“Seriously?” Madeline looked thrilled.
“With my bare hands.” Jane spun around to see Tom standing in front of her, wearing jeans and a plaid button-down shirt. He was holding one of the ubiquitous pink drinks.
“Tom!” said Jane as ecstatically as if he were a returned soldier. She took an involuntary step closer to him, and then stepped back fast when her arm brushed against his.
“You both look beautiful,” said Tom, but his eyes were on Jane.
“You don’t look anything like Elvis,” said Madeline disapprovingly.
“I don’t do costumes,” said Tom. He pulled self-consciously on his nicely ironed shirt. “Sorry.” The shirt didn’t really suit him. He looked far better in the black T-shirts he wore at the café. The thought of Tom standing bare-chested in his little studio apartment, conscientiously ironing his unflattering shirt, filled Jane with tenderness and lust.
“Hey, can you taste mint in this?” said Tom to Jane.
“That’s it!” said Jane. “So it’s just strawberry puree, champagne—”
“—and I’m thinking vodka,” said Tom. He took another sip. “Maybe quite a lot of vodka.”
“Do you think?” said Jane. Her eyes were on his lips. She’d always known Tom was good-looking, but she’d never analyzed why. It was possibly his lips. He had beautiful, almost feminine lips. This really was a very sad day for the g*y community.
“Aha!” said Madeline. “Aha!”
“What’s that?” said Tom.
“Gidday, Tom mate.” Ed strolled up next to Madeline and put his arm around her waist. He was in a black and gold Elvis outfit with cape-like sleeves and a huge collar. It was impossible to look at him without laughing.
“How come Tom doesn’t have to dress up like a dickhead?” he said. He grinned at Jane. “Stop laughing, Jane. You look smashing, by the way. Have you done something different to your hair?”
Madeline grinned idiotically at Jane and Tom, her head turning back and forth like she was at a tennis match.
“Look, darling,” she said to Ed. “Tom and Jane.”
“Yes,” said Ed. “I see them. I just spoke to them, in fact.”
“It’s so obvious!” said Madeline, all shiny-eyed, one hand to her heart. “I can’t believe I never—”
To Jane’s immense relief, she stopped, her eyes over their shoulders. “Look who’s here. The king and queen of the prom.”
71.
Perry didn’t speak as they drove the short distance to the school. They were still going. Celeste couldn’t quite believe they were still going, but then again, of course they were going. They never canceled. Sometimes she had to change what she’d planned to wear, sometimes she had to have an excuse ready, but the show must go on.
Perry had already posted a Facebook photo of them in their costumes. It would make them look like good-humored, funny, fun people who didn’t take themselves too seriously and cared about their school and their local community. It perfectly complemented other more glamorous posts about overseas trips and expensive cultural events. A school trivia night was just the thing for their brand.
She looked straight ahead at the briskly working windshield wipers. The windshield was just like the never-ending cycles of her mind. Confusion. Clear. Confusion. Clear. Confusion. Clear.
She watched his hands on the steering wheel. Capable hands. Tender hands. Vicious hands. He was just a man in an Elvis costume driving her to a school event. He was a man who had just discovered that his wife was planning to leave him. A hurt man. A betrayed man. An angry man. But just a man.
Confusion. Clear. Confusion. Clear.
When Gwen had arrived to babysit the boys, Perry had turned on the charm as though something vital depended on it. She was cool with Perry at first but it turned out that Elvis was Gwen’s weak spot. She launched into a story about how she’d been one of the “golden girls” when Elvis’s gold Cadillac toured Australia, until Perry cut in smoothly, like a gentleman stealing a woman away at a dance.
The rain eased as they drove into the school’s street. The street was jammed with cars, but there was a space waiting for Perry near the school entrance, as if he’d prebooked it. He always got a parking spot. Lights turned green for him. The dollar obediently went up or down for him. Perhaps that’s why he got so angry when things didn’t go right.
He turned off the ignition.
Neither of them moved or spoke. Celeste saw one of the kindergarten mothers hurrying past the car in a long dress that forced her to take little steps. She was carrying a child’s polka-dotted umbrella. Gabrielle, thought Celeste. The one who talked endlessly about her weight.
Celeste turned to look at Perry.
“Max has been bullying Amabella. Renata’s little girl.”
Perry kept looking straight ahead. “How do you know?”
“Josh told me,” said Celeste. “Just before we left. Ziggy has been taking the blame for it.”
Ziggy. Your cousin’s child.
“He’s the one the parents are petitioning to have suspended.” She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of Perry slamming her head against the wall. “It should be a petition to have Max suspended. Not Ziggy.”
Perry turned to look at her. He looked like a stranger with his black wig. The blackness made his eyes appear brilliant blue.
“We’ll talk to the teachers,” he said.
“I’ll talk to his teacher,” said Celeste. “You won’t be here, remember?”
“Right,” said Perry. “Well, I’ll talk to Max tomorrow, before I go to the airport.”
“What will you say?” said Celeste.
“I don’t know.”
There was a huge heavy block of pain lodged beneath her chest. Was this a heart attack? Was this fury? Was this a broken heart? Was this the weight of her responsibility?
“Will you tell him that’s not the way to treat a woman?” she said, and it was like jumping off a cliff. Never a word. Not like that. She’d broken an unbreakable rule. Was it because he looked like Elvis Presley and none of this was real, or was it because he knew about the apartment now and everything was more real than ever before?
Perry’s face changed, cracked open. “The boys have never—”