it all. My nephew's age. He's here, somewhere." She waved vaguely and Beth prayed that's was far as it went. Beth didn't know if she could handle making small talk with a younger, male version of Catherine. This version was scary enough. But Beth's lack of social status protected her, and Catherine didn't pursue it further. She had a feeling that if she did have some relation to the rich Bennettes in Santa Monica that Catherine would have called her nephew over in a hurry.

She wished she could think of a polite way to end her conversation with Catherine. Carla was busy speaking with one of the potential customers, and all the attention was making Beth uncomfortable; she never knew when Catherine was going to slide in one of her biting remarks.

"You must be a student then?" Catherine asked and then nodded in approval when Beth said yes. "Good, it's absolutely necessary these days. Employers would never consider you otherwise. Which school?"

"Pemberley."

Here Beth had the satisfaction of watching Catherine's eyebrows raise dramatically, followed by another appraising look from head to toe. "But that's an excellent school, dear. I wouldn't have guessed. You must be a strong student."

Again, the mixed compliment left Beth unsure what to do with her face. Why did everyone assume she wasn't good enough for the school she'd gotten into?

"In fact, my nephew goes there as well. Perhaps we will have to call him over..." Catherine trailed off, looking around the room, and Beth felt panic start to rise inside of her. If they started asking her any questions about Pemberley, like her major or where she lived, it would be obvious that she'd lied about her age. It was true that she was going there, but not that she'd been there for two years already. Time to exit the conversation.

"Oh no, I think I left my jacket in the bathroom. It was lovely meeting you, but if you'll excuse me..." She hadn't worn a jacket, and she certainly hadn't left it in the bathroom, but Catherine didn't know that.

"By all means dear," Catherine said, waving her off. With a sigh of relief Beth walked away into the crowd, hoping she'd never have to have a one on one conversation with Catherine Bourgh ever again. What a stuck up, self-absorbed, elitist, hag.

The gallery had cleared a little. She noticed several paintings and a sculpture that she had missed the first time around, and she walked over to inspect them more closely. The same man who had been speaking loudly about the spun glass sperm now seemed to be lecturing about the sculpture. He'd been her favorite part of the evening so far; she loved making fun of ridiculous people in her head. The sculpture he was describing was decidedly modern, showing a head with three faces with pieces of glass like a mirror on the wall behind it. An attractive blond woman at his elbow was absorbing every word the man said.

He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, wearing a tan sweater, skinny black jeans, and thick rimmed glasses. His speech was dotted with words like 'nouveau' and 'deco' but Beth was certain that the majority of what he was saying was complete nonsense. She'd had an art history class and nothing about this piece said art nouveau to her. She guessed that he was spouting off random art terms to impress his date. Beth was suddenly struck with a wicked idea. She walked up to stand on the other side of the man and began nodding emphatically to the points he was making. He gave her a nod and continued with his lecture about the sculpture. When he broke off to take a breath, Beth, with as much dignity as she could muster, said "I think the artist must have been profoundly influenced by the Jacobean period."

She'd gone for the most obscure and irrelevant era she could think of—one that had no association with art, but the man was nodding as seriously as if she'd made a real point.

"Yes, yes perhaps," he murmured, his chin is his hands, and Beth had to fight hard not to burst out laughing. She had been right; he was posing as an art pundit just to impress the blond woman at his arm.

"It's pure Machiavelli if you ask me," said another, deeper male voice just behind her. "Just look at the end result."

The man nodded again with a quick look over his shoulder, but then he hurriedly ushered the blond woman away to another painting, afraid that he was about to be exposed as a fraud.

Beth laughed at the comment, pleased that someone else had caught on. She turned around to see who else had spoken and was at eye level with a nice pair of shoulders in a black suit jacket. Strange that those shoulders looked oddly familiar... She looked up to meet Will's green eyes looking down at her. His hair was shorter, she noticed immediately, and parted to one side but still unruly at the edges. Beth had to stop herself from gawking both in true shock at seeing him there and because the long lines of Will's body were made for suits. It wasn't at all like seeing the boys from her high school when they had to dress up for presentations or for prom in ill-fitting loose pants and baggy untucked shirts. He looked like an adult and almost like model, and she was so not prepared to see him.

Had he always been this attractive? Why was he at Carla's gallery? Was she going to have to force conversation with him for the next 10 minutes? Or would he just stand silently and not say anything to her? What had really happened with him and Jamie? The thoughts raced by in a matter of moments before she could form a sentence.

"What are you doing here?" they asked at the same time.