Archer & Claire

Claire was zoning out at the Yale Club.

She was sitting at a corner table in the Tap Room, pretending to listen to the blue blazers discuss bond prices. The hall was oppressively hot. No one seemed bothered though, Claire noted, as they milled about in their starched finest.

Claire made an excuse and got up, smoothing her pencil skirt. So and so transferred to Goldman Sachs, and so and so was finally moving to Boston for graduate school, she heard as she weaved her way to the bar.

She had just asked for a glass of white when someone screamed out her name. Claire turned and saw a sparkly blond at the other end of the table waving furiously at her. She had called out so loudly that several people were now watching. Claire picked up her drink and walked toward the woman, who was sipping on a pinkish cocktail.

“Oh sweetie, it has been ages,” Annabel gushed as they kissed each other on both cheeks. “And you look gorgeous.”

“So do you,” Claire said, meaning it. Annabel looked blonder than ever. Her hair was almost white and her skin a deeply-freckled brown. She was wearing a beaded flapper dress that stood out in a crowd of corporate attire. Annabel spun around, laughing, letting the beads glitter and click in the air.

“Thank you, darling,” Annabel said, looping her arm into Claire’s. “Now, tell me where you’ve been keeping your fabulous self.”

Claire began telling Annabel about Doré, and Annabel mentioned that she owned a few pieces from last fall’s collection.

“I knew you’d wind up with something like that,” Annabel said, smiling toothily. “You were so glam in college.”

Claire found the comment strange coming from Annabel. They had been in the same fashion society at Yale. Claire was the president and Annabel, a year younger, was the secretary. But Annabel was the one who wore mink coats to lecture and had her hair done in New York every week. Annabel’s freshman-year dorm room was even featured in the New York Times Style section. Claire remembered giggling with friends at photos of the glitzy freshman’s zebra-print armchairs and crystal lamps.

She was now telling Claire about her new gig as a research assistant for a D.C. think tank. Annabel had launched a short-lived campaign for student body president her sophomore year, but Claire didn’t know that she harbored any interest in politics beyond that. Annabel said she was in New York for a conference and had to attend a dinner function later in the evening.

“Oh, hon, I am just so thrilled to catch up with you,” Annabel said, squeezing Claire’s arm tighter. “By the by, you haven’t said one word about that enormous rock on your finger.”

“Oh!” Claire said, blushing.

“If I had a hunk of ice that heavy, I wouldn’t forget it,” Annabel winked.

Claire blushed deeper and received Annabel’s well wishes.

“You married that fella you were going with in school, Arthur was it?”

“Yes, Archer.”

“Archer, of course.”

Annabel loudly kissed Claire’s cheek. “Now, you give him a kiss from me.”

Claire kissed Annabel on the cheek and waved goodbye. Annabel’s glittery figure sashayed around the cloud of dark suits and out the door.

A half hour later, Claire left the stultifying room.


-- Miss Cottonwood