shining light

@elainespaulding

He hadn’t lingered long after arriving at 20 East 78th Street. Zofia had been there, informing him of his mother’s whereabouts in her toneless Eastern European accent while inspecting the fifty-piece set of Haviland china (and the alternate Wedgwood set) for any minute imperfections. He’d found Andrew on the couch, freshly shipped-back from Taft, looking sullen, sleep-deprived, no doubt hungover. There were shadows beneath his brother’s eyes like three-day-old bruises. Kas had given him a congenial smack on the head in passing— reciprocated with a scowl and a protest he didn’t wait around to hear— then left his bags still packed in his room and gone back the way he’d came through the foyer, shrugging on a winter coat that lived permanently at this address, pocketing some gloves and disappearing through the front door with a vague promise to be back in time for dinner, though it didn’t seem like anyone would hold him accountable if he wasn’t.

It was the kind of cold, stillborn day most often found at the end of December. Clouds were gathered low in the sky, scudding along nose-to-tail; glass high-rises stood dull and dark beneath them, only occasionally brightened by a burst of morning sunshine. Piles of snow leftover from earlier in the week had already developed a gray crust from the exhaust of passing cars. Even so, he felt oddly nostalgic walking through this part of the city, looking up to where cranes bisected the sky in Midtown or passing through warm gusts of air rising from a subway grate, taking notice of things that had changed, things that had stayed the same. No part of him had realized he might actually miss it here. Taking a town car would’ve been quicker and warmer, but the walking felt necessary. Yesterday, in LA, the weather had been a balmy sixty-two degrees. There’d been an invisible breeze stirring the palm trees around LAX, and the sky above the tarmac had been too empty and blue to seem real. Some part of him had started to realize— he was getting tired of it there. Things stayed too much the same. There was no change of seasons, only the wet half of the year and the dry one. He was still surfing every morning. But here, when the temperature dropped into the low thirties and the wind howled through the canyon streets, there was no mistaking a New York winter for what it was. At a crosswalk, Kas pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and searched his pockets for the gloves that he’d grabbed as an afterthought. He didn’t mind the cold— but like a change of timezone, it took some getting used to.

Beyond the revolving doors of the Plaza Hotel, he stepped into a very different world: a temperate jungle with glittering crystal chandeliers and marble columns and huge, exotic plants fanning out over white-cloth tabletops. Light filtered down from a stained-glass skylight, shaded by a partial canopy of four potted palms. His gaze searched the room until he found Elaine, seated at the bar in a tall wicker chair, one leg crossed over the other. She looked like she belonged amidst this old-world elegance. 

The hostess let him through sans-reservation— his mother had hosted her fair share of events at the Plaza, so a last name was all it took— but still, he felt the need to push down his hood, aware that a sweatshirt (no matter how expensive) was still a sweatshirt, and this place most definitely had a dress code. “Hey! Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you waiting, but I didn’t want to take a car, so…” He raked a hand through partially-squashed curls. Then a small smile took shape. “It’s good to see you. Happy holidays.” As she stood, Kas angled to give her a one-armed hug. It was a greeting he was used to giving without much thought, but the thought did occur to him a second later that maybe he shouldn’t, or maybe Elaine would prefer that he didn’t. By then it was too late and he could only make up for it by pulling away, quickly, and returning his hands to the pockets of his coat, gaze averted to the menu with a great deal of interest. “So, coffee first?”

The bar was equipped with elegant chrome machinery and a single, highly-competent barista, There was also a special holiday menu: coffee, cocktails, coffee-cocktails, some garnished with sticks of cinnamon or delicate spirals of crystallized ginger. He ordered a flat white, nothing out of the ordinary. As Elaine placed her own order, he looked around at how they’d decorated the Palm Court for the season. Tasteful, but… a little weird, seeing hints of Christmas cheer in this luxurious tropical grove. There was a wreath above the entrance smothered in gold foil and silver baubles, and a giant Nutcracker stationed in the far corner which looked like it should be holding a machete, not a bayonet, to slash through all this vegetation. The clouds above shifted; morning light poured down, dappling the mosaic floor with color. Though it was warm in here, and the ambiance complete with a piano rendition of Santa Baby floating in from the lobby, he was still thinking about the rest of the city outside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen what Fifth looked like during Christmastime. Glancing at Elaine, a thought passed over his expression almost visibly; Kas waited till she’d been given her coffee before he gestured towards the lobby by lifting his own. “Actually, do you mind if we take these to go? I think I’ve finally been away long enough to get sentimental. The walk here was nice and— the sun’s out, so maybe we can… walk?”

Elaine’s eldest brother once described her as aggressively punctual—which never sounded like much of an insult to her, and merely meant she always made a point to be early. It suggested preparedness. It suggested consideration. Mainly, an arrival before an appointed time gave her leeway to assemble herself in multiple ways; she could get acquainted with her surroundings, retouch her lipstick, or mentally go over what she planned to say or do. She did all of those things when she arrived ten premature minutes to meet Kas. The Palm Court at the Plaza wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar environment thankfully, but she still took a moment to glance around. It always worked out for her in the long run to try and spot any recognizable faces in her mother’s usual haunts and, if so, to then make a quiet exit if need be, but there were none immediately identifiable that day. Not yet, at least, and certainly no one who’d report something back to Anna Maria. What was unfamiliar was her new shade of lipstick, applied pretty spontaneously and with only a split second’s hesitation. She’d checked it twice within the first five minutes, before she placed her compact at the bottom of her purse to remove the temptation. As for what she planned to say or do—that didn’t always work out so well, or at least that was true of her interactions with Kas. But it had been a few months since summer, and the sharp winter’s air occasionally uncoiled her in the way everyone always seemed to feel about the warmer seasons. Even her anxiety in the face of her last semester of undergrad didn’t completely eat away at her as she expected under the twinkling lights that set the city festively aglow. That’s not to say she didn’t have a few questions at the ready though. Sanitized and rudimentary, they covered school, holiday and post-graduation plans, as well as his friends. All more than acceptable, she thought, as she carefully reviewed them.

Spine ramrod straight, she scrolled through her phone to fill the last couple minutes. Her sorority sisters were scattered across the country, but a couple were in the city for Christmas or Hanukkah. She was pleasantly surprised to see their comments under her latest post on Instagram—a snapshot from the Minimalist abstraction exhibit at the Guggenheim—telling her to call them to get dinner or coffee. Maybe it was a hasty wistfulness creeping up on them before graduation, but Elaine felt pleasantly warm all the same. Her thumb hovered then tapped the little hearts next to their comments when her eyes caught on the time, the minutes shifting to the double-zero she waited for. She looked up, perhaps in unrealistic expectation of Kas to lope in at that very moment, but only managed to make sudden, borderline confrontational eye contact with a stranger seated between her and the entrance. Unwilling to reveal her discomfort, Elaine lifted her chin instead, quickly averting her gaze in a move of haughty indifference like it managed to accomplish anything at all. Crossing her legs, she shook her head at the man behind the bar when he gestured toward her half-empty glass, signalling once more that she did not need anything more than the water in front of her just yet. Elaine alternately pinched her fingertips on each hand; she flattened her skirt, knee-length and suddenly incredibly Puritanical; and she looked up at the decorations. She was chill. She could totally do chill. It was a mantra, almost, as the next three minutes trickled by, threatening to disrupt her carefully cultivated quasi-nonchalance. Relaxed had never been a feeling she perfected.

Still, she surprised herself when she barely startled in the wake of Kas’ greeting, at least so that it likely wasn’t noticeable to anyone but her and her heartbeat. She waved off his apology. “It’s completely fine. I’ve only been here a few minutes,” she reassured, then smiled—a direct echo of his own small one, immediate and unbidden. “Besides, it’s a nice day for a walk. I don’t blame you.” As she was wont to do, she quickly looked him up and down, feeling something close to when she noted his sneakers at the gala, but with a fraction less judgement and a great deal more comfortable familiarity. She only wished she brought a comb. “It’s good to see you, too.” And she meant it. “When did you land?” She stood to brush her fingers against his elbow or the cuff of his sleeve in something akin to a more intimate, friendly greeting, but he beat her to it. She told herself it wasn’t a big deal even as it happened. One-armed and quick, he hugged her. It was a press of short-lived heat against her side—there and gone in theory, but it lingered as a phantom feeling afterward. On her back where he touched, his hand covering her shoulder blade; the bump of his chest against her shoulder; and the fleeting whiff of his shampoo. It left her pleased and a little nauseous in equal measure, and Elaine had difficultly shaking it off. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she swiftly pulled away, flushed and off-kilter, and wished her compact wasn’t buried so deep beneath her wallet and moisturizer.

Why, because I’m predictable? He took a second to study her expression, trying to read what he could see there, then countered with a one-shouldered shrug. A small smile floated to the surface of his face. “Because you’ve got good taste.” It was a relief that she didn’t seem too off-put by his presence— this was probably a testament to her trained politeness rather than a sign she’d chosen to forget and forgive his behavior from the party, but still, it was a better start than he’d been expecting, so Kas felt reassured enough to step behind her and frown down at the record in her hands. Dark curls fell into his eyes; one eyebrow rose higher than the other as he read the unfamiliar track title. “Sounds like a bargain. Though I’d ask Burning Man Dan,” His eyes lifted, finding the bespectacled, scraggly-haired hippie manning the record tent, “to play it through for you first, since it’s…. not exactly mint condition.” 

As Elaine eyed Chowder the way one might eye an approaching toddler with sticky, outstretched hands, Kas shifted the small dog in his arms. “Nah, my sister’s.” Chowder had already enjoyed his fair share of celebrity at this market. Now, he was more preoccupied with chewing on his own foot; Kas let slip another half of a smile. “She’s away at camp, and my mom has about four years of backlogged guilt to use on me, so… this is Chowder. Chowder, Elaine, Elaine, Chowder.” He hoisted the puppy a little higher so she could give him a pet too, if she wanted— but sensed that maybe wouldn’t be the case. He’d somewhat come to understand how things worked with Elaine, the carefulness with which she held herself, sometimes just shy of visible flinching. The precaution. It had been observed, but never remarked on. Like other things. Kas scratched the dog’s stomach until Chowder’s back leg started pedaling the air— an adorable, puppyish gesture he hoped would put her at ease. “He’s a friendly guy. Won’t bite unless you’re a pair of this season’s Off-Whites.” 

People moved past them, slow and squinting in the sun. He trailed behind her as she began to browse another set of bins, and in the three, four, five seconds that passed without either of them speaking, the many ways the conversation could go came and went like a time-lapse of flowers blooming and dying. Did he owe her an apology? Did she want him to apologize? He wasn’t sure which part of their last encounter evoked a harder wince: the fact that he’d put her on the spot by demanding answers to questions which had gone unspokenly avoided for so long, or the fact that he’d tipped so much of his own hand by doing so. It was painfully obvious that something about the past still bothered him; something that went beyond idle curiosity, an excuse he’d been relying on since their first uncomfortable encounter on the boat. Kas looked at her sideways. Strange, the way that things could be over in real-time but just beginning to take shape in your mind. Also strange, the way he was becoming an expert in betraying his own trust this summer: If he wasn’t making an ass out of himself on Zoe’s voicemail, he was overstepping boundaries with Elaine. He started flipping through records to give himself something to do, noting the Misfits album he’d put back earlier, and the only thing he could think of to say next was also the simplest. “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Elaine felt something flutter in her chest—neither good nor bad really, but a sudden, distinct movement. An abruption, maybe, something chipped off and rattling around and upward into the base of her throat. She felt it sit heavily on the back of her tongue. She tried to swallow it down but couldn’t quite manage. It stayed there, making itself at home, like so many other cut-off words and motions and thoughts and feelings that had before, struggling to make their way past her teeth or the tips of her fingers. Or at least until she was fit to burst from everything she bit back, a type of explosion that had her feeling itchy and her brothers calling her crazy. And all because of what, a compliment? A sliver of a smile? A familiar smile, at least, she faintly noted. A nice smile. It was looser last time she saw it, a little sloppy around the edges, and then gone by the time she had walked away. She recalled the feeling of being cornered at the party, though Kas hadn’t done anything by way of physically stopping her from leaving, but the questions were enough to strike her stock-still and momentarily breathless. She didn’t know how to answer any of them. It felt against her nature to even try. She had imagined, briefly, a thousand tiny bugs crawling their way up her arms, as if he had brushed against her. She felt certain she would break out into hives. The cup in her hand abruptly felt too sticky, the festering petri dish of a pool too close for comfort, the possibility of mononucleosis running rampant among the partygoers suddenly astronomical. And Elaine hated herself for the thought process and she hated Kas a tiny bit in that moment for triggering it with a curiosity that should’ve been harmless, and now she felt bad for that moment. Because of a smile.

Her frustration didn’t dissipate, but it lessened somewhat against her will. Not in the way that her shoulders relaxed, or that her tone warmed, but something unfurled internally and blossomed slowly, a drop of milk in a glass of water. She looked over her shoulder to again meet eyes with the dog—Chowder—happy to turn away from the increasingly disturbing album art she flicked through. He’s cute, she told her herself, or demanded herself to recognize. He’s a little dog and he’s cute. Please do something to acknowledge that. Instead, her lips thinned, and when she quickly glanced up at Kas, she made a concentrated effort to relax her face, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek to relieve the tension. “Hello,” she said to the dog, then immediately felt a little dumb for it. Her childhood was pet-less; she assumed she lacked that shameless talking-to-animals trait so many people developed via hamster or fish, never mind that wide-eyed, softhearted baby talk thing dog owners came equipped with, and that she was just past the point of no return. She considered brushing a finger along his nose, but quickly brushed aside the notion, visions of little white teeth snapping at her flashing through her head, though her mouth twitched at the sight of his jostling leg. “Proclivity for destruction aside, he seems. Sweet. You lucked out in your babysitting duties.”

@elainespaulding

In the few weeks since their party, life in the Hamptons had begun to resemble something close to routine: long, warm days with nothing on the agenda, nothing that needed doing, only a surplus of time and not very many ways to spend it. They crisped on the beach, drank beers by the pool. Trev began experimenting with a hit-or-miss recipe for Tabasco Bloody Mary’s. Ari prowled around and rarely spent time at the house, but when he did, he was aloof and abrasive towards them, more difficult to understand than ever. For his part, Kas stubbornly found ways to keep busy. He surfed, swam, skated. Finished his research proposal for next semester. Watched six seasons of Homeland. Smoked a steady amount of pot and cigarettes, though he was flirting again with the idea of quitting just to give himself a project. Only through doing things did he know how to keep his thoughts in check; only with distraction could he prevent them from straying where he didn’t want them to go.

Today, in another attempt to stave off monotony, he and Lee had ambivalently decided on taking Chowder to the town park where an art fair was being held, the kind of scene where local vendors brought out their wind chimes and decorative pottery and watercolor sunsets in order to make the most of the summer tourism. Lee was checking out a table full of silver jewelry, so Kas had wandered off towards the record bins. Mostly it was Joni Mitchell and Fleetwood Mac LP’s, but a single “HARD ROCK/PUNK” crate turned up a dusty Misfits album which he flipped over in his hands, mildly interested, as Chowder made soft scuffling noises in the grass. When he looked over to make sure the dog wasn’t eating something that might kill him, he saw an instantly familiar figure stooped over one of the other crates. Elaine— her blonde hair tucked behind one ear, sweeping down like a curtain on the other side. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her since the party. Their last conversation was one he purposefully kept from revisiting, and the consequence of it was that he’d decided, once and for all, to leave well enough alone. As he probably should’ve from the start. Kas hesitated for a moment, his brow minutely lining. Then— as a surprise even to himself— he walked over to her, feeling suddenly resolute in this decision as Chowder lifted his nose from the dirt and scampered after him. He wanted to keep things simple; that didn’t mean complete avoidance. “Hey, shoulda known I might see you here,” he said, anticipating the clipped smile he’d get once she looked up, or maybe things had gotten to the point where there’d be no smile at all, which was fair. He already had a considerable history of mistakes with her. Chowder came barreling forward but Kas scooped him up before he could make impact, then regarded the crate she’d been browsing with a tilt of his head. “Find anything good?” Some of the record sleeves in there were so weathered, they looked on the verge of disintegrating. “I think I had a great aunt with this exact collection.”

At first, Elaine had dismissed the first few booths at the art fair as kitschy and mawkish. She spent five minutes eyeing various wooden statues reportedly carved via chainsaw before another small, white-tented set up caught her attention. Stacked, laid out across a long plastic table, and neatly organized in crates and bins, were records. She would never claim herself as some real vinylhead by any means, but her mouth twitched into a small smile at the sight. The person manning it looked the part: long hair, grey beard, black-framed glasses. He could’ve been the twin brother of the owner of the record store by her apartment in New Haven, a man with a heavy marijuana smell permanently stuck to himself and whose name she never really got around to asking. The records themselves were ordered by genre, and then alphabetically, which was a fact that smoothed something ruffled in her chest alone. Her hands immediately fluttered toward the tab labeled ‘SOUL’ in blocky handwriting. She flipped through the expected Anita Baker’s and Al Green’s, when something in the B’s took her aback. Elaine pulled out the 45 carefully, her eyebrows poised upward as she looked over the water-damaged sleeve, humming in quiet consideration, when she heard Kas’ voice. And it was odd, for that thought to flit into her head so—thoughtlessly. The past few times they had seen one another, she required a full moment of shock, of processing, but this time the fact folded itself into reality quite neatly, if not with a little aggravation. But still, in an act of self-betrayal, her heart kicked up a notch.

Elaine’s eyes widened as she looked up, less so at Kas’ appearance but at the dog that quickly followed at his heels. Her shoulders tightened, half-expecting the animal to jump up at her, but Kas quickly interceded, neatly scooping up the dog before it covered much ground. Elaine liked dogs just fine. She just wasn’t entirely used to them, or their smell, or their drool. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably remembering when she pet one of her sorority sister’s dogs and she literally had to wash the visible dander off. She then also took a shower when the general, phantom itching feeling wouldn’t go away afterward. “Why—because I’m predictable?” She replied, mostly to give him a hard time, and then regretted it. Though she didn’t have much a mind to be overly kind to him right then, she hardly wanted him to return to his friends with the news of what a bitch she was. At his question, Elaine looked back down at the 45 in her hand. It was Baby Washington’s single ‘Leave Me Alone.’ Far too on-the-nose for her liking, and incredibly undervalued with a $5 price tag. With a slight roll of her eyes, she turned it over for him to see for himself. “This is actually worth something more like forty or fifty dollars, if I had to guess,” she said, then flipped it back as she straightened on her feet. She wasted a moment just looking at it, wondering if the water damage messed with the record itself, then sighed quietly as she turned back to a bin up on the table. The tabs inside were labeled ‘HARD ROCK’ and ‘HEAVY METAL’, an album entitled ‘The Nature of the Beast’ looked back at her, and she tried to feign interest even as her nose wrinkled. Two teenagers puttered by, a Cranberries’ record in hand. She heard the dog panting and didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound mean or dismissive, though she very much wanted to be. “Is he yours?” Elaine asked instead, looking over her shoulder to catch eyes with the dog. It’s tail wagged, her lips tightened. “Or she.”

He was good at noticing things. He’d noticed how often her hands traveled, watching now as her arms crossed before her fingers came to rest uncertainly against her neck. Did they do that in other people’s company, or just his? Kas almost wanted to offer her a drag from his cigarette— it actually does help, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it— but he knew that would go over about as well as offering her a hit from a crackpipe. At Elaine’s dry comment about pollution, his first instinct was to point out that the garden was in fact very big, and undoubtedly full of clean air in other corners, but he was keenly aware that this was some confrontational side of him emerging, one that only Ari and his father seemed able to tap into. So he wired his jaw shut and said nothing. Some unseen birds called to each other from the trees, breaking up the stillness. The quiet out here felt sacred compared to the cacophony inside the manor, overlapping conversations underscored by a string quartet and the tinkle of champagne glasses. “Yeah, you know. No one can outdo Mrs. Doherty except… Mrs. Doherty.” He didn’t know how true this was, given his four years of absence. But it felt accurate; the auction, as he remembered it, had never seemed quite this lavish, quite this showy. Maybe he’d just never noticed how insufferable it was listening to politicians and socialites and self-proclaimed benefactors become spokespeople for tragedies that didn’t really concern them. Kas shrugged stiffly. “This isn’t really my type of thing. The whole adopt-a-cause for a night, earn yourself a tax write-off just for caring mentality.” His gaze flicked up, dark and inscrutable, before he continued in a more diplomatic tone of voice, inclining his head. “You look very nice, by the way. I like the dress.” She looked as good as the rest, if not better, in a pale gown cut low at the neckline, gilded with intricate beading. His suit looked informal by comparison; a light gray the color of ash, loose-fitting and immune to wrinkles, as comfortable as a good set of pyjamas. He’d originally intended to go with Hugo Boss or maybe Hermés in his usual navy-blue, but Trev’s influence had steered him into more avant-garde territory, and Kas had discovered that he was actually far beyond caring what he wore and what people thought of it. Elaine’s furtive glance to his sneakers felt a tiny bit rewarding, though. He cleared his throat, dry with the tanned-leather feeling of having smoked too much; after releasing another stream off to the side, he looked back at her and considered her cool composure, the nonchalance they’d somehow unspokenly agreed to adopt in the other’s presence. Maybe everything was almost fine. Maybe what wasn’t could be ignored. A smile lifted the left side of his mouth as he tapped stray ash onto the ground, watching it fall like the ugliest kind of snow. “Got any plans for after? We’re renting a place while my parents are here and Trev’s organizing… something. I can’t tell you exactly what, because I’ve kept myself in the dark for liability reasons, but—” He inserted a shrug. “Could be fun.”

“What is your type of thing then?” Elaine asked, the question more instinctive than calculated. She wondered what was so different and so preferrable about Los Angeles, and to what extent it changed him. Empty back-patting never rubbed her the right way either, but there was very little about it she felt she could criticize without sounding whiny and hypocritical—when she even had the guilt-free wherewithal to acknowledge an opinion that fell outside of the formal Rupert Spaulding-approved ones. Her life was made up of events like this, of people who attended events like this. Though she subtly disparaged it to Trevor not an hour earlier, an inexplicable prickliness reared as Kas did the same thing. She schooled her features into something softer; the muscles in her face moved in a well-practice, stiff way. “Don’t say it’s something poolside with a European DJ and at least one Kardashian in attendance. Movies tell me that type of thing usually involves a lot of organized crime. Often a drug lord with a personal vendetta,” she continued, a careful sort of informality, her words softly tilting upward in an attempt to convey that humor wasn’t a foreign concept to her. “I’d hate to hear that you got caught in the crossfire of a deal gone wrong.” There, that was perfectly normal. It was almost a joke, even. But then she pressed her lips together at his careful compliment. Mild and inconsequential as it was, it still left her wondering if it was something he actually meant. Though she never considered Kas someone to waste words on sentiments he didn’t mean, facts didn’t matter much in the face of her fixations.

“Thank you.” The hand at her neck dropped down to the top of the beaded strap of her dress, then settled back onto her forearm. She gave him another cursory appraisal. Sneakers aside, the ensemble was generally inoffensive. It was more casual than she’d have expected, but—it suited him. The fabric looked expensive and soft and she had the fleeting urge to feel the collar of his shirt between her thumb and forefinger; he looked far more comfortable than she felt. “You do, too. The sneakers... Well, a bold move, I must say. I noticed your friend went a similar route.” She fought back a grimace as he let out another exhale of smoke, a paranoid itchy feeling crawling in her chest, like she could feel her own lungs blackening just by standing in his vicinity. Glancing away, she took a breath, and tilted her head back enough to get a brief look at the sky. She didn’t often romanticize a smattering of stars, but it was a calming reminder of the space that existed outside of the bustling, warm party, and even beyond the expansive garden. Cleaner air, at least, she told herself. “He mentioned that, actually.” You’ve gotta come were Trevor’s exact words, a little different than Kas’ could be fun. Elaine had given Trevor a noncomittal maybe, then didn’t think much of it. She wasn’t sure of her opinion on the invitation feeling different when it came from Kas. “If I did come, then it may be needless to say that I’d need a safety net, myself—preferably in the form of the locations of every exit. You know, in case an escape is called for.” Her mouth stretched into a small smile when she shrugged, a near mirror image of his own offhand gesture. “I get the impression things could get out of hand.”

“See,” Trev teased, “You get it.” Branding was something his sister spoke of a lot— her need to look a certain way and only associate with a particular set of things was well beyond him. He sort of liked the way that Elaine constantly looked exasperated with him, as though he could simply drive her to the edge with a handful of words. It was this mentality that had his mother more than eager to have him at arm’s width, not batting a lash when her youngest asked to go to Los Angeles for school, Antigua for spring break, or the Hamptons for the summer. Absence made the heart grow fonder, and he supposed that was true in their instance as well. “Kinda like the fella who chopped his ear off, right?” He knew who Van Gogh was, but the bigger part of him wanted to see the blonde’s face fall and then form a scowl at his teasing. “Yeah, of course.” Trev reached into his pocket, tugging the mobile out from where it lay flat against the suit. With the touch of his thumb, he unlocked it, passing it over without a thought to Elaine. There was nothing he had to hide, but she didn’t seem like the type to immediately go snooping through image folders after such a request. “What for?” He grinned when she volleyed another question back at him, surely she had heard that they were throwing a party. The mobile, extended in his grip, buzzed. The rest of the world had heard, and they seemed eager to be a part of it. “We’re throwing an after party,” we always referred to his housemates, the self dubbed West Coast Crew, “You’ve gotta come.” A waiter came by to save him the trip and he flagged them down, handing off the glasses for fresh ones. Trev took a sip, already itching at his other pocket for the last of his stolen cigarettes, making a face when Elaine continued. “In my defence, I started vaping to quit smoking.” Skinny shoulders raised, “Sounds like he was doing it wrong. Probably only did straight mango pods, the greedy bastard.”

Approximately one hour into the gala, he had spotted Elaine in a far corner of the ballroom, talking to someone in the vicinity of an ornately-framed painting. He thought she must have seen him too— the turn of her head had been just a little too quick. This confirmed what he’d felt after the boardwalk, that his misguided attempt at an apology had not been enough, that it had only twisted tight whatever was already tense. But tonight, there were other things for him to worry about. His mother’s ever-expanding collection of acquaintances, his father’s investors and golf buddies, they continued swarming like gadflies, clapping him hard on the shoulder, asking when he was planning on stepping up. Kas bore all of this with a rictus expression, smile firm; but as the day wore on, he felt himself growing cagey, exhausted. His answers came out more clipped than he intended. And then, there was the fact of his father. Their singular conversation had been brief: Carl Ottenheimer had asked his son how the trip from California had been, and Kas had replied that they had set out to drive, but changed their minds somewhere around Colorado and booked flights the rest of the way. That had been it. His father had motioned to a waiter to top off his glass, something in him clearly turning away; Kas had felt his mother’s hand land on his arm, the gentle squeeze she tried to reassure him with. She was good at mitigating the tension, but she could only do so much. 

Now, he was in the garden, on yet another smoke break. It was a cloudless day; only a half-hearted breeze stirred the trees. Guests could still be heard from inside the mansion, women’s voices rising in exclamation then falling into softer confidences, men booming greetings and demanding to know when they’d see each other on the green. Kas wanted to shrug off his jacket, roll up his shirt sleeves, but by force of etiquette, he didn’t. He sat on a low stone bench with his long legs stretched out, one white high-top sneaker crossed over the other, smoking dispassionately until a familiar figure came around the bend and stopped to admire some late-blooming flowers. She was completely unaware of his presence. For a moment, Kas debated doing nothing. The party had put him in a dark mood, something pressurized and worrisome; he didn’t know how he’d fare if put through another uncomfortable conversation with Elaine. But then, he rationalized that it would be worse if she turned around, saw him sitting there in the blue shadows of the garden and watching her in silence, so the quiet noise he made at the back of his throat was mostly out of courtesy. Of course, it startled her. It seemed impossible to do anything that wouldn’t make her flinch. “Sorry. I thought it’d be rude to toss one of these,” he replied, using the heel of his shoe to move around some of the smooth, white pebbles laying underfoot. Kas paused, searching her face for any clue as to how this interaction would go; then fetched back his gaze and left it off to the side. “Getting some air?” he asked tonelessly, straightening his shirt sleeves before taking another drag off his cigarette. The exhaled smoke shot through the air in a column, quickly breaking apart. By his feet, an empty glass held four soggy cigarette butts in its puddled dregs— evidence of how long he’d been sitting out here. 

bridget’s face wore its usual blank, lifeless stare as she surveyed the shiny items up for auction that night. her dress, sheer and practically hanging off her body, flowed behind her as she walked slowly focusing on each item for a lot longer than someone who wasn’t going to be bidding on anything should have. abstract art pieces, flashy sports cars, all-inclusive resort vacations. none of it was much of interest to her, but then again what did these days? she was merely buying time, avoiding her mother who was around her somewhere face most likely still pinched in a tired expression over the fact that her daughter had decided to go stag to an event that said dates were highly encouraged. what was this? cotillion? she had been there and done that one too many times. and avoiding her sister, who she still couldn’t think of much to say to now that she had been back. and well, lots of other people too. old friends, old flames, old acquaintances. she wished to avoid them all, because her capacity for small talk was diminishing by the day. yet, here she was still setting herself up for the inevitable misery. still, far too confused about what she wanted to do anything else. a feathery sigh leaves her lips as she approaches another table showcasing yet another car. it was cool, she guessed. but so were the other five she pretended to read about earlier. she was about to shrug it off and walk to the next table when a familiar voice catches her by surprise. “me? no. could write down my stepdad’s name for shits and giggles. but no.” she cranes her neck over her shoulder as if to look for the man in question but really just to avoid elaine’s gaze for as long as she could before turning back. nose scrunching as she catches the sight of percy hollingsworth pushing past the crowd behind them, knowing elaine’s arrangement with him all too well. “still stuck with hollingsworth, huh? you know there’s major power in the word no, elaine. you should try it sometime.”

There were few other places Elaine dreaded being than nearly shoulder-to-shoulder at a charity gala with Bridget Collins. With so many familiar faces around, Elaine was careful to keep her own expression composed—tight smile, carefully lifted eyebrows, as if one were caught by a harmless sort of surprise. She watched Bridget’s gaze shift over her shoulder behind Elaine, where Percy was surely meandering away like a lost puppy, and loosened her shoulders before they had a chance to tense up. At Bridget’s words, Elaine blinked. Her mouth thinning out into a line as she pressed her lips together. “I’m not stuck—” she started, defensive, then stopped. She was overly aware of the woman standing five feet away—Verity Hawkes, a cohort of her mother’s—and the man eyeing the vintage car within hearing distance, Richard Something-Something, his last name escaping her. He had been a friend of her eldest brother, Tristan, when they were boys and he was far less of a gossipmonger than Mrs. Hawkes, but Elaine was careful. She was always careful, and Bridget’s little tip might not have been loud, but it was loud enough to cause her concern. It really didn’t take much to cause her concern. Elaine cleared her throat, an uncomfortable heat prickling at the nape of her neck. “Thanks for the advice, Bridget,” she continued, reconstructing her smile, “but I’m really not sure that is anyone’s business but my own. I’m actually perfectly happy to be here with him tonight.” She fought back a grimace at her own use of ‘actually.’ Elaine looked beyond Bridget as if searching for someone and then back at the girl who had once been her closest friend. “And who’d you come with?”

To say Elaine wasn’t in the habit of avoidance would have been a lie. It was a skill carefully perfected over the years, with an origin beyond recollection. It had always just been what she did—or what she did with people, specifically, anyone who had seen or knew something about her she would have preferred they didn’t. Elaine wasn’t overly fond of the fact that Kas had bore witness to an uncomfortable awkwardness twice now; she wasn’t thrilled he witnessed what must’ve been an inexplicable outburst in the face of his fairly innocuous apology. She felt inconveniently out of her depth, but at least comforted by the fact that there were no rules dictating that she had to make small talk with him at some charity function. She didn’t really have to interact with him at all. But there was a truth in Robert Burns’ notorious words; it was irrefutable that even the most meticulously crafted plan was likely to go pear-shaped, often within mere hours of its inception. She stepped away from the party for a moment, or she promised herself it’d only be a moment, to get some fresh air—to put space between herself and her date, and not to mention her parents. It stretched into twenty minutes of wandering until she came across one of the estate’s gardens, but unlike the others this one had dahlias. She liked dahlias. Brushing a finger against the white petals of one of the blooming flowers, there was a sudden, unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. She started, inhaling sharply through her teeth. “Jesus,” Elaine began, her gaze whipping around as her hand settled over her heart beating in triple time. Accusatory, she continued: “You scared me.”

He could tell that she didn’t like his outfit, her face curdled in the same way that most of the older guests had when he’d walked in with Lee— it wasn’t intended to be scandalous, he hadn’t omitted any parts of the dress code that were required; but the brightness in hue was garish compared to the sea of black suits that filled the garden. Trev grinned, “The sneakers were a must, McQueen dress shoes just aren’t my brand.” He didn’t mind that they were strange in this context; the white leather shoes probably racked up a higher price tag than the tightest black shoes that waltzed by them, and he’d be able to wear them the day after in his usual uniform of jeans and a long line. “You on the other hands, look great.” The texture of the dress filled him with the urge to reach out and touch the beads, but there was something in the way that Elaine held herself that kept his hand to his side, where it wouldn’t cause any trouble. “Gonna be real with you,” Trev admitted, taking a pull from the cigarette and exhaling over his shoulder, “I don’t even know who William Marlow is.” The blonde’s words made him shrug, “It’s something to do, a warm up for later tonight. You’re coming right?” He flicked the cigarette into a flower pot at her specification, taking the glass when his hand was free. “Good riddance, y’know I hate those things.” Green eyes flashed mischievously, “Usually, I wouldn’t be caught dead without my juul but I forgot it tonight. All I’ve got is Kas’ Lucky Strikes and nicotine shakes that need to be calmed down.”