Free Starry Night by Isabel Gillies Page B

Dowd. Thank god Dad was talking again or she might have taken her spindly legs and stepped her platforms right over to him.
    â€œAs a boy growing up in Amsterdam, I spent hour upon hour in the Rijks, studying and falling in love with the masterpieces of the Golden Age. How I wished I could have met these artists. How I wished I could have spoken to them, asked about their technique, their visions, what they ate for dinner!”
    Titters rippled through the great hall. I looked over at Cy, who was laughing and side looking at Farah, who caught his glance and was throwing a bigger one in his direction.
    â€œIt is like a dream come true for me, but I am quite sure for all of us.”
    More applause.
    â€œThe board of directors and I welcome you. We hope you enjoy what you see in the gallery, and later, we invite you to join us in the Temple of Dendur for what is sure to be a delicious celebratory dinner. Proost!” Everyone in the great hall echoed the Dutch toast back to my father.
    â€œProost!”
    As the guests raised their glasses, I finally caught sight of Oliver and Nolan standing at the entrance of the Egyptian gallery. I watched them say something to each other and then Nolan disappeared through the small arch that leads to the tombs and pharaohs.
    â€œI’ll be right back. Stay here,” I said to Charlie.
    â€œHave one of these, I’m not kidding you, they will blow your mind.” He looked at me and nodded like his family had invented Peking duck.
    â€œOh thanks, I’m starving.” I took the tiny, still-warm egg roll and, without thinking for a second about what I was wearing, crunched into its middle. Of course the very amazing-tasting, but hot, goopy brown duck juice squirted out both sides of the roll, flew up into the air, and landed like a Rorschach test splatter on both sides of the skirt of my dress. Had I been wearing a little fitted dress, the juice would have hit the floor. Or since I was dressed in a one-of-a-kind vintage Oscar de la Renta, I could have paused to consider cause and effect, like a careful person.
    â€œCharlie! My god.” I sucked air in. “Ohhh, look!”
    â€œOh crap—I should have told you they were sort of juicy.”
    â€œShoot shoot shoot. Do you have another napkin?”
    Mortifyingly enough, a mom-looking woman next to us grabbed cocktail napkins from a passing Nosh waiter and started blotting my skirt.
    â€œGracious, it’s really in there. Let me just…” blot, blot, blot, “… never scrub or it will stain forever. You might have to take this to a very good dry cleaner, dear, but it will come out, I am sure of it. Oh what a shame, this is a beautiful dress.”
    â€œThanks,” I said anxiously. At the opposite end of the hall, Oliver was making his way toward the bar.
    â€œI’m really sorry , Wren.” Charlie had his mouth full with another duck bomb.
    â€œIt’s not your fault.” I looked at the concerned woman. “Thanks, I just have to catch someone.”
    â€œDon’t do anything until a professional can get their hands on it.”
    â€œOkay!” I bolted through the maze of people to Oliver, who was now at the bar getting himself a beer. I had to wedge myself between grownups to get to him.
    â€œHaving a beer? How do they even serve you?”
    â€œYuuuup.” He smiled and I thought he might burp because that is something he would do at a moment like that. I was extremely aware of the plum-brown stains that were drying and deepening into the fabric of my mother’s dress. “They don’t know how old I am, it’s not like we’re at a bar. It’s a private party.”
    â€œOh. Can I have a sip?”
    â€œSure.” I took the glass filled to the top with the just-poured foaming beer and took a big swig. Bitter and bubbly.
    â€œEasy there, sister.”
    â€œYuck.” I handed back the glass and got down to business.
    â€œSo