In fact, she wanted to tell her friend about Quin—not that Arya would appreciate the encounter. Her sole purpose was to find Dini the perfect man so that she could embark on Arya’s vision of a stable, conventional life, and a few conversations with Quin Carmichael were not going to result in that end. Still, it was the first time in—well, maybe ever—that Dini had the words I met a guy … burning on her lips.
Jessica—thus far known to Dini only as Mrs. Vee in their email and text exchanges—was a tall, stringy woman wearing a powder-blue sleeveless jumpsuit despite the outside temperatures in the low 50s. She greeted Dini with a firm handshake before proceeding to lay out the agenda. The party started at 1:00 for mingling and free play time, lunch at 1:15, Dini’s show from 1:45 to 2:15, absolutely not beyond 2:25, as the cake cutter was due at 2:30, leaving only thirty minutes for presents and gift bags and a 3:00 pick-up time for parents who would drop off their kid and use Princess Vee’s party time as a free babysitting opportunity.
Dini smiled and interjected, “Okay,” wherever necessary.
“And,” Mrs. Vee said, “as adorable as you are, I absolutely do not want you out mingling with the children before your performance.”
The screened-off area where the student volunteer had dropped off her trunk proved to be more spacious than she imagined and was outfitted exactly as she had requested in her rider. A four-foot table, over which Dini threw her most ornate purple velvet cloth, two bottles of water, and hand sanitizer with a pump dispenser. She opened her trunk and pulled out the flat craft supply tray, each of its squared-off compartments stuffed with balloons of all shapes and colors. Today’s balloon offering would be princesses and swords, in accordance with the theme. She listened to the arriving children, making note of their names, keeping a running tally of how many girls, how many boys.
At 12:50 the room filled with a medley of Disney and Pixar princess songs, masking the sound of her balloon pump. She filled long silver ones for the swords, a variety of other colors for the hilt, so each boy (or girl, if she preferred) could choose. She also filled balloons for the princesses: various skin tones, pink, blue, purple, and green dresses. These would be entirely customizable—black hair, blond, or brown—and a cupful of sharpies to draw faces. This party marked the debut of her princess balloon doll, following hours of study from a YouTube tutorial and visiting a dozen elementary classrooms to hone her skill and speed.
“All set up?” Arya’s face poked around the corner of the screen. “Are you hungry? The kids are eating pinkie sandwiches, but there’s a great baked brie and quiche in the kitchen for the parents. You want me to bring you a plate? Or, I could have that guy Marcus bring it back to you.”
“No, thanks, to both. But save me some?”
“I’ll try, but I got to tell you, there’s a lot of dads here using this time to do their fantasy baseball draft.”
“Then, go. Make me a plate. I’ll talk to you after—there’s something I want to tell you.”
Arya scrutinized her. “Something? Or Someone?”
Dini gave a cryptic smile. “Both.”
The show, thirty minutes of enthralled children, included a few card tricks played with a Disney Princess deck (given to the birthday girl as a gift), plus the usual array of interlocking rings, objects disappearing and reappearing, toy rings with enormous plastic stones fetched from behind ears, and Dini’s favorite—the little stuffed mouse that, seemingly on its own power, scampered up and down Dini’s sleeve. Then the children lined up for their princesses and swords—swords first, so that the boys, growing ever restless, could beat each other about the head and shoulders while waiting for cake. Dini twisted and assembled the princess bodies after enlisting Arya to draw the faces (even though she insisted Marcus might be quite handy with a sharpie), and by 2:24 on the dot, the professional cake cutter had arrived to turn a frosting-pink castle into a mass of small square servings. Dini, assured she would get one of the pointy white turrets, took herself off to the kitchen and collapsed in one of the chairs in the breakfast nook. There waited a paper plate, covered with another upside-down paper plate on which was written, Dini the Magnificent. Arya joined her with an ice-cold Dr Pepper in hand.
“Good show, girl.”
“Thank you.” She clunked her aluminum can to Arya’s bottle of water. “And how much are the parents going to love me for sending their boys home with those inflatable weapons?”
Arya laughed. “You might want to rethink putting your business card in the goodie bags. Might wake up to some angry emails.” She leaned close and pointed—as if casually gesturing to the group of men huddled around the island—to a dark-haired man wearing cargo shorts and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt. “That’s him. Cute, right?”
Dini feigned scrutiny. “Maybe?”
“Do you want me to go say hi to him for you?”
“Arya, I love you. But just because I never went to junior high school doesn’t mean I want to start going now. He’s not my type.”
“You don’t have a type.”
“I have a type. Everybody has a type.”
“So, what is it? Because I’ve never known you to embrace anybody.”
Dini wound a slice of prosciutto around a small bit of cheese. “You won’t believe this, but I met a guy last night.”
Arya’s eyes went wide. “And you’re telling me now?”
“I haven’t had a chance. It was late, and today’s been crazy.”
“Wait one second.” She disappeared and returned with a cup of pretzels and two hunks of cake. “Now, tell.”
“Okay. Well, I know you’re going to think this is crazy, but…his name? Irvin Carmichael.” She paused for dramatic effect and was disappointed by Arya’s disapprovingly curled lip.
“Irvin?”
“Yes—but, he’s actually Irvin Carmichael the Fifth. He goes by Quin.”
“So his name is Quin.”
“Yes.” Somehow, Arya was slow to share her excitement. “As in, the fifth. Arya! He is a direct descendant.”
“Of who?”
“Irvin Carmichael.” She was tempted to shake her friend by the shoulders. “Detective Irvin Carmichael.” She waited for the light to dawn, and when it did, she felt more let down than before. Arya went from dismissive to disappointed before her very eyes.
“Ah, Dini.”
“What, Ah, Dini? Do you know how awesome this is?”
“I know I wish you spent more time with real people. Like people who are actually among the living.”
“I’m around people all the time. It’s exhausting.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Well, look here—I’m going to spend some time with this guy. And he is very much alive.”
For the first time, Arya emitted a spark of approval. “Is he cute?”
“Very.” Dini surprised herself with how quickly she answered, along with the flush she felt.
“Well, that’s a start, at least. Is he as obsessed with this whole Menger story as you are?”
“Opposite, actually. He doesn’t even know it. But he has—I don’t even know what all. We’re meeting for brunch tomorrow.” She added quickly, “It’s not a date.”