The Afterparty

by Leo Benedictus

  Calvin murmured something unintelligible.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked. ‘I think maybe I gave us a bit too much.’

  He murmured again.

  ‘I’ve made you a pick-me-up,’ she added.

  ‘Hanks,’ he said, and his feet began to scuffle on the floor, legs frogging helplessly in the search for purchase.

  Mellody offered him a hand, which he took. But instead of pulling him up, she found herself yanked down. A giggling collapse. She liked that boys were heavy. And this time she did kiss him, in a friendly way.

  ‘Let’s have another go,’ she said, looking into his eyes.

  Calvin reached over to a nearby chair and levered himself on to his feet.

  ‘Spetter,’ he said.

  Mellody handed him the spiralled twenty, but he just looked dumbly at his portion.

  ‘I durn’t w-want any more,’ he managed to say.

  ‘That’s OK, sweetie. This one’s just coke.’

  ‘Hm,’ he nodded, and waveringly hunched himself to snort.

  His shirt was dirty from the floor. Mellody was stroking it clean with the palm of her hand when a voice startled her.

  ‘There you are,’ Pete said. ‘Shall we get going then, Miss Mellody?’

  He was carrying a plastic bag, and had his chimney sweep persona on, but she detected the energy of irritation in it.

  ‘Just give me a couple of minutes.’ She answered coldly, out of principle.

  Malcolm drew up beside them. Even he looked a bit twitchy. For Malcolm.

  ‘Sean and Sashar’ve run into some mates downstairs,’ Pete continued without acknowledging him. ‘They might meet up with us later, but for now we’d better shoot.’ He paused, and an excited shine began to graduate into his face.

  He had found himself a scheme, Mellody presumed, but she would not be suckered into giving a damn. Sure enough, when she said nothing, Pete decided he could wait no longer.

  ‘We got a fucking big score tonight, Mell,’ he whispered.

  ‘Fook yeah,’ Malcolm agreed.

  Again she said nothing.

  So Pete held up the bag for her to look at. In it was a gigantic fragment of something pale, enclosed in silvering layers of Saran Wrap, drawn neurotically tight. ‘It’s a gak attack!’ he screeched as quietly as possible.

  ‘Coke?’ was all Mellody could say at first.

  Pete nodded.

  ‘How much is in there?’

  ‘It’s a quarter key,’ he whispered. ‘Straight off the boat. Me and Malc just had some. It’s fucking pure as fuck.’

  ‘Roasting,’ Malcolm nodded.

  ‘See that horse’s head?’ With his finger, Pete described a vague indentation on the surface that could have been anything. ‘That’s the stamp of the Cali cartel, that is.’ He sounded like a child with a new video game.

  Calvin was beside her now. And for a moment, they all just stared in silence at the bag.

  Despite herself – and she hated to acknowledge it – Mellody was impressed.

  ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’ she scolded in the end, unconvincingly she knew. ‘Why d’you have to buy so much?’

  ‘Sir Giles wanted to get rid of it,’ Pete shrugged. ‘We’re a little light on cash just now, so me, Sean and Malc went thirds on this. It’s worth four times our price, Mell.’

  ‘So, like, what?’ She slapped him with a sarcastic glare. ‘You’re fucking drug dealers now?’

  ‘Maybe for a week or two,’ Pete grinned. ‘Or …’ He and Malcolm both started laughing. ‘… or we’ll all just have a fucking good time!’

  Mellody looked at Calvin’s face beside her, so attentive, so unsure.

  Soon she was laughing too.

  ‘So there’s some people down at K West,’ Pete broke in, closing up the bag, checking his phone, looking at his watch. ‘Fancy it?’

  ‘No. Let’s go back to mine.’

  Until then she had not realised that this was what she planned to do.

  ‘You’re welcome, Natalie,’ said Hugo, sliding a casual finger around the phone in his pocket, feeling the keypad for the 5 and its accessibility bump. The speed-dial for Renée.

  ‘No, seriously …’

  Found it.

  ‘… It was wonderful.’

  Hugo held the button down.

  ‘We’ve all had …’

  Natalie paused. Eyes slithering about, just gone completely. One could only guess at what had been administered to the brain behind. She looked the way you’re only meant to look at 7 a.m., when everybody else around you looks the same.

  ‘… such a wonderful time at your birthday …’ said Natalie in the end.

  Hugo waited several seconds for the call to definitely connect. Then he cut it off.

  The girl reminded him of Mellody a little, in those old deluded days. The busy eyes, the exerted mind, as she gripped still tighter to normality’s disintegrating ledge. Very soon, he knew – everybody knew – they would be watching her descent.

  ‘… Really. It just has had, you know, a lovely atmosphere about it …’

  One of Natalie’s friends opened his mouth to interrupt, spotting a break in the flow. But she saw him and was too quick, determined not to be dislodged.

  ‘… A sense of occasion!’ she added hurriedly. ‘That’s what most parties don’t have, isn’t it? Like people coming and going and nobody cares about all the amazing things you’ve done for us. But you have!’

  Hugo’s phone was ringing finally.

  ‘Excuse me, sorry,’ he said, and answered it. ‘Renée, hi!’

  ‘What’s up Hugo?’ Renée said.

  Instead of responding, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand and said, ‘I’d better take this.’ With a flurry of mimed apologies, they agreed. ‘It’s been great to see you,’ Hugo added, hustling himself away towards the piano.

  ‘Thanks,’ he breathed into the phone when he got there.

  ‘Who’d you get stuck with?’ Renée asked wearily. She knew him so well.

  ‘Natalie,’ he whispered. ‘Jesus Christ. Why did we invite her?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Renée said. ‘Well she’s good pap food, with all the shit she does. I thought she might draw some fire if Mellody misbehaved.’

  ‘Yes, I meant to mention that …’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Hugo.’ Her reassurance rolled across him like a tank. ‘I saw Mell’s speech. And actually – I’ve gotta say – I thought she did a pretty good job. Is she with you now? I’m on my way back to the house, but I should congratulate her while I’m feeling well disposed.’

  ‘No, that’s the thing,’ Hugo said. ‘She left about an hour ago.’

  Renée’s silence was faithfully transmitted to his phone.

  ‘She left?’ she said eventually.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did she leave to? Where is she going?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some music business thing, she said, with her friends.’

  ‘Sheen?’

  ‘I think he was one of them, yes.’

  In a large grey overcoat, on the other side of the room, Warshak was talking with his daughter. He spotted Hugo, smiled, and waved a cheerful goodbye. Hugo waved back, examining the seams in the old man’s face for irony, or the ore of something darker.

  ‘Fuck, Hugo!’ Renée was nearly shouting. ‘And you didn’t stop her?’

  ‘How am I supposed to stop her, Renée? There were people with us.’ He pushed through a door marked PRIVATE, hoping that it was. ‘Look, she says she won’t be long, and that she’ll see us back at the house afterwards. What harm can it do?’

  The corridor was empty, and his words sounded louder in it.

  ‘Your own wife walking out of your birthday party early with another guy? Are you serious?’

  ‘They went out the back, I think.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Hugo. She won’t be leaving with you, will she? And if the papers saw her …’

  ‘OK, enough!’ The dank echo of
his voice was angry, but not as angry as he felt. ‘There was nothing I could do about this, OK? It’s bad, but it’s not my fault. And I’d appreciate it if you could put your energy into managing the situation instead of bollocking me.’

  ‘You’re right. You’re right, you’re right.’ She took a moment to calm herself down. ‘Have you called her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well call her. Be nice, and try to get her back to the house as early as you can.’

  Hugo said nothing.

  ‘When do you expect to leave?’

  He sighed. ‘I don’t know really. Are many people coming back?’

  ‘Not a huge number, but a few. All friendly faces. Theresa says some are already there. You’ve talked to Warshak, though, right?’

  ‘Yes. They’re just off. It went well, I thought. I saw his daughter, too, who was sweet.’

  ‘Great. OK, well just enjoy yourself now. And don’t forget: lots of smiles when you leave.’

  ‘OK. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Take as long as you need. And sorry for losing it just now. If Mellody got out quietly, we’ll be fine.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘All right. See you later.’

  ‘See you.’

  See you, said the corridor walls.

  Hugo looked at his phone and considered things.

  Was there any point in calling his wife, he wondered? Even in their tightest days, when the relationship was ripe, even then he could not guide her actions. Indeed, he only made things worse by trying. Mellody so loved a fight. She would feel confronted by his calling now, and delight in having something to defy. Yet she could be up to anything out there … His need to know scraped with its familiar itch.

  He decided to send a text. Businesslike. No big thing.

  Renée loved your singing so much she’s hassling me about when we’ll see you back home. What should I tell her? x

  It was still his little habit, that x, and the extra effort that it took to make it lower case.

  He pressed send and pushed back into the room. The party was thinning. Patches of floor were becoming visible again and, in many places, coats were on. Natalie, thank God, had left, though Mike still sat loyally in place, doing something with his phone. Two fresh whiskies were on the table beside him, and beside that Hugo’s absence in a chair.

  ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’ he asked, with genuine concern, as Mike stood up to greet him.

  ‘Oh …’ Mike hesitated. His mouth and eyes made three big circles of suspense. ‘It just seemed like everything was wrapping up, and …’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Hugo blazed enthusiastically. ‘There’s plenty of people sticking around. And we can’t just walk out on scotch like this.’ Listen to him. He was such an old lush!

  ‘No sure, absolutely.’

  The clean delight on Mike’s face was humbling. Hugo masked the tender moment in the act of flinging himself, with an aged sigh, back into his chair.

  ‘That was my manager,’ he explained through the heat from an oversip of whisky. ‘She’d kill me if she knew I was talking to you.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Definitely. Press have been tightly managed on this thing. I don’t know how you got in.’

  He laughed. And actually that was right. He didn’t know. Yet neither was he very interested. Mike just seemed so nice, and too timid not to trust. Besides, after finally fulfilling all his duties, he felt entitled to a spell of boozy laissez-faire.

  ‘Well,’ Mike said. ‘Actually, I used someone else’s invite.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Whose?’

  ‘Camille McLeish.’

  ‘Camille McLeish?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s a bitch and a half,’ Hugo said, paying another visit to his glass.

  ‘Mmm.’ Mike laughed cautiously, as though no one had ever admitted this before.

  ‘So how did you end up with her invite?’

  ‘Some problem with her kids, I think. She couldn’t come. So she gave it to me.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ Hugo scoffed. ‘She bottled it is what happened. She’s spread so much nasty stuff about me and Mellody over the years that she didn’t want to face us.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Mike said again. ‘Maybe. And, she said I should try to get some gossip for her.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Yes. But I’m not going to tell her anything about you. Honestly. It doesn’t …’

  Hugo raised his hands and snipped him short.

  ‘Don’t worry, you can give her anything you like,’ he said.

  ‘No, but I don’t want to. Really. I’ve jotted down some harmless things about other guests, but I’m leaving you out of it. I promise.’

  A quaintly moving word. Why had people ceased to promise things? Were they less sincere now? Or had they merely stopped expecting their sincerity to be believed?

  Above the chatter, a Gil Scott-Heron sermon struggled to its feet. Something about Ronald Reagan, the tired voice intoned. It swung with melancholy hip.

  The room was emptying at speed.

  ‘So Mike,’ Hugo said. ‘What are you doing later?’

  Calvin shook his head. Ketamine was pretty mad. A real hammer, to be fair. Though he remembered little. The caustic shock of chemistry in his sinuses, much fierier than coke … holding a bag … sitting down … and then … Not sleep, but something – it really felt like somewhere – other. A lonely zone of mind loss where some giant bafflement had taken him into its shade and, once there, interfered with him.

  Cool.

  He took a good deep pick at his right nostril, and tried the coke again. This time it whistled through.

  More memories now began to skate across his consciousness, like fingertips cutting streaks of vision through a foggy pane. Cuddling that bag. Flashing lights. Mellody kissing him. Fuck. Had that happened? Or had he dreamt it? The memory seemed real, but like it happened years ago.

  And now she was standing behind him. He could hear her, talking with a man.

  ‘See that horse’s head?’ The man’s voice sounded proud about something. ‘That’s the stamp of the Carly cartel, that is.’

  Pete. And Malcolm.

  Calvin stepped weakly into range. He was thirsty.

  ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’ Mellody sounded angry, but not with him. ‘Why did you have to buy so much?’

  For the first time, Calvin noticed the bag in Pete’s hand. Just a cheap plastic one, from Costcutter maybe. He couldn’t see the logo. Inside was what looked like a crumbly chunk of plaster.

  ‘So, like, what? You’re fucking drug dealers now?’

  It couldn’t be more coke. A piece that size would be worth …

  ‘Maybe for a week or two. Or we’ll all just have a fucking good time!’

  Now everyone was laughing.

  Calvin was confused, but excited, but scared. This was like being in a movie.

  ‘So there’s some people down at K West,’ Pete said, when the laugh was over. ‘Fancy it?’

  Calvin did. He had not been to K West before.

  ‘No.’ Mellody disagreed. ‘Let’s go back to mine.’

  ‘Come on Mell,’ Pete hassled her. ‘The night is yet young.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ She placed an including hand on Calvin’s arm. ‘There’ll be some people there too. I promised I’d make an appearance.’

  ‘Oh well, if you promised …’ Sarcastic at first, Pete’s voice drifted limply into acceptance.

  ‘Doesn’t bother me,’ Malcolm shrugged, stuffing the bag into his pocket. ‘K West’s a fucking twatwalk.’

  ‘Let’s go then,’ said Mellody, with a secret glance at Calvin. ‘OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  And now they were walking back, past the strange bar and over to the staircase, where the air pumped louder than ever. Hard trance, at desperation pace.

  Calvin sniffed away the fringe of his last line.

  Had he hooked up with Mellody? And now he was going back to h
er place? Was that what was happening?

  It was dangerous. But he wanted it. He needed a girl – no, a woman – like her. Someone he could respect. No more lady-children, with their chewing-gum bodies and their ice-cream eyes. He wanted someone he could talk to, and who could talk to him. Somebody who understood. Calvin wanted it.

  He stroked Mellody’s arm as they neared the final flight of stairs. But it was crowded, and she was on the phone, which explained why she took no notice.

  Then suddenly flashes. Shouts and flashes.

  A horde of photographers held back by the doorman’s bulk.

  ‘Mell! Mell!’ they shouted.

  ‘This way!’ they shouted.

  A hoarse chorus of competition.

  Pete and Malcolm just pushed grimly through, the bag of coke clutched tightly in Pete’s hand.

  ‘Over here!’ the men shouted, walking alongside. ‘Oi! Over here!’

  The rippled burst of flashguns was hot on Calvin’s skin. He tried to grin. They would leave you alone sometimes if you stopped and posed; he had learned that from his own encounters. But this was different. Never had he seen such frenzy.

  ‘Are you with Mell now, Pete?’ asked one, like he was your mate.

  ‘Need a lift, Mell?’ said another, in a cheeky tone.

  ‘No thank you,’ Mellody replied. Her voice was soft as if, among the chaos, she walked within her own courteous enclosure.

  One of the men knocked against Calvin’s ankle. There was no apology.

  Another tapped on Pete’s shoulder. Instinctively, he looked round into a flash! flash-flash!

  Calvin poured himself a smile. These idiots thought they smelled the scandal of Mellody and Pete. But he knew better.

  One photographer, running backwards, stumbled and fell into a puddle. Everybody laughed, riling up a fresh assault of clicks and flashes.

  ‘Wet cunt,’ Malcolm said.

  They reached the car and climbed inside, while Paul the driver shielded the door.

  Pete and Malcolm occupied the front seats. Mellody and Calvin climbed into the back. Everyone was breathing hard.

  Mellody wound down the window and leaned out.

  ‘Fuck off, gentlemen,’ she said sweetly, before the vehicle’s departing thrust put her down in Calvin’s lap. Laughing, she kissed him on the cheek.