Chapter 11: Dinnertime Dance

"Simon," came a voice, "Simon!"

I turned to see Sarah's mom waving at me.

"There you are," she said, "Sarah's already," she stopped abruptly, "What happened? Did you get into a fight?"

I touched my face. In the excitement of getting my apartment, I'd forgotten that my face was bruised and swollen. I wondered if my soon to be landlord thought perhaps I was escaping an abusive home. That might help explain his leniency.

"Yeah, I guess so," I said.

"You guess so?" she asked disapprovingly.

"It wasn't much of a fight," I said, "It was over really quickly."

Selma studied me for a moment, "You should know better, Simon," she said, "Well, come on then."

Sarah and Kerry were both already seated. My seat was next to Sarah. Sarah intertwined her fingers with mine. It seemed that with Sarah's mom here, I was Sarah's boyfriend even if it happened to be Kerry's day. I suppose that was probably easier than trying to explain to your parents that you're sharing your boyfriend.

Kerry studied Sarah and me for a moment when she thought we weren't looking. As usual, her features were expressionless and she didn't say anything. It made me wonder if she was regretting her choice; she was the one, after all, who had convinced Sarah to date me.

Kerry was wearing a necklace. I couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed a reasonable guess to assume it was her sap. I wondered if she'd had it at lunch as well, but as I remembered her attire at lunch I realized that it would have kept the necklace covered.

The auditorium was full of chatter as we all waited for the recital to start. I was pleased to note that there was a grand piano on the stage. My fascination with live instruments may have started with Jacquie's guitar, but it didn't end there.

Sarah seemed appropriately shocked at my expulsion from school. Selma listened with some interest as her daughter ranted at the injustice of it all. Sarah reasoned that it was all Tom's fault. I liked her point of view, of course, but I didn't know where the blame actually lay. At the very least, I had to admit to myself that I had knowingly and intentionally provoked Tom. I hadn't, however, made him strike me. Even then, I could have diffused the situation. Tom was nowhere near quick enough to hit me if I hadn't wanted him to. I had let him hit me.

Even after he hit me, I could have walked away. It may have been enough to suspend or even expel Tom. I hadn't stopped there, though. Especially as a minor, I knew that the law was on my side. Morally, however, I would have to consider that I wasn't in the right. Could it be that even after 200,000 years of life, I still had the temperament of a sixteen year old?

Kerry had very little to say on the subject. She believed that I had let Tom hit me. How she could jump to such a conclusion, I didn't know. Her silence irked me. It's possible she thought this was somehow my fault. I didn't defended myself; I created a situation where I could justify sending somebody, who was effectively helpless against me, to the hospital.

Maybe she thought I deserved to be expelled. I wondered if she thought less of me for it.

The dance recital was more impressive than I thought it would be. While it bit childish in theme, I thought the choreography was fairly crisp. There was about a hundred people in the audience and it appeared that most of them were family. Still, it was clear that many of the girls had aspirations of becoming dancers on a much bigger stage.

Rachel was generally at the front of the pack. The energy and confidence she exuded seemed to make her stand apart. Selma looked as though an explosion could not have distracted her from the performance.

The entire show, including the awards at the end, lasted for about two hours. Though officially the pieces with Rachel in them were my favorite, secretly I thought the jazz-pop dancers were the best. They were helped, in part, because they were an older group. They also had a few girls that skirted the line between dancer and gymnast. I had a feeling they were the most advanced troupe at the dance school, but it was never said explicitly.

In Selma, I saw the look of somebody being nostalgic. When the show ended, and we were all mingling, I asked her if she'd ever danced.

Rachel, still bubbling over with adrenaline from winning an award, answered in Selma's stead, "Mom used to dance professionally when she was in college!"

I smiled, feeling proud for having predicted correctly. It helped explain the grace with which she moved. Like Garrick and the women from the hospital, she seemed ready to spring into action at any moment. Unlike them, however, Selma seemed settled into her constant awareness. She didn't feel dangerous the way they did. I wondered if I perceived her differently because I liked her.

"I guess I won't see you at school tomorrow," said Sarah when it was time to say goodbye.

"Yeah, still have to wrap my head around that," I said.

"What are you gonna do?" she asked.

"I don't know," I lied, I had plans to go back to the university library.

"So," said Kerry once we were alone, "Where to?"

"Umm, I skipped lunch, can we get something to eat?" I asked.

A thoughtful look crossed her face as she responded, "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan."

She didn't ask my input on where to eat and she insisted we take a cab. When we arrived outside a restaurant, Kerry paid the cab fare. When I opened my wallet to cover my half of the cab's cost, Kerry gently put her hand on top of my hand. It wasn't her hand that prevented me from pulling out the money, it was the look it her eyes. Her look said, quite plainly, 'you can make a fuss about this if you want, but you're not going to win this one.'

I sighed. I didn't need to subject the cabbie to our little drama. I shrugged and put away my wallet. Kerry beamed at me as a reward. It was the first smile she'd given me all evening and it released some tension in me that I hadn't known was there. She'd been more quiet and sullen all evening than I was used to.

It stuck me in that moment that less than a week ago, I had never before talked to Kerry. Only a few days later and somehow I was nearly as comfortable around her as I was with Matt and Richard.

Though the restaurant looked like it might charge me a month's rent for the appetizer, I made the conscious choice not to voice my complaint.

"Reservation?" asked the hostess. She looked at my clothes and, though she hid it well, I could tell she thought me underdressed. She kept quickly glancing at me as though she'd never seen a teenaged boy before. Kerry, having dressed up a bit for the dance recital, did not warrant the same disapproving looks.

To be fair, with the way she carried herself, Kerry would fit in even if she were wearing a potato sack as a dress.

"We'll take the cedar room," said Kerry without hesitation.

As though this was some sort of secret password, the hostess's eyes suddenly opened wide. She scrambled to pull out a separate checkboard.

"Name?" she asked, suddenly much more attentive.

"Kerry Malone, but it'll be under either Garrick Podrick, or Brenda Malone," Kerry answered.

I hadn't thought about the fact that Kerry's dad must have a different last name. I mentally face-palmed. I had called him, Mr. Malone. Of course, if Kerry was part of a bloodline that had passed down from her mother's side, then she would keep her bloodline's name and not her father's name.

"How many will it be this evening, Ms. Malone?" asked the hostess.

"Just the two of us," she answered.

"Right this way."

We walked past the regular seating area and to a separate room off to the side. It was a gorgeous little room with a fireplace and some very classy chairs and sofas.

"We're eating here?" I asked, once the hostess left.

Kerry giggled at me, "Nope, this is just the waiting room."

My jaw dropped, "So your parents are on some sort of celebrity list here or something?"

Kerry nodded, "Kind of. They're partial owners in way. This is where my dad meets with clients when they happen to come up to Canada."

I was taken aback by the extravagance of it all. Even if the food here was the best I'd ever had, I knew I wouldn't like the damage it would do to my wallet. It seemed to me as though Kerry had something to prove. I couldn't fathom what that might be.

I regretted thinking of the waiting room as extravagant because I lacked the vocabulary to describe the room we ate in. A high ceiling with a crystal chandelier, marble floors, a Persian rug, atop which stood a solid oak table for two. Three fireplaces lined the wall and though the room seemed much too big for a single small table like this, the rug and the fireplace colluded to make it seem somehow romantic.

What impressed me most, however, was the care with which the room was lit. Placed strategically around the room, every light emitted a soft glow and combined to light the room with such a steady and subtle brightness that no shadows could be seen.

I could see how this would work well for a business setting while still retaining the personal touch only dimmer mood-lighting could imbue into a room.

"If you're impressed now, wait till you see the food," whispered Kerry as we followed a new hostess to our secluded little table.

We were given menus as we sat down. I opened the menu and was struck by two things. First, it was a smaller menu than I was expecting. Most restaurants I had been too had a much larger variety. Secondly, there were no prices.

"There's no prices on here," I commented, guessing what her answer would be.

Kerry smiled, "the types who eat here aren't worried about the prices."

I just stared at her. What was I doing here? She stared back at me defiantly. After a short time she relented.

"Do you know how hard I had to work for this?" she asked, looking around the room.

I shook my head.

"Nothing. I was born and this was all just handed to me, Simon," she said, "If you won't eat here because you think you don't deserve to or because you didn't earn it yourself, then I don't deserve just about anything I've ever been given."

"That's not-" I started, but Kerry interrupted me.

"I don't really care if it hurts your pride because this isn't about your pride" she continued, "If I want to pay for the cab or a meal we have together or if I want to buy you your own personal space-ready rocket-ship, I don't really care to fight you over it."

We were silent for a little bit. I understood the point she was making, but I felt like this was too grand a show to simply make the point that she'd like to be in charge of financing our dates. I think she'd have convinced me with a simple, 'please let me do this for you.'

"Did you just get that card today? Also, the rocket-ship might be a bit much," I joked.

"I hired you a lawyer," she segued.

"Oh," I said.

Suddenly this show of extravagance made a bit more sense. Buying me a meal was much smaller a feat than hiring me a lawyer. Though, as I looked around the room again, I wondered if that was necessarily true.

"And you don't want me to try paying you back," I commented.

Kerry nodded, "My parents aren't just millionaires; they're not rich, Simon. They're wealthy. You're my boyfriend and I expect you to allow me to spend however much I want on you," she said.

"You know," I said, "I get that you have a lot more than I do, but leaning on that doesn't make for a very healthy relationship or even friendship."

"I'm fairly fortunate that I get to go to a pretty regular school and that hardly anybody knows who I am. I get to be a normal girl and that's not the case for most of the kids that are part of the richest families in the world. Even my closest friends think my family is just fairly well off. They have no idea. I don't want to have to hide who I am. Being rich doesn't make me a snob and spending money shouldn't have to mean I'm trying to buy people off."

She looked around the room.

"Money ruins friendships because people tend to feel obligated to do any favors you ask of them if you're always spending money on them. I get that. Can't we move past that somehow? It's being thoughtful that should matter. Buying you a meal really should be the same as you giving me a piece of gum. It's not a big deal," finished Kerry.

"I get your point. I'm just not convinced it's going to work out the way you expect it to," I said.

"Should I feel guilty for wanting to go to a nice restaurant because you might not be willing to spend that much on food? Should I have to limit what we do on our dates when there's an alternate solution right there?" she asked.

I shook my head, "No. I'm not going to complain if you want to make my life easier on me. If you are able not to expect special treatment from me because of it, then it's probably fine."

"Good enough for now," Kerry Smiled, "We should decide what to get," she said picking up the menu.

"I'm surprised our waiter hasn't been here yet," I commented.

"They're not allowed in here unless we ring for them," she said, "Also, the entire room is soundproof."

"Ring for them?" I asked, looking around.

"You know those lamps that you touch and they turn on and off?" she asked, "Well, this lamp doesn't switch off, instead it tells them we want our waiter. Most of dad's clients don't even know that."

I had thought the lamp was just decorative. Once we picked our meals, Kerry tapped the base of the lamp. Seconds later, two waitresses and a waiter arrived. All three were clearly dressed to impress. They carried bread, olive oil, and an assortment of appetizers which they placed on the table.

All three waiters had the classic black and white look to their waitressing uniforms. The man wore a tuxedo. Both women were distinctly different. The first had a button-up shirt, a black bowtie, and a knee-length skirt which started halfway up her torso and made her look like she'd walked directly out of a fashion magazine. Much like the man, she exuded class and professionalism. The second waitress, however, had a much shorter skirt and a low-cut top with a few tastefully done frills. It still looked very classy, but seemed to hint that the viewer had the right to stare for as long as they pleased.

Once the appetisers were placed, all three waiters waited expectantly. As soon as Kerry made eye contact with one of them, the other two left without a word.

"What will it be this evening?" asked our waitress. Kerry had picked the waitress with the low-cut top. I wondered if she had done it on purpose.

We ordered and she committed our order to memory. Kerry asked her which wine she'd recommend. She hesitated for the briefest of a moment and then smiled. She must have known we were underage, but apparently rules don't apply to you when you're rich enough.

She seemed very knowledgeable about the wines, which impressed me. She recommended three different bottles. She didn't mention the price, but from the way she described each wine's history and flavor, it was clear that the third bottle was the most expensive one.