“Just think about it.” She perked up. “When you become Number Two around here, you can have whoever you want; but just remember, I got you first.” She laughed, putting down the wine and reaching out her foot to pull his chair toward her again. “But if you take me with you, I can tend to all your needs.”
She took the whiskey glass from his hand and placed it on the desk. Then she took his hand and pulled him to his feet, and he followed, numb and lifeless like a dummy. She rubbed her hands across his chest, grabbed his lapels, and pulled him closer.
So much went through his mind right then, a strobelight effect of thoughts; manic and not fully formed, they flashed in and out of his head as he failed to hold on to one and really register it. Each was a warning he couldn’t fully grasp. If he could just bring himself back into the moment and stop smelling Alison’s perfume, stop feeling her fingertips, which were gentle on his cheeks…Gabe spoke his words of wisdom in one ear; Lou Suffern’s dark side whispered in the other. But suddenly, he watched with great clarity as what he had been slowly learning over the past few days came flying toward him like a meteor headed toward the Earth. Its impact yielded a result. What he was doing with Alison was wrong. This was all wrong. He wasn’t that man anymore. His great life, his achievements, were so only because of his family. Take them away, take Ruth away, and he was and had nothing.
Just as their lips were about to meet, he stopped and moved his lips to her ear. Ever so softly, he whispered, “My marriage is not a joke, Alison.”
With that, he pulled back and walked away from the desk.
Alison sat frozen on the desk. The only movement was her mouth, which had fallen open, and her hand, which fidgeted and tried to pull at the bottom of her skirt.
“Yeah,” he said as he watched her fix herself, “you should cover that up. You can take a minute to gather your thoughts, but please replace the files on my desk before you leave,” he said calmly, moving the files around with his shoe to find the displaced pill. Finding it nestled in the thick carpet, he quickly picked it up and placed it in his pocket. Leaving his hands there to hide how much his body shook, he strode out of his office and into the middle of a karaoke, where Alex from accounts was drunkingly singing Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas.” Streamers popped around Lou, and drunken colleagues smothered him with kisses as he left his office.
“I have to go,” he said to no one in particular, trying to make his way to the elevator. He pushed right through the crowd, some people grabbing him and trying to dance with him, others blocking his path and spilling their drinks. “I have to go,” he said a little more aggressively now. His head was pounding; he was nauseous; he felt as though he had just woken up in the body of a man who had taken over his life and had almost thrown it all away. “I have to go,” he said, continuing to make his way to the elevator. Finally he reached it and pressed the call button. He didn’t want to meet Mr. Patterson, didn’t care about the job; he just wanted to be with his family. He kept his head down and waited.
“Lou!” He heard his name. He kept his head down, ignoring the voice. “Lou! I need a minute with you!” He ignored it again, watching the floors rising on the elevator panel and shaking his leg anxiously, hoping he’d get inside before it was too late.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Lou! I’ve been calling you!” a friendly voice said.
He turned around. “Ah, Mr. Patterson, hello. Sorry.” Lou was aware his voice was edgy, but he needed to get out of there. He’d promised Ruth. He pressed down on the elevator button again. “I’m in a bit of a rush, it’s my dad’s se—”
“We won’t take long, I promise. Just a word.” Mr. Patterson pulled gently on his arm.
“Okay.” Lou turned around, biting his lip.
“I was rather hoping we could talk in my office, if you don’t mind.” Mr. Patterson smiled.
He led Lou down to his office, where they sat down opposite each other on aged brown leather couches. Lou felt around in his pocket for his pills. He shouldn’t be here. He really shouldn’t be here. He reached for the glass of water Mr. Patterson poured for him, trying to control the tremble in his hand.
“Would you like something stronger, Lou?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Patterson.” He waited for the opportunity to take the pill, but Mr. Patterson kept his eyes on him at all times.
“Laurence, please.” Mr. Patterson shook his head again. “Honestly, Lou, you make me feel like a schoolteacher when you address me so. Well, I’m going to have one, anyway.” Mr. Patterson stood up and made his way over to his drinks cabinet. He poured himself a brandy from a crystal decanter. “You sure you won’t have one?” he offered again. “Rémy XO.” He swirled it midair, tauntingly.
“Okay, I will, thank you.” Lou smiled and relaxed a little, his panic to get across the river to the other party subsiding slightly.
“Good.” Mr. Patterson smiled. “So, Lou, let’s talk about your future. It’s going to be a long one. How much time do you have?”
Lou took his first sip of the expensive brandy, and he was brought back to the room, back to the present. He pulled his cuffs over his watch and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the clock ticking away on the wall, trying to put his father’s party out of his head. It would all be worth it. They would all understand. They would all be too busy celebrating to notice he wasn’t even there.
“I have all the time you need.” Lou smiled nervously.
CHAPTER 21
Surprise!
WHEN LOU ARRIVED AT THE venue for his father’s party—late—he was sweating profusely as though he’d broken out in a high fever, despite the December chill outside that squeezed into the joints and whistled around the body. He was breathless and nauseous at the same time. Relieved and exhilarated.
He’d decided to host his father’s party in the famous building that Gabe had admired the very first day they’d met. Shaped like a sail, it was lit up in blue, Patterson Development’s award-winning building, which was sure to impress his father and relatives from around the country. Directly in front of the building, the Viking longship’s tall mast was decorated in Christmas lights.
When he reached the door, Marcia was outside giving it to a large doorman dressed in black. Bundled in coats, hats, and scarves, a crowd of twenty or so were standing around, stamping their feet on the pavement in order to stay warm.
“Hi, Marcia,” Lou said happily, trying to break up the argument. He was bursting to tell her about the promotion, but he had to bite his lip; he had to find Ruth to tell her first.
Marcia turned to face him, her eyes red and blotchy, her mascara smudged. “Lou,” she spat, her anger now fully aimed at him.
His stomach did somersaults, which was rare. He never usually cared what his sister thought of him, but tonight he cared more than usual.
“What’s wrong?”
She walked him a few paces from the crowd and came firing at him. “I’ve been trying to call you for an hour.”
“I was at my work party, I told you that. What’s wrong?”
“You are what’s wrong,” she said shakily, her voice somewhere between anger and deep sadness. She inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “It’s Daddy’s birthday, and for his sake I won’t ruin it any more than it already has been by causing an argument, so all I have to say is, would you please tell this brute to let our family in. Our family”—she raised her voice to a quivering screech—“who has traveled from all over the country to share in”—her voice went weepy again—“in Dad’s special day. But instead of being with his family, he’s up there in a practically empty room while everybody is out here being turned away. Five people have already gone home.”
“What? What?” Lou’s heart leapt into his throat. He rushed to the doormen. “Hi, guys, Lou Suffern.” He held out his hand, and the doormen shook it with all the life of a dead fish. “I’m organizing the party tonight. What seems to be the problem here?” He looked around at the crowd and ins
tantly recognized all the faces. Most were close family friends whose homes he’d grown up visiting, and all were over the age of sixty. They stood on the freezing cold pavement in December, elderly couples hanging on to one another, trembling with the cold, some leaning on crutches, one man in a wheelchair. In their hands were sparkly bags and cards, bottles of wine and champagne, gifts that had been wrapped neatly and thoughtfully for the big night.
“No invites, no entry,” one doorman explained.
One couple flagged down a taxi and slowly made their way to where it had pulled over, while Marcia chased after them, trying to convince them to stay.
Lou laughed angrily. “Gentlemen, do you think that these people are party crashing?” He lowered his voice. “Come on, look at them. My father is celebrating his seventieth birthday. These are his friends. There was obviously a mistake with the invitations. I arranged with my secretary Alison for there to be a guest list.”
“These people aren’t on the list. This building has strict guidelines as to who comes in and who—”
“Fuck the guidelines,” Lou said through gritted teeth so that those behind him couldn’t hear. “It is my father’s birthday, and these are his guests. And as the person who is paying for this party, and as the man who got this building off the ground, I’m telling you to let these people in.”
Moments later the members of the group were shuffling inside, warming themselves while waiting in the grand lobby for the elevators to take them up to the top floor.
“You can relax now, Marcia; it’s all sorted out.” Lou tried to make amends with his sister as they got in the last elevator. She had refused to speak to him or even look at him for the last ten minutes while they’d managed to get everyone inside and up to the penthouse. “Marcia, come on,” he laughed lightly. “Don’t be like this.”
The look she gave him was enough to stop his smile and make him swallow hard.
“I know you think I’m dramatic and controlling and annoying, and whatever else you think about me that I’m sure I don’t want to know about, but I’m not being dramatic now. I’m hurt. Not for me, but for Mummy and Daddy.” Her eyes filled again, and her voice, which was always so gentle and understanding, became hard. “Of all the selfish things you’ve done, this is right up there as the most fucking selfish of them all. I have sat back and bitten my tongue while you’ve taken Mummy and Daddy for granted, while you’ve screwed around on your wife, while you’ve jeered at your brother, flirted with his wife, ignored your kids, and taunted me on every possible occasion. I have been—we all have been—as patient as pie with you, Lou, but not anymore. You don’t deserve any of us.”
“Marcia,” Lou simply said. He had never been spoken to like that before, and it hurt him deeply.
Marcia laughed bitterly. “What you saw outside isn’t even the half of it. Surprise,” she said dully as the elevators opened and the sight of the room greeted him.
As he looked out, Lou’s heart immediately sank to his stomach, where the acid there began to burn it away. Around the room there were blackjack tables and roulette, and scantily clad cocktail waitresses who paraded around with cocktails on trays. It was an impressive party, and one that Lou remembered attending when the building first opened, but it wasn’t a party for his seventy-year-old father. It wasn’t for his father, who hated celebrations for himself, who hated forcing friends and family to gather together just for him, whose idea of a good day was being alone out fishing. A modest man, he was embarrassed by the very thought of a party, but the family had talked him into celebrating this milestone birthday, a big occasion where his family and friends from all around the country would join in and celebrate with him. Somewhere along the way he had warmed to the idea, and there he was, in his best suit, standing in the middle of the scene: short skirts and red bow ties, a DJ playing dance music, and a twenty-five-euro minimum at the casino tables. Lying in the center of one table, a near-naked man was covered in little cakes and fruit.
Standing together awkwardly at one side of the room was Lou’s family. His mother, with her hair freshly blown dry, was wearing a new lilac trouser suit and a scarf tied neatly around her neck. Her handbag was draped over her shoulder, and she clasped it tightly in both hands as she looked around uncertainly. His father stood with his brother and sister—a nun and a priest—looking more lost in this environment than Lou had ever seen him look. Each family member looked up at him and then away again, freezing him out. The only person who smiled faintly at him was his father, who nodded and saluted him.
Lou looked around for Ruth and found her standing on the far side of the room, making small talk with the rest of the equally uncomfortable-looking partygoers. She caught his eye, and her look was cold. There was an awkward tension in the room, and it was all Lou’s fault. He felt embarrassed, beyond ashamed. In that instant he wanted to make it up to them; he wanted to make it up to everybody.
“Excuse me.” Lou approached a man in a suit looking over the crowd. “Are you the person in charge?”
“Yes, Jacob Morrison, manager.” He held his hand out. “You’re Lou Suffern; we met at the opening night a few months ago. I recall it was a late one.” He winked at him.
“Yes, I remember,” Lou replied, at the same time not remembering him at all. “I’m just wondering if you could help me with making some changes in here.”
“Oh.” Jacob looked taken aback. “Of course we’ll try to accommodate you in any way that we can. What were you thinking of?”
“Chairs.” Lou tried not to speak rudely. “This is my father’s seventieth. Could we please get him and his guests some chairs?”
“Oh.” Jacob made a face. “I’m afraid this is a standing-only event. We didn’t charge for—”
“I’ll pay you for whatever, of course.” Lou flashed his pearly whites through a tight smile.
“Yes, of course.” Jacob began to leave when Lou called him back.
“And the music,” Lou said, “is there anything more traditional than this?”
“Traditional?” Jacob smiled questioningly.
“Yes, traditional Irish music. For my seventy-year-old father.” Lou spoke through gritted teeth. “Instead of this acid jazz funky house music that my seventy-year-old father isn’t so much into.”
“I’ll see what we can do.”
The atmosphere between the two men was darkening.
“And what about food? Did Alison arrange food? Apart from the naked man covered in cream that my mother is currently standing beside.”
“Yes, of course. We have shepherd’s pies, lasagna, that kind of thing.”
Lou quietly celebrated.
“You know, we discussed all of our concerns with Alison before,” Jacob explained. “We don’t usually hold seventieth parties.” His fake smile quickly faded. “It’s just that we have a standard setup here, particularly for the Christmas period, and this is it.” He gestured to the room proudly. “The casino theme is very successful for corporate events, launches, that kind of thing,” he explained.
“I see. Well, it would have been nice to know that,” Lou said politely.
“You did sign off on it,” Jacob assured him.
“Right.” Lou swallowed and looked around the room. His fault. Of course.
AS LOU APPROACHED HIS FAMILY, they stepped away and separated themselves from him as though he were a bad smell. His father, though, greeted his middle child as he always did: with a smile.
“Dad, happy birthday,” Lou said quietly, reaching his hand out to his father.
“Thank you.” His father took his son’s hand warmly. Despite all this, despite what Lou had done, his father still loved him.
“So are you happy to be going to Saint Lucia?” Lou asked.
“Saint Lucia?” His father looked shocked; his mouth dropped open. “Oh my Lord.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lou.” Lou’s brother, Quentin, overheard the conversation and went racing over to Marcia, who was over by the DJ area getting a microphone
stand ready. She listened to Quentin whisper in her ear and then Lou saw her face fall.
“Let me get you a Guinness,” Lou said, turning around to look for the bar, trying to change the subject.
“Oh,” his father said, finally snapping out of his shock. “They don’t have any.”
“What? But that’s all you drink.”
“They have champagne, and some funny-looking green cocktail,” his father said, sipping on his glass. “I’m just drinking water. Your mother’s happy, though. She likes champagne, though far from it she was reared.” He laughed, trying to make light of the situation.
On hearing herself being mentioned, Lou’s mother turned around and threw Lou a withering look.
“Ah, now,” his father said softly, “I can’t drink tonight anyway. I’m sailing with Quentin tomorrow in Howth,” he said proudly. “He’s racing in the Brass Monkeys and he’s down a man, so yours truly is filling in.” He thumbed himself in the chest.
“You are not racing, Fred.” Lou’s mother rolled her eyes. “You can barely stand upright on a windy day, never mind on a boat. It’s December. Those waters are choppy.”
“I’m seventy years old. I can do what I like.”
“You’re seventy years old, you have to stop doing what you like, or you won’t see seventy-one,” she snapped, and the family laughed, including Lou.
“You’ll just have to find someone else, dear.” She looked at Quentin, who had rejoined them.
“I’ll do it for you,” Alexandra said to her husband, wrapping her arms around him, and Lou found himself having to look away, feeling mildly jealous.
“You’ve never raced before.” Quentin smiled. “No way.”
“What time is the race?” Lou asked.
Nobody answered.
“Of course I can do it,” Alexandra said with a smile. “Isn’t it easy? I’ll bring my bikini, and I’ll let the rest of the crew bring the strawberries and champagne.”