Mr. White Teeth in the Dining Room with the Ring

“Delilah, you’re not going to believe this.”

“John, I’m not even out of the door yet. Give me a second, before you slap me with whatever journalist insider scoop you’ve got.”

“Delilah, this is a big one.”

“John, I understand, but you must stop starting each sentence with my name. You remind me of my mom whenever she’s asking for money.”

“Fine. Are you out the door now?”

“No, John, I’m not. I’m fumbling to squeeze into a pair of stilettos.”

“Hot date?”

“No, I wish. Sophie is hosting a friends’ dinner.”

“Sophie? Like Ryan’s Sophie?”

“Yes.”

“This is too good.”

“What’s too good? John, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Don’t put that on me! You told me to give you a second, princess.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes,” I lied, cramming my toes into the Devil’s shoe.

“Ryan has been caught embezzling corporate funds for sex workers and illegal drugs.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. White Teeth has been using his company’s money to pay for illicit sex and drugs, and I’m assuming Sophie is not a sex worker, correct?”

“Correct. She’s a teacher.”

“Damn.”

“How do you know about this?” I ask.

“I heard the Times is going to publish it tomorrow.”

“Damn. Do you think he’ll be there tonight? I hope not.”

“I hope so. Can I be your date?”

“No, I do not need you stirring the pot.”

***

He’s here. I repeat Ryan is here. Did anyone notice me chug my glass of wine, when he walked in? Why does he look so relaxed? Smiling, chatting, laughing, playing hosts with Sophie. He must not know he’s about to be outed. Or he does but has the acting ability of Meryl Streep. When I first met him, I had a bad feeling. He smiled too much. Sir, I get it. You have nice teeth.

Now, look at Sophie. Her boyfriend of three years is about to go to jail. He helped source sex workers for colleagues and/or partook in the activities himself. Also, he could be a coke addict. Despite all the piling travesty, she has prepared an irresistible array of hors d'oeuvres. I’m stuffing my face with brie, just to avoid a conversation. I can’t look into her sweet brown eyes and tell her her boyfriend’s true scum.

“Dee!” Sophie snatches her glass of chardonnay and scurries over to me. “I feel like we haven’t caught up in so long.”

What should I do? I ate all the brie. “Yeah,” I start and force a laugh. Wine’s out too.

“Babe?” Sophie calls out to Ryan, tomorrow’s headline. “Could you get Dee another drink?”

Hell no! I will not take a drink from a soon-to-be-convicted criminal. “I don’t need anything,” I add.

“Are you sure?” He asks me. The audacity! I wonder when he last embezzled funds. Last week? Three hours ago? Did his accomplice just text him with another order?

“I’m sure. Thank you.” Gosh, I feel so slimy, saying thank-you to a corporate criminal. He already makes more money than me and many others, yet he uses his employer’s money for illegal excursions. That greedy little --

“Dee, tell me what’s new,” Sophie begins again.

To start, your boyfriend is about to make all the headlines. “Me, nothing new. Same old, same old,” I ramble, while scanning for the felon. Did he get a tip? Is he a fugitive now? Poor Sophie, heartbroken, having to take care of this 1,000 square-foot penthouse all on her own.

“Everyone,” the culprit enters and addresses the room. “Dinner is served.” He adds a stupid flourish of his wrist, as if he’s as cool as Lumiere. Not today, never. I bet Ryan is tone deaf. I can’t imagine a criminal with a beautiful singing voice.

Like cattle paraded off to be slaughtered, we shuffle into the dining room. Of course. Name tags. There are only eight people here, and I think we’re adults enough to choose our own seats. “Everyone, please find your seat and enjoy,” Sophie chimes in. I see that the lawbreaker has rubbed off on her. Not that she’s breaking laws, but she’s becoming more annoying. She used to organize pro-choice rallies. Now, she practices calligraphy as a hobby. Oh my gosh. What if Sophie is his accomplice? As I take my seat to her left, I imagine her taking the stand in court. Would she protect her man? Would she protect herself?

Then, four servers with a plate of salad in each hand enter and line up along the walls. I should’ve never come. As they slide around and place the dish in front of me, I mutter a thank you. I grab my fork and eye the lightly dressed greens in front of me. I’m either hungry or desperate not to talk.

“Before we dig in,” Ryan starts and ding-dings his glass with his knife. Sir, no one is talking. Stop doing so much. As he stands up, I roll my eyes internally. “I’m grateful to have you all here tonight, and I’m always grateful for this woman across from me.” He smiles at Sophie, and I throw up in my mouth. “I have a question I’d like to ask you, Sophie.” Oh no. I cannot blink until he gets this question out. What will it be? Will you love me from prison? How offensive do you find embezzlement? He puts down his glass, walks over to our end of the table (please back away, sir), and lowers to one knee. It’s just my luck that I have a first-row seat to this tragedy.

“Sophie?” He starts. Such a creative start, buddy!

“Oh my gosh,” she replies, with her hands on her cheeks.

He reaches into his jacket pocket. Am I a horrible person for wishing it were a gun for himself? “Will you marry me?”

No, Sophie! No! You cannot do this! You cannot ruin your life! That man is a criminal! With this first-hand experience, I argue that we should have a “speak now or forever hold your peace” option for proposals too. There is going to be one wild mix of headlines tomorrow. Why is he doing this? Is it out of pure love? Is he doing it to aid his defense?

“Yes!” She exclaims and jumps out of her chair to hug him, as I fold in on myself. My friend’s fiancé is a felon. However, what can I do? There’s nothing like accusing a newly engaged man of embezzlement to ruin the mood.