Under the table, Max’s leg casually bumped Scarlett’s. It looked like an accident, something he just did while he was shifting, but Scarlett felt it was intentional. Especially when it happened a second time. Had he come just to exact revenge for the stool-tipping by starting a leg war with her at Lola’s party? Because she would win that. She slipped a fork under the table in her napkin and had it ready for the next time he moved. Max showed no signs of the impact in his expression, but from the way he pulled back quickly, she knew she had gotten him well. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to get the message.
Spencer picked up on the fact that something strange was going on and gave her a “What are you doing?” look. She just shook her head.
The band started to slip into a faster dancing mood by playing a weird swing version of “Cabaret.”
“Actually,” Mrs. Amberson was saying, “this reminds me of one night at Studio 54. Liza Minnelli had just taken off her…”
The Martins were a lonely little island in a sea of strangers. They were guests at this party, surrounded by socialites, bankers, politicians…all important people who had things to say to one another. Across the room, in full view of everyone, Chip and Lola sat at a table of their own. Chip’s friends kept coming over to talk. Lola stared over the room, landing most of her looks on her family’s table, catching Scarlett’s eye and trying to smile.
“…and I said that yes, I was pretty sure we could get the horse in there. Not in the bathroom stalls, but certainly over by the sinks and…”
The waiters came over to threaten them one last time with oversize pineapple ravioli with mint au jus. The band changed gears, signaling that the time for dancing had begun. Scarlett saw one of the servers grab another by the sleeve, point at Spencer, and whisper. There was quiet talk, nodding, surreptitious glances.
“You’ve got fans,” Max said to Spencer in a low voice, while prodding his ravioli with a fork.
Spencer looked over. The servers looked panicked, then busied themselves with stacking some plates on a tray.
“It’s not just them,” Max went on. “Those people behind you have been staring at you the whole time and taking pictures of the back of your head with their phones. Price of fame, huh?”
“I have to go…somewhere,” Spencer said, getting up. People must have been talking about the fact that David Frieze had been sitting in their midst, because Scarlett saw many heads turn as Spencer passed through the room and out into the lobby.
“Sorry,” Max said when he was gone.
“Not your fault,” Scarlett’s mom said.
“I think I know that man over there,” Mrs. Amberson said, pointing to some random older guy in a suit, one of many random older guys in suits. “It’s going to bother me if I don’t find out from where. Excuse me.”
The Sutcliffes came over as they began their post-dinner circuit of the room and asked Scarlett’s parents to accompany them.
“You guys all right here for a minute?” Scarlett’s dad asked.
“Sure,” Scarlett said, speaking as the remaining senior Martin child.
“It totally wasn’t an accident,” Marlene said when they were gone. “When she hit you, right?”
“No,” Max admitted, sitting back in his chair like he owned the place. “She knocked me down.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“He’s lying,” Scarlett said.
“I had cancer,” Marlene said.
“What kind?”
“Leukemia.”
“Still have it?” he replied.
“No,” she said, playing with her mint leaves. “Were you lying about the thing about performing, too?”
“Yep,” Max said.
“Do you guys want some privacy?” Scarlett asked. This was mostly to Max, and was intended as a slight, but Marlene nodded.
“Why don’t you go find Spencer or something?” Marlene said.
“Fine,” Scarlett said, getting up, booted from her one place of safety in this whole room. “You two have a good time.”
“We will,” Max said. “I have lots of things to tell your sister.”
Marlene’s eyes glistened. She was in love. Scarlett’s night was complete.
Demo version limitation
ACT V
A SPIES OF NEW YORK EXCLUSIVE!
WE LOVE A DEBUTARD WEDDING…as much as anyone else. Probably more than most. We love the spectacle of New York’s richest and dumbest making the tie that binds. Like all the royal families of the world, our Society Friends always fail to notice that constant inbreeding makes Mother Nature cross, and this amuses us. Also, they have open bars full of top-shelf booze.
EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE…we get a truly exceptional account of one of these anti-Darwinian extravaganzas. Our in-boxes were exploding with reports of such an occasion. It seems that on Saturday night, Charles “Chip” Sutcliffe III, age 18, celebrated his marriage to a certain Lola Martin, age 18.
We would have enjoyed this story just as it was, honestly. Some early morning Procrastination Googling turned up the fact that “Chip” Sutcliffe is ranked number 98 on the “New York’s Top 100 High School Scenesters” list on Gothamfrat.com. This list provided us with much joy! The little scamps had gone and ranked themselves! It’s like those videos of cats eating with utensils—it’s adorable when they try to act like people, even as they do it all wrong.