Friends In The Best Places
By Diana
Mart Belden rang the doorbell of the Lynch mansion. He still had on the jeans and boots he'd worn earlier that day to help his 4-H kids practice showing horses with Regan.
Definitely NOT appropriate attire for the shindig going on at the Lynch's tonight.
Harrison answered the door, frowning when he saw Mart.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Belden, but I don't believe you were on the guest list for this party.”
Mart pushed past the Lynch's butler into the enormous marble foyer, clumps of mud falling off his boots onto the polished floor. Harrison looked at the mud and frowned even deeper, if that were possible. “It's okay, Harrison. I just want to congratulate Di on her engagement.”
The guests crowding the art gallery tonight were an elegant group. Their tuxedoes and formal gowns glittered and shone in the soft light emanating from the chandeliers. Waiters carried trays of crystal champagne flutes and canapes through the crowd. A string quartet played soft music at the end of the long room.
Mart knew coming here was a mistake, but he couldn't help it. The others had managed to keep Di's engagement party from him until yesterday, but when he'd caught Trixie with a fancy dress and new shoes in her car, she'd broken down and told him. The internal argument that had ensued kept him awake most of the night and distracted him during his time with the 4-H kids.
Those who knew of his past relationship with Di eyed him warily as he entered the room, while the Lynch's New York society friends looked at him like he was a bug on the bottom of their very expensive Italian shoes. The rest of the Bob-Whites-Brian, Trixie, Honey, Jim, and Dan-watched him with a variety of emotions on their faces. He knew what was going through their minds, and he hated it. Hated that they felt guilty no matter who they supported, him or Di.
The chatter of the partygoers fell to a whisper as he walked over to Di and Stephen Allan Hancock the Fourth. Di was as beautiful as he'd ever seen her, dressed in a deep purple gown that exhibited a tasteful amount of cleavage. Her black hair was swept up on top of her head in a complicated style. He knew from experience it was as soft as it looked.
Taking the fresh glass of champagne out of Stephen's hand, he held it up in a toast. Hancock's eyes widened, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Mart spoke so only the couple could hear him.
“To the ravishing Diana. May your every wish come true.”
Di's violet eyes were as remote as the Alaska tundra.
“Thank you, Mart.” Di's voice was cold, but oh, so perfectly polite. She lifted her glass and lightly touched it to his. Her huge diamond engagement ring nearly blinded him. “I'm glad you came tonight. It shows there are no hard feelings. Please, join the other guests. We have plenty of food.”
Something snapped in Mart. He wanted to hurt her the way she'd hurt him when she'd dumped him in favor of Mr. Uptight Asshole the Fourth. Hurt her the way she'd just hurt him by being so polite and cold it was as if they'd never been so in love the rest of the world barely existed.
“Temptress, the confederation we enjoyed may have terminated, but I'll nevermore bemoan the fact.” He tossed back some champagne. “I mistakenly assumed I appertained, but that assumption's been mistaken antecedently. My intention was not to effectuate tectonic controversy, so I'll retire from your humble abode. Please, osculate my buttocks whilst I retire to the Whiskey Barrel to descend into inebriation.”
He drained the champagne glass and handed it back to Hancock, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Di's. “I'm sure Stevie here has a dictionary you can borrow to look up all the big words.”
Turning on his heel, Mart stalked through the crowd to the front door, not giving Diana Lynch so much as a backward glance. Harrison watched him as he marched past, disapproval practically dripping from his starched butler's uniform.
Footsteps pounded behind him in the driveway. He didn't want to look around and see who had followed him outside, but whoever it was was catching up, so he didn't really have a choice. He looked around to see Dan come to a stop beside him.
“Mart, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Di's engagement party,” Dan said, putting a hand on Mart's shoulder, his lips straightened out in a thin line. “I just didn't see what good it would do.”
“It's ok. I found out anyway, I showed up, and it didn't do any good except to make me feel worse than I already did.”
“Where are you headed now?”
The Lynch's front door opened, the light from the entry hall spilling out into the dark night, and Brian and Jim walked out.
“The Whiskey Barrel.” Mart closed his eyes, but all he saw when he did was Di with her new fiance'. “I'm going to get good and drunk.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Brian said. “We'll join you.”
“You don't have to leave Di's party on my account.” But Mart was thankful that they were willing to do so for him. “Go back in and have a good time. Trixie and Honey are waiting for you to come back.”
“Look, Mart,” Jim said. “Bob-Whites are always there for each other. We went to the party to support Di, but now it's your turn. We made our excuses to Di, and Trixie and Honey already know we won't be back.”
“I feel like I'm at a James Bond convention,” Mart said, taking a healthy swig from his second Jack Daniels and eyeing his friends in their tuxedoes. Granted, none of them looked as perfect as Bond, having already made attempts to get comfortable. Brian and Jim had loosened their bowties, while Dan had stuffed his in his pocket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his pleated shirt.
“What? Is this too much debonair for you?” Dan asked, pretending to preen.
“Hardly,” Mart retorted. “I can be just as debonair as the rest of you if I want to. Maybe more so.”
“Nah, I don't think so,” Jim said, tugging the sleeves of his jacket into place. “We're a pretty debonair group of guys. Don't you agree, Brian?”
“Oh definitely.” Brian adopted a British accent. “Martini, please, shaken, not stirred.”
The cocktail waitress happened to come by right as Brian spoke.
“You want a martini? Is there something wrong with your Sierra Nevada?”
The pretty waitress looked at Brian like he was a Godiva chocolate and she'd been on a diet for the last month. What was it about tall, dark, and handsome? Women were always drooling over his brother. They didn't know his heart belonged to Honey.
“No, no, my beer is fine,” Brian assured her, blushing as bright as Trixie.
When she left, Dan drank deeply from his black and tan. “Don't worry, Mart, even though you aren't as debonair as the three of us, you have Stephen Allen Hancock the Fourth beat to hell even in the dirty clothes you're wearing now.”
Mart held up his glass. “To outclassing Mr. Uptight Asshole.”
The men clinked their glasses together.
“So, Mart, what happened tonight?” Brian asked, suddenly becoming serious.
Mart slugged back his whiskey. It burned all the way down, but he welcomed the sensation. He seriously hoped Mick Jagger was wrong, and he could drink Diana off his mind. It didn't look good, though. He'd been trying it for the last year, and it hadn't worked yet.
“I told myself since I found out about Di's engagement last night that I wouldn't do anything stupid. I'd stay away from the party tonight and save myself from more humiliation.”
He signaled the waitress for another Jack. “But when I finished at the stables with Regan and the kids, I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I stewed and stewed and finally convinced myself that all I wanted to do was congratulate her and wish her happiness. Because, in spite of everything, I really want Diana to be happy, even if it's not with me.”
His drink arrived, and he took a healthy swallow while his friends ordered another round.
“So I crashed the party, stole Hancock's champagne right out of his manicured hand, and wished Di well. She was so icily polite, she was rude.” He paused, remembering the pain that had sliced through him at that moment. The pain that still hurt like an open wound. “Then, something inside me snapped, and I didn't want to be the understanding ex-boyfriend anymore.”
The next slug of his drink went down way more easily than all the previous ones.
“And then what?” Brian prompted.
Mart clutched the curls he'd allowed a few years ago to grow out an inch. “I lapsed into Mart-speak.”
Dan choked on his beer, and Jim pounded him on the back. “You did what?” he wheezed.
“I lapsed into very rude, very insulting Mart-speak. Basically told her in fifty-dollar words to kiss my ass. And then insinuated she didn't know what all the words meant.”
Silence descended over the table for a full thirty seconds before Dan started to chuckle. Brian soon joined Dan, followed quickly by Jim, who somehow managed to look reproving at the same time he was laughing his ass off. Mart couldn't help but join them. Before long, they were laughing so hard, other bar patrons looked at them like they were lunatics. And maybe they were. Or he was anyway. Losing Di had changed him, and not in a way he liked to contemplate.
At midnight cocktail waitress refused to serve the male Bob-Whites any more alcohol. None of them were normally heavy drinkers, and binging like this was a rarity for them. But Mart appreciated that his friends were there for him when he needed them. It was the Bob-White way. Or maybe it was the male code. Whatever. His muddled brain was having trouble figuring it out.
“So who,” Brian hiccupped so loud it made Mart's head pound, “should we call to come get us? Shouldn't-shouldn't drive.”
Jim picked up his glass and tried to take a drink. He peered into it and frowned. Must be empty, Mart thought. Get this man another drink! But then Jim tilted the glass up again and a drop of beer dribbled down his chin.
“How 'bout Trixie?” Mart said, feeling triumphant that he'd managed to come up with his sister's name.”
“No, no, no,” Jim said shaking his head and then holding his hand to it. “Don't want Trix, Trixie to see me like this.”
“I'll call Uncle Bill,” Dan said. “He won't mind.”
Dan fished around in his pockets for his cell phone, finally coming up with it. He stared at it for a while before punching his finger at it.
“U-u-uncle Bill,” Dan said into the phone. “Could y-you come get us? We're a little d-d-drunk.” He held the phone to his chest. “Where are we?”
“Damned if I know,” Mart muttered.
“We're at,” Jim stopped for a minute, “a bar!”
“We're at,” Brian hiccupped again, “The Whiskey Barrel.”
“The Whiskey Barrel,” Dan said into his phone. “Ok, see you in a few.”
Mart laid his head on the table. He was so, so tired. After what seemed like fifteen seconds, someone thumped him on the back. Looking up, he saw Regan grinning at him.
“Rough night, huh, Mart”
“Terrible night. But I have great friends.” Mart's mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, and tears threatened to fall. “Di's marrying someone else.”
“I know, and I'm sorry,” Regan said, guiding the young men to the door.
“I just know if I could talk to her, I could fix things, but she won't talk to me.” Someone shoved Mart from behind, and he fell into the backseat of the Wheeler's car. A Mercedes, wasn't it? Mart petted the leather upholstery. So soft.
“Do not throw up in here,” Regan said from the front seat, a little too loudly to Mart's way of thinking.
“Holler, and I'll pull over. I'm under strict orders from Tom that anyone who throws up in here gets to clean it out and detail it, understand?”“If I could just convince Di to talk to me, but how?” Mart mulled a really good idea over in his head. “Hey! I could kidnap her! Then she'd have to listen to me.”
“Yea!” Dan hollered. Ouch. “But where would you keep her?”
“That's a great idea,” Brian said, burping this time.”
“I'll help!” Jim chimed in.
“No, that's NOT a great idea!” Regan thundered. Why did he have to be so loud? “Promise me you won't kidnap Di Lynch. That you'll go to bed tonight and sleep this off and leave Di alone.”
“Ok, we promise.”
“Nah, we wouldn't really kidnap Di.”
“Don't worry, Regan.”
But Mart fell asleep thinking about kidnapping Di. Thinking about having her alone so he could find out why she left him and fix it. Kidnapping Di was a great idea. He'd think about it a little more tomorrow.