The Rules of Love & Grammar by Mary Simses

rhinestone buttons and a skinny black tie says, “I’m trying to get them interested in the project, but I don’t think they’ll invest. She only likes to do movies about divorced women over forty who come from dysfunctional families.” The man next to him sips his drink and says, “I heard he only likes to do movies about married men who have affairs with divorced women over forty who come from dysfunctional families.” They nod, mulling this over.
    There must be a DJ, although I don’t see him. Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” is playing from speakers hidden somewhere. A man walks by with a tray of wasabi shrimp and avocado canapés, and my stomach rumbles, but I look away, pretending not to notice. I’m afraid if I eat one bite, I’ll burst right out of this dress.
    I spot Buddy Rance pop an hors d’oeuvre into his mouth. He sees us and waves. Six feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds, Buddy still has the same round face and dimples he had in high school, making him look perennially young.
    “Oh my God, there she is,” he says, walking toward us. “Grace Hammond.” He clutches me in a bear hug. “Great to see you.”
    “How are you, Buddy?”
    “Pretty good. You know, same ole, same ole.” He gives Cluny a kiss on the cheek.
    “You look great,” I say.
    Buddy pats his stomach. “Aw, no. Too much pasta. I gotta do something about that.” He sighs. “But you…” His eyes zero in on the lace snaking down my legs, and he gives me a mischievous grin. “Nice dress.”
    I shake my head. “Stop it, Buddy.” I want to tell him, It’s all Regan’s fault, but he’d never understand.
    “No, I like it, I like it.” He motions for me to turn around. I oblige. Nobody but Buddy could get me to humiliate myself even further than I already have.
    “Okay,” I tell him. “Show’s over.”
    He leans closer to me. “Your ears must have been burning the other day. Dave Lewendowski and I were talking about the time in middle school when we took your sneakers outside and threw them on the roof of the gym.”
    “I remember that,” Cluny says.
    “Me too,” I say. “I could have killed you guys. Mrs. Jenks got so mad when I tried to play basketball in my bare feet. And then I borrowed Sandy Farley’s sneakers out of her locker and ended up with a foot fungus.”
    Greg walks toward us, holding a tumbler filled with ice and a clear liquid I’m guessing is vodka. “That took forever,” he says. “Long line at the bar.”
    “Jeff Bromley’s here,” Buddy says. “Have you seen him?”
    I shake my head. “No, not yet.”
    “And Marylou Felk—or, uh, Watson, I mean. And Krista Baroni, or whatever her last name is now.”
    “Oh, Krista’s here?” I ask. I’m surprised at this. The last time I ran into her was in Manhattan, and she told me she’d been living there for two years. We made small talk about getting together, but we never did it.
    “Krista’s married again,” Buddy says. “Living back here.”
    I try to wrap my brain around the fact that Krista’s on marriage number two when I haven’t even had marriage number one.
    Cluny sips her champagne. “We heard Peter did some filming at the marina.”
    Buddy’s face glows. “Oh man, that was fun. I got to talk to Brittany Wells. She’s here tonight, you know. She asked me where the organic juice bar was in town. I told her I’d take her there, but she said she could find it herself.”
    “Buddy, you’re happily married.” I give him a playful slap on the arm.
    “Just window shopping,” he says. “I never touch the merchandise.”
    “Speaking of marriage, where’s Jan?” I ask.
    “Home with the kids. Sitter got sick and canceled at the last minute.”
    “Well, tell her we missed her.”
    A server walks by with a tray of olive crostini, and Buddy takes three. “You know, my Rance Marina sign’s going to be in the movie,” he says. “Peter told me.”
    “A little product placement?” Greg asks.
    “Gotta get it where