Sun, December 13, 2074 3:41 pm: Caliente Manor- Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Naomi was wearing her white socks with the lace-frilled bibs. When she kicked her heels against the circular support rod on her stool, the white rustle of her ankles had a vaguely hypnotic effect on Ian. Back and forth. Back and forth. He wanted to make her stop, but he could not come up with a way of asking without seeming like a nutcase.
“Guess what Ashley Hill did at recess last week!” Kick, kick, kick. Laurie straightened up the pantry under the bar.
“I’ve already heard this story,” he said.
“Gosh, I wasn’t talking to you! Anyway, Ian, guess what she did!” Naomi threw her arms high above her head in an awkward show of frustration, landing them sharply at her sides.
Ian had sisters, four of them to be precise, each different to the next. There was chipper Daphne, somber Mona, domineering Madeline and here-take-everything-I-have Adrienne. When on occasion he found himself looking to his own family for clues about how his daughter might someday turn out, he was consistently left stumped. His artsy mother was nothing like her prim daughters who were all of them nothing like his rugged grandmother (now deceased). Ian did not know what life had in store for his daughter—What her best subject at school would be, what she would do for fun, what illnesses, what injuries, whether the boys would like her, whether she would like the boys. However, there was this one thing: He was afraid that Fran would grow-up to be a Caliente woman.
Being a Caliente was a trait that passed matrilineally down the family line and that involved a great deal of fearsome, almost predatory behavior in the inheritor. Key indicators of Calientehood included (though were not limited to) haughtiness, a lust for conflict, stubbornness, a strong intellect (often in spite of the next trait), substance abuse, promiscuity, recklessness, and simple malice. The women of that family were not to be trifled with, right down to the smallest of their number. Ian smiled bashfully.
"I don't know, Naomi. What did she do?" Little Dina-In-Training that she was, Naomi huffed at the question.
“She threw-up all over my backpack!” A brief silence followed this pronouncement. Ian realized that she was seeking advice from him on the matter, already a week old. What would a Caliente do?
“I tell you what,” Ian inclined his head closer to her level. “The next time you’re feeling sick, go find something of hers and just let loose on it.” Here, Ian crossed his eyes and made his most guttural retching noise. Naomi milled this over for an instant then burst into laughter.
Ian caught Laurie’s stare. It was blank, disinterested. His mind had clearly wandered away from the conversation. Then Laurie blinked to life, grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer, and opened the oven door just wide enough to observe its contents.
“Laurie, are they done yet,” Naomi asked, standing on the rungs of her stool and leaning over the bar to get a better look at the oven. Elmira’s cookies were browning pleasantly.
“Not until the buzzer goes off. Why don’t you tell Elmira that she has ten minutes?” Naomi lifted herself off of the stool and raced toward the door. Sticking her head and shoulders into the dining room but leaving her feet planted in the kitchen, she called out for Elmira in that long, drawn out way that only children could muster. “She’s in the laundry room,” Laurie said. Naomi sprinted out of the kitchen, singing Elmira’s name as she went. Laurie shook his head at the kitchen door while it swung on its hinges, disapproving of something that he himself was notorious for—namely the slamming of doors. He turned his attention to Ian. “You want anything? Beer? Soda? Water? Soda water?”
“Water would be great. Thanks, man.” Laurie disappeared into the fridge, emerging with two bottles of melted glacier water. The Tellerman-Calientes were forever stocked-up on the stuff. Ian always found himself puzzling over the label, which proudly touted the water’s PH level in big, bold lettering. He rounded the bar as Laurie unscrewed a bottle cap for him.
“You didn’t have to get up,” Laurie said.
“Nah, it’s cool.” Ian reached out to take the water from him.
When he posed the question to himself, Ian was not altogether certain why he had gotten up. He often felt that whenever anyone did anything for him, no matter how small the gesture, it was an imposition. Ian did not want to be an imposition. He didn’t feel that he was worth it. On the other hand, Laurie was so close to the bar that to hand Ian a drink while he sat was no imposition at all. Something else must have driven him. Ian spied Laurie out of the corner of his eye as he milled the previous interaction over.
Laurie was staring at him. His gaze held the same intensity that always seemed so terrifying on Troy’s face. His lips were pursed thin, tortuously so, but he appeared to be trying with all of his might to look natural. To Ian, this was the affect of someone who was harboring a whole world of toxic thoughts. Ian wondered for an instant what he had done wrong, then dismissed the thought. Something else was to blame and it had little or nothing to do with Ian. Maybe Ian had sensed that something was amiss with Laurie and that triggered his impulse to stand. Laurie gripped his water bottle hard enough for the plastic to snap.
“You’ve been to Goth Manor, I guess,” Laurie grumbled. Ian couldn’t be sure why, but this simple sentence sounded like an accusation. He deduced that either Enoch or Angela or both had shut Laurie out over the whole Cully incident. Laurie, he thought, was bitter that Ian was being extended the visitation rights that Laurie was denied. He took a swig of his water.
“Yeah, Enoch’s upset but physically no worse for wear. You should try to call him or let me relay a message if you’re worried,” Ian said. Laurie sneered at the suggestion.
“God, no. I’m not talking to him, not after what he said to Cully. In fact, this situation is exactly the kind of thing that makes me question our entire friendship. He’s a psychopath. They’re both psychopaths. I’m not interested in talking to either one of them until they work this out between them.” Laurie took an angry swig of his water. “You know what I saw when I walked into the room that day? It wasn’t just that Cully was beating Enoch’s face in; it was that he was enjoying it. It was like—I don’t even know how to describe it. I just know that it was fucked-up.” Ian nodded in silence. He rather doubted that Laurie’s resolution would hold, but it was useless to say. The instant Laurie realized that Ian was the only friend that he had left, he would doubtless find himself banging down the doors at Arbormoor Manor. Ian was too old and too preoccupied to mediate these sorts of disputes between friends. Not to mention the fact that he was too afraid of running into Lydia to spend much time at Laurie’s house. Laurie, Ian realized, knew the first of these excuses. Ian did have to wonder though how deeply Laurie suspected the second. Ian cleared his throat.
“If you bothered to call him, you’d know that Enoch feels guilty about what happened. He went too far, and it’s really messing with his head that he made Cully snap like that. It’d probably be better for the both of you if you forgave him sooner rather than later.” It would be better for Ian too. Laurie snorted.
“Sorry, I don’t know what garbage he’s been feeding you to relay back to me, but since when does Enoch give two shits about Cully? Any emotion he’s feeling is just him being put-off because he got his ass kicked in front of your sister,” he said.
“Whatever, man.” There was a brief and pointed pause. Ian had said his piece but Laurie, still smoldering, was clearly not done.
“And since we’re on the subject of my friends behaving badly, would it kill you to be more discreet about whatever is going on between you and Lydia?” Ian nearly spit out his water, a reaction that he had been sure up until this instant in his life only happened on TV. The mishap stung his nasal passages, making his eyes leak. He coughed the backwash into the crook of his elbow while Laurie waited with a near-obnoxious level of patience.
“Lydia,” Ian choked. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Why would you bring that up? Nothing is going on between me and Lydia. She can hold her liquor, but that’s about it. I can’t even believe that you would ask me something like that.” Fear crimsoned his cheeks, he knew. It was a fear that either Laurie had ferreted out one of his most disgraceful secrets or worse—that Lydia had confided in Laurie about the night that he had seen her almost nude. The memory of her garters biting into the sleek line of her thighs brought Ian over the edge more than once with Adelaide and god help him, by his lonesome. A month passed. That memory had changed shape in his mind and Lydia along with it. Lydia’s body was not gawky or boyish, it was lithe. It was graceful. It was sultrier to him than Adelaide’s curves. Ian could feel his cheeks growing hotter by the second and see Laurie’s skepticism worsening along with his blush.
“So… You’re not sleeping with my sister?” His tone was disbelieving. Ian, for his part, had never known an embarrassment like this.
“I swear, I’ve never even touched your sister.” Silence. Laurie was sizing him up. Ian dared not look away for fear that Laurie would continue to jump to conclusions far worse than the truth. Laurie exhaled.
“Look, sorry. I’m just talking out of my ass. There’s too much happening. I’ve got Cully and Enoch being jerks. My dad is sleeping in the guest house. And up until a second ago, I thought you might have been skipping out with Lydia. Thank you for clearing that up, by the way.” Ian wrinkled his nose, not quite hearing that last.
“Why is your dad sleeping in the guest house,” he asked. Ian was not a genius, and despite the way that Laurie had blundered over this detail, the answer to Ian’s question came falling down around him in all of its obviousness. This was a subject that Ian thought a lot about himself, despite it being none of his business—namely, Troy’s infidelities. Most often, it was Dina who brought the topic to mind. Ian was uncomfortable with the way that his mother-in-law joked about Troy’s affairs so frequently in mixed company, one part ribald humor and one part spite. The jokes seemed to Ian to be at Siren’s expense, almost as though Dina thought that she could shame her niece into dissolving her marriage for her own good. Ian recalled how Don used to stare at a spot on the wall whenever Dina did this.
It occurred to Ian too that this taboo subject, while never discussed between them, was always close to the surface in Laurie’s dealings with Troy. Ian had noticed the stark difference between the way that Laurie addressed his father and the way that the rest of the Caliente children did. The taut yes, sirs and no, sirs that had been hammered into the other children never entered Laurie’s vernacular. Ian used to think that it was because Laurie, as the eldest, was allowed more freedom than the rest but lately, Ian was not so sure. He was beginning to suspect that it was more due to a lack of respect for Troy’s rules. He suspected too that a sense of remorse kept Troy from correcting this behavior.
Ian thought of himself as a man with no substantial regrets (his feelings for Lydia potentially being the worst of his crimes). He led a good, clean life peppered with a few acts of virtue. Still, he could not account for what fate would bring and looking at Laurie, he felt terrified for his future self as a father of teenagers. Worry twisted his gut at the thought of being on the receiving end of the contempt that a disillusioned child could have for his or her parents.
“Was Adelaide home when we went to that hookah bar?” Ian blinked and then blinked again, thrown off-kilter by Laurie’s question.
“Where else would she have been? Her father died. Are you alright, Laurie?” He could almost see the insinuation peeking behind Laurie’s eyes. Ian could not imagine what had put it here, and he did not want to know. Laurie shook his head.
“Forget I said anything,” Laurie muttered, pushing his hair back from his face. “Just forget it.”
Fri, December 11, 2074 7:21 pm-- Caliente Manor; Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Macaulay sank his fingertips into the beveled edge of a wall pannel while Ian positioned his shot. He thought of seeking out a wood grain whose lines would match up with the creases in his knuckles. Maybe he could camouflage his hand into the wall, and the rest of his body would follow. There were things about Pleasantview that Macaulay was not going to miss-- the conflicted blend of progressive and obsolete social attitudes that kept him teetering like a tightrope walker, the way that all of downtown stank like an old penny just before dusk, the black cloud of mosquitoes over that swelled Arbormoor in summer, and this most of all-- billiards night at Caliente Manor.
Macaulay did not dislike his friends. He did not even dislike Enoch who spent the first two weeks of their acquaintance refusing to acknowledge his presence. Even Enoch had his moments of virtue, which were made all the more poignant for his widespread priggishness. When Macaulay thought about it, this was probably why Laurie liked Enoch. It was why Macaulay liked him, in any case. Macaulay had a certain appreciation for all of them, he was just too used to being on his own to know how to be a pack animal like other teenagers.
This failing was not so desperate as it sounded. Most of his life had been spent alone or close to it. He found ways to engage himself. There were always new worlds to be explored within the walls of his own home, books to be read, puzzles to be solved, model cars to be built, music and languages to be mastered. He would never have characterized his childhood as lonely, merely separate. If not for Laurie, Macaulay would not be here at all.
As their circle expanded to accommodate Madeline and Warren Burb, Macaulay felt himself disconnecting further, so much so that he had begun to forge a physical distance from the main action of the room without his realizing. This did not go unnoticed. Earlier in the evening, Madeline threw her arm around his shoulders and subtly coaxed him forward. He had drifted back into the corner since then. Madeline began throwing questions at him to keep him involved. Ian was giving him that whipped puppy look of his at intervals. Ian's empathy was starting to grate on Macaulay's nerves just as much as Enoch's sexist jokes about the maid ever had. Warren sat by the fireplace with his nose buried in the Pleasantview Examiner, too preoccupied to wonder whether or not he should be respecting Macaulay's distance. Enoch, meanwhile, was finding ways to hit Macaulay with his pool cue while making it look debatably accidental. He felt like roadkill. He felt like absolute roadkill with a crowd of children hovering above him poking and prodding, consulting one another about whether or not he was dead.
Laurie left the room some time ago to study for a Physics exam. The game went on without him, and would probably continue until Mr. Caliente kicked them all out, which could take hours. According to him, Spartan citizens began military training as early as age seven, and the only modern corollary for the upper casts was billiards or golf depending on which of the two Mr. Calliente was advocating on a particular day. Far be it for him to interrupt young people engaging in such a core enterprise as billiards. Mr. Caliente had a certain sense of humor that often went way over everyone else's heads. Macaulay did not think that it was funny, not when he found himself staring down the barrel of the long night ahead of him. When Laurie left the room, a piece of Macaulay left with him. It sounded trite and overly dramatic in his mind, but it was true. Laurie was Macaulay's confidence, his connection. Laurie made Macaulay's presence felt, even when Macaulay said nothing at all.
"You going to join the land of the living or what?" Macaulay turned around, slowly peeling his hand from the wall. Everyone but Warren was looking at him. Enoch nodded his head towards the table. "You're up, hotshot." Macaulay looked at the table, losing himself in a sea of green felt. He would scratch on purpose, just to get the others out of his hair. He picked up his cue from against the wall. Leaning over the table, he could almost feel Enoch breathing down his neck. He picked an angle.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look just like a girl from behind?" Macaulay gritted his teeth at the remark while Enoch chuckled low in his throat.
"Give him some room, man," Ian chastized. Macaulay could hear Enoch stepping back. He searched for a clear path for the cue ball to land directly into a pocket.
"Three, side pocket," Macaulay mumbled. Enoch crept up next to Macaulay, wide-eyed and innocent as a lamb. He leaned his backside against the table and kept talking as though he had never been interrupted.
"I don't suppose that's something Lawrence would ever say. Then again, he's probably never been in a position to say it, has he? I think he'd tell me if he had, seeing as how I'm his best friend and all. Speaking of, you might want to act on that soon, Cull. Wouldn't want our man Laurie looking elsewhere for what he can't get at home, am I right? See, older guys expect certain things, and--"
"If I take the shot, will you shut-up?" Macaulay could feel his face growing hot. It was obvious that Enoch was trying to distract him, but the more he ignored it, the tighter his stomach wound in upon itself. Enoch was not saying anything that Macaulay had not thought of. Worse, Enoch must have now known that he had struck a nerve.
"Hey, why the long face? Just a little friendly advice," Enoch cooed.
"God Enoch, you're so pathetic sometimes. Can't you just lay off him?" Finally, the only person in the world with any influence over Enoch whatsoever had spoken. Enoch opened his mouth to protest when Warren cut-in.
"Whoah, that is so fucked-up!" A general puzzlement fell over the room. Macaulay could tell from his friends' expressions that they were all of one mind-- That yes, Enoch was rude beyond measure and yes, Madeline was not shy about cracking the whip when necessary, but these were typical behaviors. Warren's reaction, on the other hand, was completely out there. "Did you guys hear about this?" Warren snapped the paper straight. "'Dead Townsman Uncovers Scandal At Tellerman Manor'?" He was met with blank stares. He folded the paper in half before reading aloud.
"The body of Earl Gozanga, age forty-six, was found by a jogger yesterday in northeast Arbormoor. Gozanga, a caretaker at Gothier Green Lawns Cemetery was reported missing on November 20th after failing to return home from work. According to the Arbormoor Coroner's Office, the victim's cause of death was blunt trauma to the neck, possibly by the edge of a shovel or spade. The family of the victim reports that Gozanga had been hired by Mr. and Mrs. Jean-Luc Tellerman of Gothier to disinter over a dozen bodies found in a mass grave on the Tellerman property, to be reburied in Arbormoor Forest."
"Let me see that." Ian snatched the paper out of his brother's hands. Madeline screwed up her face incredulously.
"I don't believe it," she said.
"Man, this is serious. The Tellermans could be doing jail time if it's true," Warren added. Macaulay wanted to throw in, as well they should but held his tongue. Madeline pressed further.
"What else does it say?" Ian shook his head, his eyes working furiously across the page.
"Not much," Warren said. "There was a second grave digger on the site that the police now have in custody. Apparently, he was the last person to see Gozanga alive and is the chief suspect. The police found the burial plot in Arbormoor. Evidence suggests that Gozanga's body was moved after he experienced significant blood loss. The bodies that they were burying are thought to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred years deceased. The Tellermans were unavailable for comment. Locals think it was something called the Trike-yoo curse."
"What's the Trike-yoo curse," Madeline asked. Ian made a fluttering, dismissive motion with his hand.
"Tricou," he corrected. "It's to do with the family that built the house. Almost all of them died horribly or disappeared or went crazy back in the mid 1990's. People say that the family participated in blood rituals and orgies and the like. Urban legend." Enoch bowed his head, pretending to fall asleep.
"I'm sorry," Enoch yawned, stretching his arms wide. "Must have just dozed off there. Remind me again why we should give a gnat's ass about a bunch of eighty-year-old Townie bones?"
"Probably something to do with a man dying as a result of your aunt and uncle dumping human remains in the woods to make way for a swimming pool," Warren scoffed. "Anyway, the article didn't say the bodies were Townsmen. It doesn't identify them at all, actually." Everyone turned to Enoch, each wondering whether he knew something that they did not. He crossed his arms over his chest, reading their faces.
"Oh come off it, of course they were Townie! The only way that no one would notice a person burying twelve plus people in their backyard is if everyone looked the other way while it was happening. Besides, it's always the same story, isn't it? First Townies are born, then they go missing, then their mangled corpses are found in the woods. Isn't that right, Cully?"
Macaulay could not have said what came over him then. Whatever it was, it moved at an instant and was as involuntary as his heartbeat.
By the time he realized what he was doing, Enoch was lying on the floor shielding his face with his arms while Macaulay squatted above him, dealing blow after blow. Enoch's ink-black hair lay sopping upon his forehead. His nose was caked with blood and snot.
Macaulay could feel his pulse racing just beneath the skin. His fist throbbed with pain, but he could not reign in his need for more. He needed to make Enoch hurt more. There was nothing but the communion of his knuckles with every part of Enoch's head that he could reach, and when that was insufficient, he grabbed Enoch by the hair, striking the back of his skull against the floor.
Some distant part of his brain heard Warren swearing, and felt Ian's hands pulling him away. Macaulay continued to kick and swing ineffectually while Enoch rolled onto his side. Unable to inflict more damage, Macaulay howled in frustration.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Don't you ever talk about my mother, you bottom-feeding piece of shit!" The door flew open then, and Laurie strode in.
"Maddie, did you-- Oh my god." Laurie drew back when he noticed Enoch in a puddle on the floor. Madeline rushed over to inspect the damage. Laurie looked up at Macaulay, who was still fuming. "Oh my god."
"I think he might have a concussion. He's definitely going to need stitches. Enoch?" Madeline was patting Enoch's cheek. His lip had burst and his nose might have been swollen, but who could tell? Macaulay was not sure if it was enough, but it was a start. If anyone deserved worse, it was Enoch. Arrogant, tedious, horse-faced little weasel. Macaulay was done putting up with Enoch fucking Goth.
"Cully, what the hell?" Laurie seemed to be pleading more than anything. Macaulay felt a little ashamed, but no more. When he did not respond, Laurie bent down to help Enoch to his feet. Ian pulled Macaulay back against him by the collar and murmured heatedly in his ear.
"I'm taking you home." Ian pushed Macaulay roughly forward. "Maddie, get him to a doctor. Warren, you're coming with me."
Macaulay glanced over his shoulder as Ian lead him out of the room. Laurie was dabbing Enoch's nose with his shirt sleeve and saying something that Macaulay could not hear. Enoch nodded in response. A fresh surge of bitterness chilled Macaulay to the core. Laurie never asked if Macaulay was alright. He had hardly taken his eyes off of Enoch from the moment he walked through the door. Macaulay had never been angry at Laurie before, but he was now and the feeling was undoubtedly mutual. Maybe it would take a while for things to be the same between them again. Still, Macaulay was not sorry that it happened. It was the first time that he had ever felt truly satisfied to be his father's son.
Part I: Madeline Is Guided
Sat, November 14, 2074 8:01 pm: Lothario Hall- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
"You and I are going to be the best of friends, I just know it! We're going to have so much fun! I'll teach you how to dress and how to do your hair and- Ooo, I know of this great place by the water where cute boys like to play soccer topless in the mud and..."
Madeline didn't mean to be rude but she was starting to zone out. Sabina's jeweled earrings and hair ornaments were splashing colored lights against her tawny cheek. Madeline traced their inconsistent path with her eyes. Up and down. Right to left. It was the only thing keeping her awake.
How Sabina could manage to be so exhausting without forcing Madeline to move an inch was a complete mystery. If Madeline's expression was a bit glazed or her mouth a little slack, Sabina did not seem to notice. She giggled and yammered with an astonishing fluency- Every word of it, chowderheaded fluff.
"So what do you think?" The abrupt halt in Sabina's prattling jarred Madeline out of her trance. Rather than admit her failure to pay attention, Madeline decided to take the high road.
"It's really just a matter of opinion, isn't it," she said. Sabina smiled, scrunching up her nose.
"Of course it's a matter of opinion and I want yours. So what do you think? Should I go blond?"
"I..." Madeline was having difficulty connecting the last thing that she remembered Sabina saying to this inquiry about hair color. Still, Madeline found a perverse sense of delight in playing along. She leaned forward in her chair and spoke with as much conviction as she could muster, "Most definitely, you should."
"Really? You think so?"
"Oh yeah, no question. It would totally bring out your eyes." Sabina's face lit like a tinderbox.
"I'm so glad you said that because I've really been seriously thinking that it's time for a change." And that was when the power died. The lights gradually dimmed with a low, electric moan.
The entire room went rigid. Beneath the undercurrent of silence, Madeline heard Lawrence whisper something that sounded very distinctly like, "Damn, we forgot about the candles!" Murmurs rose across the room. There was a significant amount of shuffling over by the piano. Madeline caught glimpses of her fiancé's bright yellow shirt in the candlelight. And just below his shoulder was Lawrence's cinnamon-colored head.
"Ladies, gentlemen and Dina," Enoch shouted, nodding over his shoulder at their hostess. "In honor of Lydia and Dad's respective birthdays, young master Lawrence and I would like to present you with a brief musical interlude to tonight's festivities. This first song is dedicated to our sister Lydia and is performed by her personal request." Lawrence's fingers slipped across the keys, playing his scales with a flourish. Enoch cleared his throat and a vaguely familiar tune wafted upwards from the piano. Then Enoch began to sing in an unnatural baritone.
"The devil went down to Georgia, he was look'n for a soul to steal. He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal. When he came across this young man poke'n a piano and play'n it hot, the devil jumped up on a hickory stump and said, 'Boy, let me tell ya what! I bet you didn't know it but I'm a piano player too..." Sabina groaned miserably. Madeline leaned back in her chair, almost in awe.
"I didn't even know that song could be played on a piano," she said absently. Sabina closed her eyes and shook her head.
"Those boys can be such show-offs sometimes," she said. Sabina's head then snapped in Madeline's direction and she peered suspiciously. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything but what does a girl like you see in someone like Enoch?"
"Nothing." Madeline regretted that the truth often came from her as a knee-jerk reaction. Sabina's eyes widened. For a moment, Madeline could feel her mouth moving but no sound was coming out. "I mean, we don't know each other that well. It's an arranged marriage."
"Oh," Sabina said. Madeline glanced over at Enoch, who was now twirling and grabbing his crotch as he sang. Her eyes wandered across the room and she was surprised to see how much the adults were enjoying themselves. Some of them were even square dancing. Madeline's parents included.
"Then what do your parents see in him," Sabina pressed. Madeline shrugged.
"I suspect they see eight hundred thousand simoleons in him." Sabina hit the arm of her chair hard with her palm.
"Eight hundred thousand? Are you serious? For a second born child?" She seemed on the verge of pitching a fit. Madeline shrank away a little.
"Yeah. Is that unusual?"
"Unusual? Are you kidding? If he weren't my cousin, I'd consider putting up with him for that kind of cash!" The song ended and the impromptu musicians were met with boisterous requests for an encore. The boys put their heads together before announcing something about the next song being "for the ladies". Couples drew nearer to one another on the dance floor.
Madeline turned away from Sabina when she captured a flash of movement just beyond Sabina's chair. It was Ian, briskly heading for the door. A radiant grin swept across his face. He winked at Madeline just before disappearing into the night.
"What do you think he's up to," Madeline asked. But Sabina was not listening.
There was a pained look on her face. Madeline followed her gaze across the room to where the Calientes were becoming sordidly affectionate.
Madeline had never really understood why public displays of affection were difficult for most people to stomach. She had grown up with her parents kissing and cooing all over the house at all times of the day. She was raised with the notion that love was more vital than air. Bitterness clogged her chest when she thought about the way that she had been bartered off to the Goth family. She had cried herself to sleep for three nights after the engagement was announced but she never spoke a word against it to anyone. It was just the way things were.
"That's my parents over there," Sabina said, pulling Madeline out of her thoughts. "My mother is almost forty and in the family way. She's trying to cover it up with that empire waistline but I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. It's completely scandalous." Maybe Sabina hadn't been looking at the Calientes at all.
And suddenly, Madeline found herself hating them- the Calientes, the Dreamers, her own parents. They were each in possession of something more elusive and immaterial than a shadow but all the more sacred for it. Madeline would never be looked upon in the way that Mrs. Caliente looked at her husband. And that knowledge consumed her.
Madeline leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. When would the night be merciful and end? She tried to tune out Lawrence's rendition of Unchained Melody but found it to be increasingly difficult. He had a surprisingly powerful voice that carried like dry leaves in the wind.
"And what brings you to our humble corner of the room?" Madeline's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Sabina's hearty greeting.
Standing above Madeline was a handsome man who appeared to be in his early twenties. He smiled at Madeline just slightly but she was not in a mood to return the favor.
"I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I allowed two pretty women to go without a dance partner," he said, never once turning to Sabina while he spoke. Madeline felt her cheeks grow hot. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Miss..."
"Burb. But call me Madeline. I'm John and Ginny's daughter." Madeline stood to shake the man's hand and was caught off guard when he brought her hand to his lips.
"Nice to meet you, Madeline. I'm Phoenix Goth." Phoenix! What a name! Madeline wished that he and Sabina would turn away so that she could practice mouthing that name.
"Oh for the love of crap Phoenix, stop flirting. She's already taken. And anyway, she's too young for you," Sabina cautioned. Phoenix blushed visibly in the dim light. Madeline found it to be endearing. Sabina rolled her eyes. "Well aren't you going to ask her to dance?" It was a weirdly forceful demand. Phoenix grinned bashfully.
"Would you," he asked. There was an undue heaviness in those two very rudimentary words. Or maybe Madeline was imagining that.
"Yes, I would. I mean, I will. I mean, yes I'd like to dance." Madeline studied the way his top lip tucked just slightly above his teeth and the creases that protracted at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Phoenix turned his gaze to Sabina.
"I'm coming back for you next," he said. Sabina folded her arms over her chest.
"As if! I'd rather be caught dead than be seen dancing with my own uncle," she huffed. Madeline scarcely heard her. Phoenix took Madeline's hand casually, as though they were much more than new acquaintances and guided her across the divide.
Part II: Ian Admires A Bird
Sat, November 14, 2074 8:14 pm: Lothario Hall- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
Lydia had a neighing laugh that started somewhere near her esophagus and coiled tightly around the base of her throat, allowing for only funny little wheezes to escape through her nose. Most people found her laugh to be unladylike and off-putting but Ian was charmed.
"How long do you think we have before anyone notices that we're gone," Lydia asked.
"All night, probably. I suggest we climb through the bushes and go grab a pint somewhere."
"Don't tempt me," Lydia snorted.
"Do you think we should at least turn their lights back on?"
"Absolutely not. I'm savoring the image of Dina scurrying around back here with a flashlight to flip the fuse back on after everyone has left."
"Eh, it will probably be me that has to do all the scurrying."
"If she asks it of you, then you have my permission to tell her where to shove it." Ian shook his head.
"Can you really imagine me telling Dina where to shove it?"
"No but you ought to every once in a while." The two of them quieted for a moment.
"It's a really nice night." Ian felt silly saying it but something had to be said.
"Yeah it is," Lydia said, looking around. "You guys don't empty your pool in the fall?"
"Nope. It's heated. I like to swim in the mornings. Helps me ease into my day."
"What about your night?" Lydia unfastened her necklace. The act puzzled Ian but he plowed ahead nonetheless.
"I don't need to ease into my night. It's the day that scares me." Lydia removed her gloves and let them fall to the ground.
"What in the world are you doing?" Ian laughed uneasily. As if in response, Lydia unzipped the back of her dress and slipped the entire thing over her head. "You're completely nuts," he said breathlessly. Try as he might, Ian couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice. Lydia unclipped her mousy brown hair and it tumbled gracefully down her shoulders. She turned to the diving board.
The pool lights cast a gentle glow against her bare skin. Ian realized rather uncomfortably that Lydia's underwear was so sheer that she might have been wearing nothing at all.
"What if someone sees," he whispered desperately. Lydia shrugged.
"Then maybe they'll be inspired to join me."
Lydia plummeted from the diving board like bird struck down by a stone. It was tragically, almost poetically beautiful. And in that instant, Ian had an epiphany.
Maybe he really was as stupid as people always told him. He must have been if he was only just now noticing such a creature as Lydia Caliente-Goth. She was plain and skinny. She dressed like a man and belched with malice. But by God, those were the things that made her nothing short of divine.
Part I: Adelaide Is Weighed
Sat, November 14, 2074 7:32 pm: Lothario Hall- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
"I don't know how you always manage to talk me into throwing these insipid little get-togethers Adelaide but I swear, there will be at least six months between now and the next time I have to share breathing room with mostof these people. And who is that girl coming in with Horace?" Dina snapped her fingers at the bartender while she spoke, never taking her eyes off of the door. Her voice undulated from high to low, marking what Adelaide knew to be her mother's first stage of inebriation.
While the bartender filled Dina's empty glass with gin and tonic, Adelaide patted her baby squarely on the back to quell her rising sobs. Adelaide then disinterestedly turned her head to see what girl her mother was blustering about and was met with the heavily painted face of Madeline Burb. Madeline locked eyes with Adelaide and waved bashfully. Adelaide refused to acknowledge the gesture.
"That'll be Madeline," Adelaide said dryly, rolling her eyes. "You know, your son-in-law's sister." Adelaide thought that Dina should have been able to guess as much considering the fact that Ian and Madeline were almost identical. Dina snorted contemptuously.
"Honestly Adelaide, you can't expect me to keep track of all Ian's siblings. Ginny Burb must have a revolving door between her legs. If age hadn't caught up with her, she'd still be popping them out. And what is that Madeline girl wearing?"
Privately, Adelaide had to agree with her mother on the subject of Madeline's choice of attire. Bright green paisley with brass rivets was not exactly the height of invention. But the rest of it had been completely uncalled for. Dina was already drunk enough to begin maligning guests and Adelaide would have to put a stop to it before it got out of hand.
"I think you've just had your last cocktail, mother."
"Nonsense. Why is she arriving with the Goths and not her own people?"
"Don't you know? Madeline and Enoch are engaged to be married." Dina gasped and grabbed her chest as though she were having a heart attack.
"Never, a Goth marry a Burb? Scandalous. But I suppose it is better than that thing Phoenix shacked-up with. Or what your sister married. This state is truly going to the dogs." Dina took a large swig of gin.
"Would it be worth the effort for me to remind you that you married me off to a Burb," Adelaide whined.
"You, my dear, are not a Goth. Besides, Ian wasn't my idea. He was you father's. I only went along with it because I was eager to finally get some full caste grandbabies."
"Isabella's boys are full caste." Dina choked on her drink.
Patting herself near the clavicle, Dina said huskily, "Jean-Luc Tellerman is a Townie." Adelaide sighed. There was really no arguing with her mother.
"We've been over this. He is a second generation Resident. His parents were both brilliant, first rate people- Not to mention disgustingly rich."
"Townies, both of them. Don't piss under my tree and try to tell me it's raining, Adelaide."
"I'm not even going to attempt to decipher that metaphor, mother." Adelaide bounced Francesca in the palm of her hand while Dina studied their closest friends and family like a white-gloved bird of prey. Perhaps it was the sweltering heat of the crowded room but Adelaide soon found herself growing nauseous. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore it. At length, Dina rose her glass in the direction of the Pleasants.
"Sabina is growing up to be a rare beauty, don't you think," Dina said wistfully. Adelaide furrowed her brow, both surprised by her mother's sudden amiability and desperate to prevent the resurrection of her dinner. "It is such a shame that the poor girl's head is as empty as a beach ball. Adelaide, are you alright?" Adelaide's vision was dancing. Her nausea was coming in waves. She had to get out of there.
"I... I don't know. I'm feeling a little flustered."
"I daresay you are. You've barely eaten for days and you don't diet. You're either newly expecting or coming down with something. And seeing as how you've never so much as sniffled a day in your life, my money is on the former."
"I think I'm going to be sick."
During a brief silence, Adelaide found herself directly beneath her mother's wide-eyed scrutiny. Dina looked her up and down, no doubt searching for signs of burgeoning pudginess- Weighing Adelaide with her eyes. Adelaide was not pregnant. She couldn't be. Francesca was barely eight months old. She didn't even want to think about the prospect of having another child so soon. Dina outstretched her arms to Adelaide.
"Here, give me the baby and go take care of yourself. I'll make your excuses." Adelaide instinctively turned away from Dina with a slight twist of her hips as if to shield the baby. Dina did not seem to notice. A burning liquid rose up in Adelaide's throat. The world was slowly churning. Her palms grew hot and sweaty under the burden of her daughter's body. Overpowered, Adelaide handed the baby to Dina for fear of dropping her.
Part II: Ian Is Found Wanting
Sat, November 14, 2074 7:39 pm: Lothario Hall- Rawling Hills, Pleasantview
"Ian!" He knew that snarl as well as he knew his own heartbeat. He did not even need to turn around to perceive the harsh contours of her mouth or the narrow squint of her eyes. Ian hastily stuffed the last hors d'oeuvre down his throat before facing his mother-in-law's soulless frown.
"Yeah, Mom? What can I do ya for?"
"First of all, you may save your maternal affectations for your actual mother. Secondly, you are meant to be hosting this party, not gorging yourself on chocolate. And lastly, your wife has taken ill and gone to bed. Ginny has Francesca." Ian's nervous grin vanished.
"Addy is sick?" Ian had never called her that aloud before. And even with as naturally as the pet name had rolled off of his tongue, he still regretted having given voice to it at all, let alone in front of Dina. Adelaide was not the sort of woman that should inspire baby talk and cutesy sobriquets. She was the sort of woman that merited long-winded poetry and vows of undying passion. But in the end, Ian was not the sort of man to write poetry or feel passion.
"Yes Ian, that is what I said. Now do you need me to repeat any or all of what I just told you? Or was once sufficient enough for me to get my message through to your gnat's brain?" Ian slowly nodded the affirmative but he secretly wished she would repeat the part about affection. Dina sniffed tartly then turned on her heals and fled across the room to chat with the Dreamers.
Ian breathed a sigh of relief at having been left alone. He hated parties. Hell, he hated his social position. As Ian turned back towards the food, he was startled to find himself face to face with a foolishly grinning Lawrence Caliente.
"Hiya!" Laurie was unusually peppy. Ian didn't know what to make of it.
"Oh, hey Laurie. How are things?"
"Oppressively dull. What about you? You enjoying yourself?" Ian glanced around the room at the sea of stiff, terrifying people. No, he was not enjoying himself.
"Same here," he said simply. Laurie's grin widened.
"Excellent," he said, then looked over his shoulder and gestured for his sister to come join them.
Ian had always liked Lydia. She was fun and spirited- The absolute antithesis of the Adelaide Lotharios of the world. She spent her days in downtown pool halls wearing tattered jeans and drinking grown men under the table. She was wild, boyish and most people agreed, irredeemably eccentric. But what Ian admired most was that she made no apologies for any of it. She beamed at him when she came to a halt just behind Laurie.
"Happy birthday, Lydia," Ian said almost shyly.
"Thanks, Ian. Wanna turn this shindig around?" Ian raised his eyebrows. He didn't know what these two had planned but he thought that it was almost worth the combined ire of his mother-in-law and his sick wife if the night could somehow be salvaged.
"Yeah," Ian said. "As a matter of fact, I do want."
"Great," Laurie exclaimed, punching Ian in the shoulder. For such a small person, he threw a shockingly painful punch. Ian resisted the urge to rub his aching shoulder in front of Lydia. Laurie leaned towards Ian, evidently for the purpose of secrecy. "If you'll kindly direct the birthday girl to your circuit breaker then we just might be able to kick this party up a notch."
