They skipped the wedding ceremony at the church and headed straight for the reception, pulling into the country club parking lot a little after six-thirty.

"Jules. Jules." Will lightly shakes her arm and holds her hand to his lips. She turns toward him and smiles. "Were you sleeping?" he laughs.

"No, just thinking..."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Ummm," she pauses. I was thinking about taking you to my bed later tonight? "About last summer."

"That was a good summer."

"The best."

Will opens the door and takes her hand, helping her out of the car. She looks around the lot, surveying the landscape, and frowns. Something isn't right. It takes her a minute to figure it out. The cars are all the same, an assembly line of BMW's as far as her eyes can see, with a Mercedes thrown in here and there.

She was surprised when Will pulled up in his father's car earlier, and now understands why he did. The Jeep would have been totally out of place in this environment, and she knows deep down, before they've taken one step into this wedding reception, so am I.

"What's up?" Will asks. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine." She shivers and pulls her coat around her, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that's settled in the pit of her stomach. Every instinct is screaming for her to get back into Will's car and drive away from this place.

"You ready?"

She nods and forces a smile, the first of many forced smiles she's sure she'll have to plaster across her face this evening.

"What're the names of the happy couple?"

"Skip and Poppy," Will says with a straight face and her eyes grow wide.

"Uh huh... I'm ready." Julia holds her breath for a moment and sighs as they enter the country club.

Chapter Two.

The ballroom is an undulating sea of navy blue and pastel. Hundreds of people are milling about, talking, laughing, drinking. Is there a dress code? she wonders, then glances down at her outfit, realizing one of her little black dresses would've stood out even more conspicuously than the one she's wearing now.

She pulls the dress down as low as she can without ripping the embroidery, but gives up. There's no way this dress is going to reach her knees. She knows she's in for a long night and braces herself for her first introduction.

"Will, you bastard!" A man in what appears to be the standard uniform of navy blue blazer and khaki pants, greets them. With relief she realizes, Will may be wearing pink pants and a plaid blazer, but at least he's original. He must have known the uniform and chose to wear something different, and she's momentarily comforted by the notion.

We're in this together, two sore thumbs sticking out in the crowd.

"Walker, you son of a bitch!" Will's face lights up, and they firmly shake hands.

"How are you old man? I haven't seen you since the Figawi last May!"

What the hell is a Figawi? she wonders.

"I'm good," Will laughs. "How are you? Is Georgie here?"

"She's floating around somewhere."

Julia watches their exchange, fascinated. Who is this person? Will's chest is puffed out, his back rigid, and his voice a few decibels louder and deeper. Where is my Will?

"Walker, this is Julia."

"Enchanted to meet you Julia," Walker takes her hand in his and kisses it. Julia raises an eyebrow, taken aback.

"Charmed," she replies, withdrawing her hand.

"Will, what an exotic creature you have here," Walker proceeds to slowly undress her with his eyes, her own growing wide in disbelief. "Lucky man!" Walker winks at Will. "Save me a dance, Julia."

Not in a million fucking years, she thinks, forcing her second smile of the evening.

A dozen or so Walker clones fawn over her as Will and Julia make their way to their assigned table, and she tries desperately to keep an open mind. Will stops often to introduce her and chat with friends, and she's never felt more uncomfortable in her life.

She's always been able to hold her own in a room full of strangers...before tonight, and she can't help but wonder, they can't all be this phony...can they?

Watching the servers maneuvering through the guests, she envies them their anonymity. She wishes she could throw on an apron and carry a tray of hors d'oeuvres. She'd be more comfortable in that role, and she's sure these women would be as well. The men, on the other hand, would prefer she do a striptease and dance around a pole.

Tonight isn't Julia's first foray into this exclusive world. She's spent the past four years on the periphery taking care of the Emerson children, a wealthy family from town. Her eyes wander around the room, remembering the countless hours she's spent with their family and friends, supervising the children at holiday parties and other social gatherings. She didn't realize her position as their nanny protected her from outward hostility.

In the short time she's been here, it's become painfully clear, working a society event is much different from attending one as a guest, or in her case, a plus one.

When Julia thinks of her hometown, she divides it into two tribes. She always felt the term fitting since Bristol was once populated with native Wampanoags.

These days, there's a tiny tribe she calls The Elite, primarily white Anglo Saxon Protestants, some of Mayflower lineage, who keep so much to themselves, they're practically invisible to Julia's people. She calls her tribe, Everyone Else, mostly Italian, Portuguese and Irish Catholic families, many of them second and third generation Americans.

The Elite live on Poppasquash Neck, a gated community on a small peninsula across the harbor. These families have lived in Bristol for generations, are members of exclusive clubs where they mingle amongst themselves, and send their children to private schools, presumably to keep them away from the rabble.

Most attend the Episcopal Church on Hope Street, though a few families are Catholic and attend St. Margaret's, one of many Catholic churches in town. Will's family has lived on Poppasquash for over two hundred years.

When Julia was young she thought the big houses across the harbor were empty. The older she got, the more she realized that didn't make any sense, but until she landed the babysitting job with the Emersons in high school, she'd never met a single person from that part of town.

The first time she drove down Poppasquash Road was a revelation. She couldn't believe the size of the houses, or how beautifully the grounds were maintained, had never seen such elegance or opulence in person. The Emersons live less than three miles from her home, but it may as well be the opposite side of the globe.

Charles and Claire treat Julia like family and on social occasions she's free to mingle with their guests, but she's always known, she's an outsider. She isn't considered one of the servants, but she is hired help. At these events, after she puts the kids to bed, Julia tries to help clearing glasses and plates, but invariably gets sucked into conversation as she weaves through the crowd.

At the last party she worked, Julia was cornered by an older gentleman who asked her what she thought about the Bush tax cuts. She raised her eyebrows. He doesn't think I have a clue what he's talking about. So she set him straight, explaining her thoughts on Bush's economic policy, and after a brief back and forth, he threw his head back and laughed, declaring her, "simply charming."

"Charles, your nanny is a pistol!" he grabbed Mr. Emerson as he walked by. "She has very strong views on the President's economic plan. I thought she was an actress?"

"Our Jules is an historian, Peterson, a brilliant young lady," Charles smiled and winked at Julia. "We're lucky to have her."

She thinks of The Elite as voyeurs, trying to get a glimpse into the lives of Everyone Else, the other, less fortunate tribe, who exist in a world they'll never know.

Once they have a few drinks in them, and good Lord those people can drink, they ask her the most absurd questions. "How many pregnant teens are in your class? Have you ever seen a drug deal in the hallways of your school? What is it like to live over there?"

They'd never ask a cook, maid, server or gardener the sort of questions they ask her. They're invisible. But the nanny doesn't fade into the background, she's part of the action and considered fair game. Julia plays along, sharing surface details, smiling on cue, asking polite questions about their charity work and travels. Everyone has always been pleasant to her, but Julia is under no illusion. To them, she's a curiosity.

At this wedding, she's not just a curiosity, Julia feels like a circus sideshow. The men are ogling her and being disrespectful... she knows that lascivious look well. She can feel their eyes on her, can see the judgment on their faces.

The women she's been introduced to won't make eye contact with her, and turn away to talk to whomever is closest, not bothering to hide their contempt.

Why are they so quick to judge me? They know nothing about me at all!

As soon as they pulled into the parking lot, she knew this would be an experience, but she didn't expect to be treated like an invader or a threat. She wants to shout, Don't worry ladies! I don't want your men! Not realizing that, for all intents and purposes, she's already taken one.

She never thought of Will as one of them, at least...she didn't.

Will and Julia sit down at a table set for twelve where she meets Carlton and Buffy, Mackenzie and Darcy, Parker and Quinn, Graham and Mimi, and Tucker and Whitney. Are these their first or last names? It's a mystery.

Just as the men have their uniform, so do the women. Shoulder-length, straight blond hair of various shades, a pastel suit or dress so dowdy her grandmother wouldn't be caught dead in it, and the obligatory strand of pearls.

They all look the same to me. Julia can't tell them apart except for the color of their dresses.

"How do you know our Will?" the lady in pink asks Julia, her eyes as cold as ice. Our Will? Julia fixes her gaze on her and raises an eyebrow. Buffy, is it? This woman can't be more than twenty-five and looks forty.

At this point, Julia's had just about enough of their smugness and superiority. She may as well have a little fun while she's here, so she smiles, resting her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand.

"He picked me up at a bar last week." Julia says, fluttering her eyelashes at Buffy, and Will bursts out laughing.

"We've known each other for a year now, right Jules?" He drapes his arm around her shoulder.

"Just about." Her mouth is smiling, her eyes are not. Forced smile number two hundred and seventy-three of the evening. Not that she's keeping count.

"We were in a play together this past summer," Will tells the group, sending not-so-subtle shockwaves around the table. The men begin laughing and ribbing Will for doing something "so gay" and the ladies turn to each other in confusion.

Julia sits on her hands and bites her lip, doing her very best to control her anger, while Will turns pink, probably wishing he'd kept that bit of information to himself.

"Whatever were you doing in a play, Will?" Buffy snorts.

All conversation at their table revolves around boats, houses, horses, and parties. His gaffe forgotten with the aid of large quantities of alcohol, Will is talking animatedly with Graham about a trip they took to 'the Vineyard' in high school. To her left, Mimi and Whitney discuss the upcoming 'season' of parties. Julia sits back in her chair, her eyes glazing over while she butters a dinner roll.

They are so boring. How can Will tolerate these people? But he does. What's most disturbing to Julia is this version of Will fits right in.

Her mind wanders back to the Emersons, her only point of reference for people in this social sphere. Julia's never envied them their wealth or status. It didn't take her long to understand that along with immense privilege comes high expectations and an even higher level of conformity.

She would never want to live as they do, more concerned with other peoples perceptions of them than their own happiness. Claire's fixated on remaining a size two and puts a tremendous amount of pressure on herself to throw picture perfect parties. Charles, always trying to impress people with his boats and club memberships. And the boys! God, she feels for them.

Every year she receives a Christmas card of the three boys dressed identically, carbon copies of one another, though Julia knows how unique they really are. Carlton, the shy artist, Spencer, the outgoing athlete, and little Edmond who dreams of being a ballerina and loves the color pink. Claire has said more than once they're hoping it's just a phase, "Edmond's only six after all!"

On those occasions, Julia's had to restrain herself from yelling at Claire. Being different is something to be celebrated, not discouraged! But not here, not in this world. With dismay, Julia recognizes that one day, her sweet boys will all turn into some version of the men sitting around this table.

The surf and turf is finally served and Julia's thankful to have something to do. She has nothing to contribute to the conversations swirling around her and would love to knock back a few shots of vodka, but she needs to keep her wits about her tonight for several reasons.

One, she doesn't want to get cornered by one of these drunken idiots who may think he can have his way with her. Two, she needs to stay mentally sharp to verbally protect herself from these hostile women. And three, someone has to drive them home tonight and it's not going to be Will.

She limits herself to two drinks, enough to take the edge off, but not enough to loosen her tongue. That could get ugly...quickly. Will, on the other hand, is on his sixth? Seventh? She's lost count. This is a side of him she's never seen, never imagined existed.

It dawns on her, this is the first time she's met any of Will's friends in almost a year. She's never thought about that before but it seems odd to her now.

Why do we always hang out alone?

Maybe Will instinctively knew she wouldn't fit in? If that's the case, he was absolutely right. And more importantly, she doesn't want to fit in with these automatons. Watching him interact with his friends tonight, she wonders if she's completely misjudged him. Is this the kind of life he wants?

The bride and groom dance to Etta James' At Last to the applause of three hundred people, while the wait staff circulates, removing the dinner plates. Julia smiles to herself at the song selection. Apparently some things remain the same across social lines, dancing to At Last at weddings is one of those things.

Will absently runs his hand along her spine, still deep in mind-numbing conversation. He and his buddies have moved on from sailing to skiing, from the Vineyard to Aspen.

I'm so nave, she thinks, her stomach turning over. This is Will's world. This! Right here! Not the world they've created over the past ten months. Here, among his peers, she sees who he really is for the first time.

She's not completely oblivious. She knows they're from different tribes, but it never seemed to matter. Julia's spent a lot of time with his family and gets along with his sister and parents really well, and Will seemed to adapt to her world without a problem.

But there's no getting around it now, their differences are glaringly obvious tonight, a giant wall between them.

A wave of nausea washes over her and Julia desperately needs to get out of this room, away from this scene and these people. She rises unsteadily to her feet, gripping the back of her chair. The room has started to spin, and if she doesn't get out of here now she's going to be sick. She taps Will's shoulder and excuses herself, searching for the ladies room.

In the safety of the bathroom, she sits in a stall, tears clouding her vision. This isn't how she imagined this evening at all. Tonight was supposed to be the night... She thought they'd dance, she'd meet a few of his friends, then they'd go to her house and... who knows?

She wanted him. She'd convinced herself Will was worth it. Now? She doesn't even know who he is. Love makes you blind. She was stupid to allow a chink in the armor. No man is worth the heartache.

Julia grabs a tissue and dabs at her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears before they begin, and sighs, thinking, eventually I will have to leave this bathroom. What an awful thought.

The door to the restroom opens, letting in the sound of the band, and closes behind two women gossiping in hushed voices.

"Did you see her dress? So inappropriate! It's so short and looks like a rag," they laugh.

Are they talking about me? Julia's eyes grow wide and she covers her mouth.

"And her hair! So frizzy!"

They are! I'm the only woman in this place with curly hair. For several minutes she sits in the stall, frozen in embarrassment, while they verbally rip her to shreds. Finally, she peeks through the crack to see the offending women. It's Darcy from her table, and someone she doesn't recognize.

"What can Will possibly see in her? He's so handsome and eligible," the stranger in lavender says dreamily, applying her hideous pink lipstick.

"She looks like a hippie, utterly classless," Darcy adds.

"Well, I guess some guys need to slum it before they settle down."

That is it! Julia's flooded with anger and a slew of other emotions she doesn't fully understand. She pulls herself together, opens the stall and walks deliberately to the sink, slowly washing her hands. They stop talking and glare at her, not one speck of shame between them. Julia shuts off the faucet, grabs a paper towel and turns to face them.

"You want to know why Will is with me?" They raise their eyebrows in response. "He said he's tired of dating boring, uptight girls, like you. He prefers a woman with a pulse."