Chapter 11 (part 1)

Still own nothing OC-related except the DVDs. As always, thanks for the reviews.

Chapter 11

"All set, sweetheart?" Sandy asked, ducking into Kirsten's dressing room. Then he hit himself on the forehead dramatically. "Wait, why am I even asking? We don't have to leave for another twenty minutes. That means you still have at least forty-five minutes worth of primping to do."

"Don't say 'primping', Sandy," Kirsten reproved without turning away from the mirror. She was frowning at her reflection and holding a mascara wand, but she wasn't doing anything with it.

Sandy swept the hair off the back of her neck and dropped a kiss just below the clasp of her necklace. "I keep telling you, honey, you can't improve on perfection."

Kirsten smiled, a little wanly, and rubbed the hand that was resting on her shoulder. "I'm just dreading this evening, Sandy. The day started off so well, but now . . ."

"I know. The letter. No sign of Ryan since he read it, huh?"

Kirsten shook her head, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"You know him, sweetheart. Ryan is going to want to deal with it on his own. He's not going to talk about it."

"He should though, Sandy. Don't you think so?"

"Maybe," Sandy conceded thoughtfully. "I'll see if I can't find a good time, get the kid to open up. Of course, that assumes we all survive your father's party tonight. Want me to go check on the boys?"

"Would you? I'll be down in fifteen minutes." Kirsten caught Sandy's skeptical grin. "No, really, sweetheart," she insisted. "I will."

"Right," Sandy teased. "Famous last words." He titled Kirsten's chin up, kissed the tip of her nose, and left.

Outside Seth's room Sandy paused, listening to melancholy strains of music through the closed door. Then he rapped, calling as he entered, "Hey, son! Parent in the house. You're stop number two on the Sandy Cohen 'Are you ready yet?' tour. So, are you ready yet?"

Seth looked up from the bed where he was trotting Captain Oats across the suit jacket that lay beside him. "I guess." He shrugged lethargically. "Just have to put the emergency cyanide pill in my pocket. You know, in case of imminent capture by grandpa or Julie Cooper."

Sandy laughed. "Toss in one of those for me too," he suggested. "And put on that jacket before it's completely wrinkled."

He turned to go, but Seth's voice stopped him. "Hey, Dad . . . Did Mom give Ryan his letter yet?"

"Yes, she did. A couple hours ago."

"So, I know it's really none of my business, except that I sort of made it my business when it was really, really none of my business, but . . . I mean, is everything . . . okay? Did he get into the program?"

"No," Sandy said. "He didn't. But they did invite him to apply again next year."

Seth's mouth twisted. "Next year," he repeated flatly. "So then maybe by next year he'll really forgive me."

Sandy came all the way back into the room, picked up the jacket and sat down next to Seth, putting an arm around his shoulder. "I'm not going to lie to you, son. You screwed up really badly, and when it comes right down to it, your behavior caused Ryan . . . this whole family, actually. . . a lot of pain."

"Yeah, thanks for the 411, Dad. I wasn't aware," Seth said bitterly.

Sandy took Captain Oats out of Seth's restless hands and tucked the toy away on the nightstand. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse, Seth, and I wasn't finished. The fact is, we've all had a hand in this situation, your Mom and me included—even Ryan, for that matter. Now if he had somehow gotten the internship after all . . . well, that would have been terrific, but it wouldn't have magically fixed everything. So the fact that he didn't get it?" Sandy scrubbed a hand across his forehead helplessly.

"Just sucks big time," Seth concluded.

"Yeah, it does," Sandy agreed. "But if it helps, son, Ryan told your mom that he's not mad at you anymore."

Seth looked up dubiously. "After he read the letter? Or before?"

"I'm not sure," Sandy admitted. "I know it was when she went to give it to him, though. Maybe you should talk to Ryan about it."

"Yeah, 'cause that's worked so well for me before."

Sandy sighed. "All right, let's just try and get through tonight . . . Look, buddy, I've got to check on Ryan and see if he's ready. Are you okay?"

"Sure," Seth claimed. "I'm fine. You go ahead."

"Okay. See you downstairs in five?" Sandy ruffled his son's hair and got up. At the door he paused and looked back. Seth was holding Captain Oats again.

Outside Ryan's room, Sandy repeated his knock and call routine. When he got no response, he let himself in. Ryan was standing in front of the mirror, yanking futilely at the tie that hung limp and loose around his neck.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Ryan muttered, giving up his one-handed attempt to produce a decent knot. He started to slide his other arm out of the sling when Sandy put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Hold it, kid," he cautioned, turning Ryan around to face him. "No need for that. The tie master's here. Let me take care of that for you." Sandy repositioned the length of fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles Ryan's clumsy efforts had produced. "Okay, around, loop, through, tighten, and . . . voila."

"Voila?" Ryan echoed, peering up from under his bangs.

"Perfect," Sandy explained. He centered the knot, then rested his hands on Ryan's shoulders, smiling at him fondly. "Remind you of anything, kid?"

Ryan nodded. "My first night here with you guys," he recalled, a little wistfully.

"A lot's happened since then," Sandy mused. He looked at Ryan with reflective concern. "Mostly good things, at least from where I stand. What about you, Ryan? Mostly good for you too?"

Ryan's voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah. Yeah, it has been."

"Great. I'm glad to hear it." Sandy checked his watch. "God, look at the time. We have got to be ready before Kirsten, or she'll never let us live it down . . . So," he added casually as he handed Ryan his crutch, "I heard about the news from UCLA. Tough break there, kid."

"Actually," Ryan said dryly, "it's a ligament tear."

Sandy cuffed the side of his head lightly. "I was going for genuine sympathy, smartass . . . Really, Ryan, I'm sorry it didn't work out. You deserve better."

"I don't know about deserve. I was just hoping, that's all. But it's all right, Sandy. Honest." Ryan met Sandy's eyes, quirked one side of his mouth.

"It's not all right," Sandy told him seriously. "And you don't have to pretend that it is. In fact, anytime you want to talk about it . . ."

Ryan nodded. "I know. Thanks." He ducked his head and started to pull away, but Sandy stopped him.

"You don't give up on your dreams, Ryan. Remember that . . . Okay, mini pep talk over. Now, are you good to go?

"Yeah. I'm ready if you are."

"For a Caleb and Julie Nichol party?" Sandy scoffed, putting a hand on Ryan's back as they left the room. "I'm never ready, kid. It's a lot like going to the dentist. I just look for something to dull the pain and try to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible."

Julie opened the door of the Nichol mansion with a flourish and a flash of flaming crimson. Everything about the house shimmered in shades of gold, while Julie herself blazed like the red heart of a fire.

"You're here!" she exclaimed, air-kissing Kirsten and Sandy. "And don't you all look wonderful. Kiki, I've loved that dress every time you've worn it. It just never gets old . . ."

Kirsten smiled caustically. "That could be because it's brand-new."

Julie made a face of faux-apology and turned her attention to Ryan and Seth. "And boys, you both get more handsome every day. I'm just so glad that you all could come, considering, well, everything. It will mean so much to Caleb. He's around here somewhere . . ." She stepped back and twirled so that her lace skirt lifted and flitted around her thighs. "Now, Kiki, tell me honestly, what do you think? I wanted to make a statement tonight, but is this dress too much . . .?"

"For someone else maybe. Not for you, Juju," Kirsten assured her wryly. "Although I thought all the women were supposed to wear white or gold tonight."

"Well, yes," Julie admitted blithely, "that was the idea. But when I saw the full effect of the color scheme, I thought it was just a tad too. . . predictable. It needed something to make it pop."

"And that would be you," Sandy observed.

Julie gave an acid laugh and batted her eyes at him. "Oh, Sandy, you are amusing. No, silly, it needed random touches of another color. See—a single red flower in every centerpiece. But then adding red to the décor naturally meant . . ."

"That you should wear red," Kirsten concluded.

"Well, someone had to, and it was really too late to ask anyone else to change what they planned to wear."

"Oh, you're right," Kirsten agreed. "That would have been rude. Julie, do you suppose I could get a drink . . .?"

Seth sidled closer to Ryan as Julie motioned for a waiter and then danced off to greet other guests, pulling Kirsten along in her wake. "Hey, dude," he whispered in Ryan's ear. "Looks like King Midas had a hand in the decorating scheme here." Getting no response, he elaborated, "You know? Midas? Hand? Gold?"

"Seth, explaining your jokes? Makes them not so funny. Also, it's pretty insulting."

"Ah, point taken. So I guess adding a Goldfinger reference wouldn't help either . . .?"

"Not too much. Look, Seth, do you mind? I'm just gonna . . ." Ryan said vaguely. He gestured past the crowds of people and began to inch toward the next room.

"No, absolutely. You go. Mingle. Or not. Whatever's good. If you need reinforcements or, like, anything, send up a flare. Only make sure it's not gold, or I'll never see it. I'll be . . . around," Seth replied. He pitched his voice at hearty confidence, but the minute Ryan disappeared, he sagged against the wall, exhausted.

An arm dropped around his shoulder, and Seth looked up to see Sandy grinning at him.

"So, son. Breakfast this morning, you and Ryan talking now, even after the news about his internship. That's progress, right?"

Seth shrugged and leaned against his father briefly. "I guess . . . I mean, he hid out in his room all afternoon. And he's not, like, jumping around and waving his hand in the air to get picked first for Team Seth tonight. But, hey, he's talking. Well, at least by Ryan standards. And he's not treating me like I invented Musak or anything, so I suppose, yeah, that's progress."

"And how are you treating him?"

"Me?" Seth asked, surprised. "I'm cool. I mean, you know, as cool as I ever get. Which is, I know, barely tepid. But seriously, dad, I'm trying . . ."

Sandy squeezed Seth's shoulder and released him. "Good. Because it seems to me that since he's been home from the hospital you've lashed out at Ryan as much as he's lashed out at you. Maybe more."

"Hey!" Seth protested. Then his mouth twisted sheepishly. "Okay, that may be true. May have been true. But I apologized." Sandy looked at him appraisingly and Seth insisted, "I did. Last night. And anyway, you've never heard that the best defense is a good offense?"

Sandy raised his eyebrows. "I have," he said ironically. "I just never knew you had."

"Yeah, 'cause a sports reference? I'd need like a Rosetta stone for translation, right? C'mon, dad. I wasn't raised in a cave."

"Glad to hear it. Since I raised you . . . But just remember, son, sometimes if your offense isn't working, all you can do is drop back and punt . . . That was another sports reference, by the way."

"Yeah. And that one? Totally indecipherable."

"We'll look into getting you that Rosetta stone next week. Okay, Seth. You have fun tonight."

Sandy snagged a glass from a passing waiter and started to move away, but Seth grabbed his sleeve.

"Um, wait. Dad? Would you mind if I sort of hung out with you and Mom tonight? 'Cause I'm still pretty much persona non grata with everybody around here, except maybe Summer, and I can't really be sure about her. And Ryan's obviously not ready for an evening-long viewing of Seth Cohen: the director's cut."

"Aw," Sandy drawled. "You want to spend time with your mom and me, son. As a last resort. That's touching. And no. Like you told, Ryan. Mingle. Or not. Whatever's good."

He gave a satirical salute and left.

Seth weighed his options. Brave the crowd and search for a friendly face, or find an abandoned room; he figured that there must be at least fifteen of them available. He could pass the time watching guests from a window and inventing conversations four hundred times more witty than any of them were really having. Or he could outline the first chapter of his great American novel, which had never gotten past the title stage ("A Great American Novel"; Seth wanted to leave nothing to chance.) Or maybe just count the seconds until the Cohen family could go home.

The music was crappy.

The food looked much too complicated to taste good.

None of the faces around him appeared very friendly, even the ones Botoxed into frozen smiles.

Seth scanned the room without much hope. Then just beyond the doorway, he saw Summer standing with Zach and Marissa. Summer looked vivid and inviting and she definitely smiled when she noticed him. Seth raised a tentative hand in greeting and she waved back, beckoning him over. At the same time, she elbowed Zach until he turned and gestured a little unenthusiastically for Seth to join them.

Okay, it wasn't an engraved invitation, but it would do. Besides, Summer had told him to rejoin the world, and even Ryan had urged him to spend time with other people at the party.

Seth wondered briefly if Ryan had vanished on purpose, so Seth would have a clear field and their friends wouldn't have to juggle loyalties tonight. That would be a typical Ryan gesture, he decided, a kind of stealth generosity.

Summer had widened her eyes and was cocking her head, a definite "Come here, Cohen. Now," signal. Seth gathered his courage and started toward her, mentally composing a clever opening comment. Then he jerked to a halt. His grandfather was bearing down on him from the right, like a torpedo seeking its target.

That was not good. Not good at all. Seth knew Caleb had been waiting for this opportunity. It wouldn't even matter to him that other people would overhear. His grandfather would still carry out his mission: he would offer Seth all kinds of unwelcome and emasculating advice, insult him in subtle but deeply wounding ways, and leave him emotionally bloodied within five minutes.

Frantically, Seth searched for a way to escape. He got his chance when a heavyset man waylaid Caleb, literally grabbed his lapels, and engaged him in instant conversation. But to his dismay, Seth couldn't see any way to reach Summer without going past his grandfather. That would put him within easy capture range, and unfortunately, the cyanide pill in his pocket was strictly imaginary.

Rejoining the world would have to wait. All things considered, Seth decided he really had only one choice. He ducked out the door behind him and went to find an abandoned room.