Page 76 of Emmett
Tucking my phone back into its place, I follow my personal assistant back into the heart of the party. Strangers mill about my house, drinking my booze and using my home as their personal networking venue. More than a few of them are here solely to say that they visited Nash Montgomery’s house and brag about it on their social media pages. Fine, let them.
I take my position at the top of the stairs, drawing everyone’s attention so that I can make a speech which I’ve run through so many times, I have it memorized down the appropriate facial expression. All that I want to do is slipunder the villainous mask that had become so comfortable to me and tell them all to fuck themselves, but I wish them well and thank them for coming instead as I open the first bottle and pour the first glasses of the Rose Noire line.
More performative cheers and pats to the shoulder find their way to me as I make my way down the stairs and to the one group of people who look vaguely familiar. I think our grandparents may have worked together while they were still alive. I can smell the old money running off of them, just as I’m sure that they can smell it on me.
If Henry Montgomery were here, he would tell me to schmooze and work the crowd, seek out the business owners among them who might be willing to sign an exclusive deal with me after a few glasses. He would tell me to put on a friendly mask and make some new connections; but I can’t be bothered. As I glance back through that same window and into the pool that will have to wait for me, I think about the pretty boy who made me fix my own cocktail not all that long ago. The only person who’s ever asked me about my faith and if it remained; and maybe the only person who could understand how complicated a question he’d asked.
My grandfather would have loved him.
“This bordeaux is fantastic,” one of the attendees says to me. “What an incredible flavor profile.”
I hope you choke on it, I tell her in my mind.
“Yes,” I settle on saying instead, “it’s very rich. If you’ll excuse me.”
These people have no substance, they’re all just vapid wastes of flesh and wealth that they don’t deserve. Some of them are only rich because they’re attractive, others have earned their fortunes by embezzling or blackmailing their way to the top. Only very few and far between have worked hardto get where they are – and even I don’t fall under that umbrella. I was born into money, and when my grandfather died, I may as well have inherited a kingdom; and what have I done with it?
I’ve used it to indulge in everything that I was raised against: lust, avarice, pride, wrath, gluttony. I suppose that my parents might even consider a swimming pool to relax in to be sloth.
Envy.
Slipping past my guests, I move to the lounge to find Moose. He always tucks himself underneath the piano when too many people try to pay attention to him at once; it’s why we get along. We enjoy the company of each other, but not that of other people.
“Moose, walk,” I tell him, inclining my head toward the door.
Obedient as he is, he approaches and I take hold of his tactical collar to walk him out into the party, where we find my butler near the kitchen. “We’re leaving,” I tell him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let them drink until they all piss themselves, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t let them up the stairs and keep them away from me.”
“Yes, Mr. Montgomery, of course.”
The two of us move through the back of the house and wrap around to the front, sneaking past both my guests and the paparazzi outside waiting to take more photos of those guests. Normally, I don’t mind the pictures. I grew up with cameras in my face and that only became a more frequent occurrence after my grandparents took me in.
A swarm of them waited outside of the prison both for my intake and my release. When my short-lived marriage ended at twenty-seven, only six months after we’d said ‘I do,’ they swarmed again outside of my attorney’s office. They’ve become something like mosquitoes; if you’re familiar enough with their presence, you can hear their buzzing when they’re close by. That familiarity also grants you a certain immunity from being bothered by them. A threat here or a check there, and they tend to leave things be. Swat one insect, and watch the others scatter.
I settle on a bench near a tree roughly a mile from my house, where I find a stick and give it a toss for Moose. There are three hundred bottles of wine at my house, which means I’ll likely be out here for another four hours – maybe five, if my guests are imbibing in moderation, which I sincerely hope that they aren’t. As Moose returns his new toy and I throw it again, the two of us repeating the process until he’s exhausted, I run through Beethoven’sSonata No.14in my mind, tapping the fingers of my left hand along my thigh as I would the keys on my piano.
My mother taught me to play when I was only four years old; she and my father had hoped that I would play at my uncle’s church and eventually grow up to become a concert pianist.
Look at me now, aren’t you both so very proud of your eldest son?
“Moose,” I call out, and my faithful companion rushes toward me, stopping only to sit at my feet. “Let’s go home.”
THIRTY-ONE
Emmett
New Year’s Eve
“God damn,” I pant, resting my palm against my chest. Sitting up, I reach for my drink on the ground and hold it up to the TV screen ahead of me as the timer ticks down.
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…