by Alexis Bass
He smiles at a group of passing girls dressed up in red, white, and blue, shiny like a firework. They walk right past Sepp to gush over the painting. “My best feature is half-covered,” he says, gesturing to his face, aware that I witnessed the subtle rejection.
“So take it off.”
He laughs at me like I’ve said the most ridiculous thing.
An orchestra plays music with foreboding undertones, music for ambiance, not for dancing. The lights are turned low. All the rooms are open in this house and nothing is off-limits, and behind the different doors are a variety of personal delights, from magicians to tarot card readings. Some of the rooms look like they are out of an art gallery, with ropes to keep people from touching the paintings. There are many people, too many to keep track of, and I notice the party guests are not greeting each other mindlessly. No nodding to be polite, waving and smiling from across the room. Every interaction is with intent, because no one knows who anyone else is with these masks, unless they know who they’re looking for. I can spot Sepp in the crowd, the way he stands, the golden mess of his hair, Karen flashy in her dress, Trisha and George, who always have their arms linked and are always laughing too hard, smiling too wide, and Edison, who stands too tall and is forever straightening his collar, messing with his hair. He hardly leaves Chelsea’s side. She is easy to place because of her smile and the handsome man on her arm.
“And how did you two meet?” is the standard question Chelsea and Edison get lobbed anytime someone learns they are a couple. It’s strange to me that the people the Duvals can recognize even with their masks on are still perfectly happy to make small talk with us, the masked acquaintances. It’s no mystery why George looks as happy here as he did on his wedding day. Simply being here, we are presumed to be important.
Edison and Chelsea have an answer ready, one that makes people put their hands over their hearts and sigh and smile and wish they were young and in love again.
“We were in the same line at a café getting coffee. I noticed her right away.”
“And I thought he was so cute, but I am so shy.”
“We were at the registers at the same time, next to each other, and we both ordered a chocolate croissant.”
“The cashiers were so funny! Mine was saying I should have it, and Edison’s said he should have it. And finally it was decided that Edison technically ordered it first. They offered me a complimentary regular croissant, which is not the same at all. I was ready to storm out of there.”
“She must’ve thought I was such a jerk, taking that chocolate croissant. But there was only one left.”
“But then he caught up to me as I was leaving; he apologized and said he wished he’d been smoother with his plan but that that had been his way of buying me the chocolate croissant. And then he asked if I’d like to sit with him. We talked for three hours straight and made plans to have dinner the next night.”
It’s cute, and sort of clumsy, with that requisite sweetness that comes with meetings that didn’t go as planned on the first attempt and the romantic gestures that make up for it.
The three of us wander the party, we get too full on lobster fra diavolo and baklava, and later, as we stand with a group clapping as a magician makes a stack of cards disappear into a glass of water, Sepp taps my shoulder.
“Boring,” he says, lending me his arm and leading me out of the room.
Sepp waves down a passing caterer, grabbing a martini off his tray. He offers me the toothpick full of olives, and I take it.
“Isn’t this supposed to be the best part?”
Sepp says, “I never eat the garnish.”
“Of course not; that would be tacky.” We smile at each other as I bite off one of the olives.
“I know you think I’m a pretentious asshole.”
“More like an incorrigible bastard.”
“And that you don’t understand my relationship with Kath, or what Edison is doing with Chelsea.”
“Isn’t the answer to all these questions simply that you and Edison are both great at lying to yourselves about what you really want? You can’t reconcile what you actually want with what you think you should want.” I eat another olive. “It’s so textbook, Sepp; you should be ashamed.”
He taps me on the nose. “Nothing is ever that simple. Though it’d be nice if it were.” He swirls his martini and hesitates before he takes another sip. “But some people can be scared away. And you have to be careful.”
“Sepp, you’re not as scary as you think you are. And why do you want someone who scares so easily?” But I know he means that someone could be scared off by his drinking and cursing, his ego and his dark sense of humor, thinking these traits are red flags that make him undesirable.
“I don’t know—some people are worth it.” His comment is flippant, but his face drops like he realizes immediately he said the wrong thing and that I took his comment and applied it to Chelsea, implying Edison feels she is worth it, but doesn’t feel like that about me. “Maris, that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine,” I lie.
He shakes his head. “Not all of us can be with whoever we want.” He shrugs, and there is a heavy sadness to him lurking there even as he tries to pass it off.
I want him to tell me what he knows, confirm that I was important enough for Edison to tell him about. But I am not one of the good ones, and that is evidenced in the fact that I want Edison even though it would hurt Chelsea, that I am determined not to care about sneaking around, and I let the secret of it thrill me. I know he’s lying to me and to her, and that doesn’t stop me either. I enjoyed how much I didn’t care with Trevor, so the pain of what he did could somehow never really reach me. It’s not the case with Edison. I feel every blow with him. But it is a relief to feel something.
“Maybe I’m as bad as both of you.”
He stops and turns toward me, sighing and letting his shoulders drop. “Is this a party or a pity party?”
I laugh.
We meander into another room with walls covered in paintings. Katherine Ellis stands with her father and brother. The Ellis men are tall with silver masks to match their ties. Kath notices Sepp and excuses herself. She joins us behind a velvet rope, where we are pretending to admire a painting of angels whispering to each other in heaven.
“That’s one of my favorites,” she says. She’s wearing a pink sleeveless gown and a mask made of the same material.
“I’m terrible with art,” says Sepp. “But I know something beautiful when I see it.” He, of course, is staring at her and not the painting when he says this.
She laughs, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder.
“Everyone here looks the same to me all dressed up with their faces covered,” Sepp says. “But my eyes found you the moment I walked in the room.”
She smiles. I think if we could see her cheeks right now, they would match the pink of her mask. She answers him in French, and he speaks back to her in French, and I take the hint that this must be flirty banter that they don’t want me to hear.
I leave the room and walk down the hall. I spot Edison a few feet ahead of me. He isn’t with Chelsea or one of the Duvals. He’s alone. I try to catch up to him, but he is walking very quickly. He ducks down a corridor, an offshoot of the main hall, and goes through a large oak door, then down a flight of stairs. I follow him. The walls on either side of us are intricately carved, and the banister is made to look like tree branches tangled around a post at the bottom of the stairs. The sounds of voices echoing from the party get quieter and quieter, and I cannot hear them at all by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs. There are only a handful of other people down here, all seemingly knowing exactly where they are going, before turning in to one of the rooms. Some of them close the doors.
Could people be doing business here—at this party? Maybe this party is more than networking and showing off, and the point is not to see and be seen the way George seems to think it is, and all that glitz is a cover for the real business t
hat happens behind closed doors.
Edison seems to know where he’s going. Maybe we could meet down here, somewhere, just the two of us.
He runs into Warren, stopping more abruptly than I expected, and I step behind a grandfather clock to hide myself. I am only a few feet away from them. I can’t make out what Warren is saying, but I hear Edison say, “I’ll get him now. We’re in room seven.”
Warren nods and walks in the same direction as Edison, away from me.
The only yearning stronger than my desire to catch Edison alone is my curiosity to know what goes on behind the closed doors in the sublayer at a party like this. And what Edison is doing down here, who he is meeting.
Now that I know to look for numbers on the rooms, I can see them clear as day etched carefully in the wood carvings. The 7 is shaped like a tree branch with leaves sprouting from it and a bird perched on the top.
I walk in slowly. It’s a dark study, full of cherrywood and black leather and claw-footed furniture, with tall shelves packed full of books and antique statues. Faint piano music pours through the speakers mounted in the corner of the wall, and there are candles lit. I look around for somewhere to hide and spot a closet at the end of the room. Honestly, I think twice about going inside, but then I hear the Duvals’ voices getting closer, Edison saying, “This way, this way,” Sepp saying, “Slow down, slow down,” and I don’t hesitate to duck into the closet.
I am wedged inside next to musty-smelling jackets and boxes of books and a file cabinet and a safe. I leave the door open a crack, just wide enough for me to see what’s happening on the other side of the room.
The Duvals and Edison pour into the room all at once. Warren is straightening his jacket. Sepp is pushing his hair back. Oswald adjusts his bow tie. They all take off their masks.
Edison says, “Stevens should be coming any second,” and checks his watch.
Barely a moment later, a man in a navy velvet jacket and matching mask enters. They greet him with handshakes as the man slides his mask up into his thick head of brown hair. He is older, maybe Warren’s age, and has a hazy look in his eyes.
“Nice grip, Stevens,” Sepp says.
“That’s Senator Stevens to you, punk.” He moves to ruffle Sepp’s hair, and Sepp ducks out of the way. Stevens is thrown off balance a bit by this, like maybe he has enjoyed several cocktails throughout the night.
“Take it easy,” Warren says.
“It’s a party,” Stevens says, laughing.
“Shall we begin, Senator?” Oswald says.
“First tell me the bad news,” Stevens says. “The kid with the recording?”
“Taken care of,” Sepp says.
“Jesus Christ, that greedy bastard almost gave me a heart attack. And his little helpers? Did you pay them off? Bet that wasn’t cheap.” The senator is slurring a little.
“They’ve been taken care of, too,” Oswald says. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“What about the thing with Ellis?” Stevens says.
“Ellis’s shipment has been confirmed. We’re set, when the time is right,” Warren says. “I hope you realize, without us, this could have been very bad for you.”
“Don’t fucking start with me, Warren,” Stevens says. “What’s bad for me is bad for you, too; don’t pretend otherwise.”
Oswald speaks. “So you’ll meet with the Smiths? There’s an opening in their schedule in August to discuss the upcoming project—”
“Oh yeah,” Stevens says. “You know I’m always good to meet with them. Introduce them to whoever. Sign whatever.”
“Their proposal is very smart,” Oswald continues. “It’s going to make you look good as well. Bringing in all those jobs, building infrastructure this state needs—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stevens says, leaning against the desk. “And I bet it requires millions’ worth of cement, too?”
“It’s beneficial all around—” Warren starts, but Stevens doesn’t seem to be paying attention anymore and cuts him off.
“I get reelected, you get rich. Fine, fine.”
None of them nod or agree with this, but they all exchange glances, as though they are silently judging Stevens for being so drunk and free with his words.
“And what about that other guy?” Stevens snaps his fingers like he’s trying to trip his memory. “You know—the other guy on the recording. The Goodman Pharmaceuticals guy.”
“We’re keeping him close,” Oswald says.
“How close?”
“Edison-is-dating-his-daughter close,” Sepp says.
Oswald puts up a hand like he’s stopping Sepp from continuing. Panic rises in my chest.
“We don’t foresee him as a threat,” Oswald says, “but we’ll do what’s necessary if he does anything to give us doubts.”
“We can’t have him getting arrested, spilling his guts to cut a deal,” Stevens says. “I hope you’re covering your bases on this one.”
“You know we always do,” Warren says.
“Because if he even seems like he’s going to cause us a whiff of trouble, I want him taken out.”
They nod—all of them.
“He’s here tonight?” Stevens asks.
Edison looks to the floor. The Duvals stay quiet.
“Well?” Stevens spreads his arms in a giant shrug. “There are girls hanging around Edison, one in particular—I figure that’s her?”
“Come on, Stevens, there are always girls hanging around Edison,” Sepp says.
“This place,” Stevens says. “If there was ever a place to get rid of him, it’s here.” He wiggles his fingers. “Where the walls don’t talk.” He bursts out laughing.
I have to close my eyes and brace myself next to the door to keep from falling forward.
“We’re prepared, of course,” says Warren. “But it’s not going to come to that—not yet anyway.”
“But it’s pretty convenient that he be here,” Stevens says.
“His boss is in attendance tonight,” Oswald says. “He belongs here as much as any of us.”
My chest constricts.
Stevens groans. “Ugh, those fucking pharmacy guys and their lobbyists are always up my ass.”
“Very well. I think we’re done here,” Oswald says.
“Thank god,” Stevens mutters.
I have one chance before they all disperse, and I take it. I hold my phone up to the crack in the closet door and snap as many photos as I can of them before they put their masks back on and walk out of the room. These are the people who were discussing whether or not to eliminate my father and now I have proof of them together.
Edison stays after they’ve all left. He takes care in wiping down the door handles and tabletop with a cloth he’s pulled from the inside of his jacket. I debate confronting him, but how am I supposed to trust him now? I need to get out of this room, keep an eye on George—my thoughts are interrupted by a loud dinging sound. A text from Chelsea. Where are you?! Edison freezes like he doesn’t believe that he’s really heard something. Then she calls and my phone rings loud and obnoxiously until my shaking hands finally get it to stop.
The closet door flies open, and Edison is standing there with his mouth agape.
Chapter 41
“What the hell are you doing here?” Edison says.
“Why were they talking about George?” I have a lot of questions about what I heard, but this is what comes tumbling out of my mouth first.
Edison puts his hands on his head and steps back muttering, “Jesus Christ.” His expression is aghast and his hair disheveled. “Were you following me?”
“What the hell was that?” I demand.
He glances behind him to make sure the door is still closed. I watch him take a slow breath in and stare at the floor. He doesn’t know what to say to me now that the dust has been kicked up over the things he’s hiding—everything they’ve all been hiding. I watch him grab at the back of his neck and adjust his collar while he tries and fails to think of a lie.
“What am I supposed to make of that?” I say, and when he looks at me with a stern glare, I can see the frustration building in him, and I wonder for a moment if I should be afraid to be here alone with him, in a place where the walls don’t talk.
“We can’t discuss this here, okay?” he says. “I’ll come get you tonight, after the party is over, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“You’ll tell me everything?”
“Yes.” He starts toward the door and spins around when he notices I haven’t followed him. He waits.
My voice trembles as I speak, asking the only question I need answered before I’ll let him leave this room. “Are they going to be okay? Is George and—” I want to say my family, but it still doesn’t feel like I have the right. “Tell me they’re going to be okay. Nothing bad is going to happen to them—tonight or ever?”
“Nothing is going to happen to them,” he says immediately, sounding firm, but I can still hear the desperation in his voice, and see it in his eyes, like he’s worried or scared, maybe both, that I won’t believe him. “I promise. It’s going to be fine. As long as you don’t say anything about what you’ve heard. Can I count on you?”
I nod. “Yes, okay.”
We exit the room, and then I don’t leave his side all night. We stay near Chelsea and George and Trisha, too. Edison seems to understand why it’s important for me to be with them and why my trust could be broken if he were to disappear again during the party.
We spend the rest of the night in the ballroom with the tall windows and the stone floor, where a livelier band plays popular songs from the last four decades.
Edison and Chelsea sway to the music, their arms around each other on the dance floor. His smile looks so distant, and hers doubles in size, like she’s trying to compensate for this. Or maybe it means she is too happy to even notice. I think of what Sepp said earlier: not everyone can date whoever they want. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Kath is the heir to Ellis Exports and that the Duvals mentioned them in that room with Stevens.
We have to show our IDs when we leave the party, and get our names checked off another list. They search our purses again and wave the wand over us. The limos are lined up and waiting, and traffic moves slowly. George and Trisha are drunk and giddy; Chelsea is over the moon, too, talking a mile a minute about what a great time she had. But she tires out quickly and falls asleep with her head on George’s shoulder before we reach our cottage.