Friday, 25 March 2016

Fiction Friday: The Conclusion of The Wentworth Boys

Written by Kris Kaila

 “…don’t ask the guys to dance.  They will do the asking, if they ask at all.  Don’t touch anything that looks expensive.  Actually, don’t touch anything.  Don’t…” Jocelyn went on and on telling me all the rules of the party.

   “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.  I do know how to behave at parties.””

    “Really? And, how many parties have you attended?  None.  I’m still surprised you were asked to this one.”

     I was about to say something when my mother entered the room.

     “Girls, I am off now.  I should be back at 10 or so.  Have a great night.” My mother kissed us and went out the door.

      My mother had a date with a widower, who worked at the mining company with her.  He was an office manager.  They had been seeing each other for a couple months, which really irked Jocelyn, and made me happy for my mother.

      “Carla, if you are coming, lets go.  Wendell is here,” Jocelyn handed me my purse and sweater.

       Jocelyn sat in the front while I was pushed into the already crowded back seat.  After giving her several sharp jabs, Jocelyn introduced me to Wendell and the girls.

      “This is Carla, my sister,” she grudgingly spitted out the introductions.

       “Nice to meet you…” I started to say.

       “So then Mike told Donna that he was going to Yale and not Princeton…” A girl beside interrupted me.

        I sat back in the seat and absorbed all I could.  Then we were at the Wentworth’s.  I stepped out of the car and could not look away from the large house surrounded by trees.  I had never been inside in the Wentworth’s gate, let alone the house.  The house looked amazing.  It had red bricks, with white trimming and doors.  Moving pass the trees, the front yard was neat and was like a large walk in garden.  I felt like I was no longer in Avelle.

      “Carla come on,” Jocelyn grabbed me the arm and pulled me to the front door.

       The inside of the house was even more elegant with famous paintings on the wall, and sculptures strategically placed around the house.  The parlor room, I think it was called, was dimly lit with soft music flowing from the record player.  I think it was Frank Sinatra on the record.  There was a table filled with drinks and food.  Couples were lingering in corners getting to know one another or getting reacquainted.  I was led to another room, a larger room.  If the room had a proper name, it was escaping me at the moment.  This room had the same spread of drinks and food on a larger table.  This room however was playing Elvis Presley’s faster tempo music.  People were dancing more so in this room.  It was in this room that I lost Jocelyn and Wendell in the crowd.  Looking around, I spotted Hunter right away.  He was entertaining his guests with his stories, making them really laugh.  I sat close by and listened.

      “So then I said, if that’s the way you want it, doll face…”

       I watched in awe the way he held his audience’s attention with a story that to me made no sense.  The way he moved his arms around, and would get and act out the scene was hypnotizing. After two more Hunter center stories the crowd broke up and began to dance.  This was my chance.  I could either walk up to him and say hi, or follow him around like an idiot.

       I got up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi, Hunter.”

      He turned around and looked me in the eyes, and for once I could feel him actually looking at me instead of through me.

      “Hey.  Do I know you?”

      “I’m Jocelyn’s…I’m Carla Fisher,” I introduced myself.

        I was not going to be the other Fisher girl tonight.  Tonight I was going to be the Fisher girl.

       “Right, the fat girl.  You look different somehow.  Is it your hair?”

        He hadn’t even noticed that lost weight.  I was still fat to him.  Before I could think of some response, he staggered off laughing to himself.  I stood there in my new dress in a body that I had worked so hard for, feeling like the biggest loser in the world.  I hadn’t changed a bit.  I was still the other Fisher girl.  I was the not so pretty one.  I spent years thinking about Hunter Wentworth, and how our first conversation would be like.  Hunter was not going to magically fall in love with me one day.  I was never going to be the one he wanted.  The more I started to think about it, did I really want him?  Was I willing to change myself for a guy who I wasn’t even sure I liked up close.  He was cute, very cute, but not a nice guy.  What did I know about him?  Does he like to read on Sundays, like I do?  Does he think Marlon Brando is the greatest actor ever? Is he even nice?  As I stood there thinking, a guy in my grade came over and asked me to dance.  His name was David, and we had math together.  He likes James Dean better, but doesn’t mind Brando. After David I danced with a few more fellows.  I ate finger sandwiches, and drank the punch.  I was having a great time.

       “Carla.” Jocelyn approached me around 11:45 pm. “It’s going to be midnight soon, and we all got to get out of here.  So look for a ride home.”

      “I thought Wendell was our ride.”

      “He was our ride here.  Now a guy has to ask you to the beach with him. Or you have to bum a ride with a couple that is willing to drop you off at home.  See you later,” Jocelyn said, quickly leaving the room.

      “What is with these rules?” I said out loud.

      “At 12 the maids start to clean up and put the house back exactly the way it was before my parents come home,” Cameron answered, coming up close to her.


     “Hey, you want a ride home?”

    “Where were you all evening?  I thought we were supposed to meet up or something,” I asked him.

    “I thought so too.  But it looked like you were really into Hunter…”

    “I was.  I’m not anymore.”


    “Look, I’m really sorry Cameron.  You asked me to this party, and I should have come to find you as soon as I got here.  Better yet I should have came here with you.  I have been a idiot.”

    “Do you want to go to the beach?” Cameron asked.


    “ Do you want…”

     I interrupted him. “What about…”

     “You liked Hunter, and Hunter likes Hunter. Now you know.  I like you, and maybe you could like me…”

    “I do, like you.”

    “So let’s go to the beach.  We’re sixteen, let’s not make it complicated.”

    “Okay. Let me grab my stuff.”

     Cameron led me by the elbow out of the room.

    “Do you like reading?”

    “Reading what?”


    “Yes. But mostly on Sunday nights when it’s quiet.”

     I smiled to myself he liked to read on Sundays.

     “What do you think about Brando?”

     “A damn good actor.  Why?”

     “Just wondering.”

      I liked him. With him I always felt like Carla Fisher, not Jocelyn’s sister.  And, he was really nice.

                                                  *                      *                        *

      After that night I attended many more Wentworth parties.  Even after Cameron and I broke up, he would still send me invitations.  We broke up senior year of college. We both went to the community college, me because of money and him because of me.  After graduation, he went off to Yale law, and I stayed here and became the manager of Caraway boutique.  I could not follow him around, and he could not stay. Jocelyn that night had a little too much fun.  She and Wendell got married that September, and nine months later had Wendell Jr.  She is a wife of a miner, like our mother. They have four children. A year ago Cameron returned to Avelle to join his father’s practice.  And, yesterday, I received an invitation to a private party for two at the beach.  I don’t know what will happen with us, but with or without him I feel like Carla Fisher, one of the Fisher girls.

k (My Novelesque Life)

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