I was trying to think of something else to say when the doorbell rang. I knew our maid, Jackie, wasn’t at the house because her little red Honda wasn’t out front.
“I’ll get it.” I set down my coffee and headed towards the front door.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
I scurried through the hallway, into our reception area, and opened the front door. Suddenly there was an explosion of light, leaving white spots floating through my eyes. I blinked but the fog wasn’t clearing.
What the hell? I looked around for the source when I realized that the lights were dozens of camera flashes coming at me from every angle. There were people scattered all across our front porch. Some had cameras. Some had microphones. Some were even crouched in the bushes trying to snap photos through our windows. It finally dawned on me that they were reporters and for some reason were in a frenzy.
“Jane!” One lady with a microphone yelled. “We want to ask you some questions!”
And for some reason, they were here to see me.
“What made you finally decide to present at the Gala like the rest of your family?”
“Does it have to do with your father’s stroke?” Asked a man from in the bushes.
Oh my God. Get me out of here! I didn’t quite know what was going on yet, but I knew I wanted away from the chaos. So, I tried to back into the house, but the door had shut behind me. I twisted the knob but it was stuck. It must have locked. Dammit! I was completely trapped. My back was pressed hard against the door, and I could feel a trickle of sweat run down my spine under my sweater.
I smiled at the press and tried not to show my fear.
“Never show them your fear.” Mother used to coach us. “The press is like a pack of Rottweillers. If you’re scared, they’ll sense it, and then they’ll eat your face off.”
At the time, I was seven.
In a controlled panic—if that even exists, I reached behind my back and frantically rang the doorbell. The reporters were all trying to yell over each other so none of them could hear it ring.
“Jane! Bill Blake from the New York Times.” Trying to act as normal as possible, I pointed at him, giving permission to speak over everyone else. “This is the first time all four of the Hightower children are entering the legendary Gala. This is huge! What made you decide just now?”
I cleared my throat and tried to steady my voice. “Um, well, I uh, just thought now was the right time.” There! Good answer. Hopefully he’d just be happy with that.
“Why exactly now?”
Rottweilers!
“Um…I…Aaaack!” My prayers were halfway answered when the door flew open, taking me with it. I fell flat on my back. My body was sprawled out inside the house while my legs still laid on the porch.
I looked up, realizing Mother was now standing before the press. I could tell she was taken off guard too, because she quickly threw her full martini glass out of their sight, which happened to be all over me. She shoved my legs out of the way with her foot and abruptly slammed the door behind her. I stood up and was wringing the vodka out of my hair when Caroline and Rosie tip toed in.
“What’s going on?” Asked my sister, Caroline.
“Mother threw her drink all over me.”
Our cook, Rosie nodded like this was a common occurance. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! Apparently there’s a press conference on our front porch, and quite frankly I’m glad Mother is taking care of it.” I replied. She has always been a breeze with the media.
They peaked out the window. “Is it about Dad?”
“No, actually it’s about me.”
“You?” Caroline closed the curtain tightly.
“Yeah, apparently it’s big news that I’m entering the Gala this year.”
“No!” Her jaw practically hit the floor in disbelief. Her reaction both scared and irritated me.
I tried to play it off by shrugging my shoulders.
“I suppose it’s a big deal because we’re all entering this year, and it’s a first.”
“I suppose it’s a big deal because we’re all entering this year, and it’s a first.”
“I just didn’t realize it would be such a huge thing is all.” She replied. “I’m shocked that they’ve already moved on from Dad’s stroke over to another story.”
I nodded my head. “That’s the media for you.”
“Rottweillers.” We both commented in unison.
We all stood there, staring at one another, until Mother came in, calmly opening
the door.
“That’s all for now. Thank you!” she called over her shoulder as she slammed it shut. She stopped short in front of me, and examined my wet hair and shirt.
“Oh, did I get some of my drink on you?” she asked, eyeing me up and down.
“Just a little.” I replied through my teeth.
“Oh dear. Sorry about that.” She patted my shoulder with the tips of her fingers.
“Rosie! I need another drink. A real one.” She yelled as though Rosie were in the back yard and not just five feet in front of her.
“Yes, Ma’am.” She turned and left.
Mother strolled off like a cool feline back toward the office. But then she stopped, turned, and stood poised at the doorway. “Oh Janie. EVERYONE is in abuzz that you are presenting this year, and EVERYONE is expecting big things from you. I certainly hope you’ve come up with something good.”
With that, she left the room and I was left there thinking of just how much I hated EVERYONE.
