There’s a liquor cabinet in the library, and I pour myself two fingers of bourbon. Sinking into the reading nook, I try to ignore the party below, but find myself looking out over the lawn anyway.
I wonder if that disgusting lacrosse player is dancing with her, sliding his hands over her ass, whispering into her ear the things he wants to do to her. The thought makes me want to kill him.
Instead, I swallow the rest of the liquor in one gulp, letting the warmth settle down my throat into my belly, and lay back with my head against the wall and my eyes closed.
When the door opens, I look up.
A redhead closes the door behind her, saunters across the room, and unzips the back of her black dress, letting it fall to a pool around her feet. A natural redhead, by the looks of things.
Well, hell. Generally the only thing better than a redhead is twins. She looks at me expectantly, her hands on her hips, clad only in black heels. "Well?" she asks.
I don't move. "Well, what?"
"I expected a better reaction than that. Well, I heard you were a dick." She stands there motionless, proudly displaying her nakedness like some kind of peacock. Not that she shouldn't. Her body is flawless. Except for the tits. I can't help but think about Katherine's perfect pair. These are...less than.
"That's what they say."
"So, what?" she asks. "You don't like what you see? Or you get so much * that a woman walking in and dropping her dress on the floor is old news?"
Her voice repulses me. I can't stand it. I rise, picking up the dress that lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, and hand it to her. "I'm not interested."
But she reaches for the collar of my shirt and presses her body against me. "Come on," she says. "Caulter Sterling not interested? I've heard you're always up for a good -- "
"I said, not interested. Do you have a hearing problem?" I push her away, and look up to see the library door swing open.
Kate stands there, unmoving, her eyes going back and forth between me and the naked redhead standing not more than two feet away from me. She blinks a few times, and for a minute I think she might cry. But she just shakes her head and turns.
"Kate!" I toss a dark look at the redhead, who seems to have no shame about standing there naked in the library with the door wide open. "Put your fucking clothes on and have some self-respect."
Rushing out the door, I head after Kate, but she's already outside. I'm cutting through the back, the same way I came in, through the kitchen, but I stop short. A few of the catering staff wander through to refill trays with hors d'oeuvers and disappear outside again, while Rose comes in through the swinging door that adjoins the dining room.
Rose gives me a look. "You're upset."
"Don't you know that I'm Ella's sullen child?" I ask. "I'm always upset."
She puts her hand on her ample waist. "I didn't say angry," she says. "I said upset."
"Is there a difference?" I'm irritated and I don't want to discuss word choices with her.
"There's a difference between angry and hurt."
I force a laugh. "I'm certainly not hurt," I say.
"Sure you're not," she says, wiping her hand on her skirt. "But in case you're looking for her, she went running past the dining room. I assume she was headed back out to the party."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't," she says. "Now get out of here. There's too many people in my kitchen, with the staff running around like this. I need to make sure things stay in order."
Exhaling heavily, I step back outside, walking zombie-like through the partygoers, the Senator's political buddies with their suits and tuxedos and protruding stomachs. Their middle-aged wives have faces frozen in semi-permanent looks of surprise, the result of overzealous plastic surgeons. My mother's invites, the stars and starlets, are sprinkled through the crowd.
"Caulter!" The Senator gestures to me, my mother draped over his arm. She has that too-happy look that says she's well into several glasses of champagne. "I'd like to introduce you to Congressman Hill and his wife, Barbara. Caulter has been accepted to Yale for the fall semester."
I stop, staring at him. That's news to me, since I've not applied anywhere. In fact, the guidance counselor at school practically insisted on sending my applications in himself, but I refused to let it happen. Why go to college, when I already have a trust fund?
Besides, there's no point in school for people like me. We're meant to live off the dividends from our trust funds; smile and have photos taken at social events; and eventually meet a girl who will attempt to stave off the inevitable decline of age by spending the equivalent of a mortgage on plastic surgery.
My mother looks at me meaningfully. "You are planning to attend Yale in the Fall, aren’t you, Caulter?”
Smiling, I nod my head. “Looking forward to it,” I say. What I’m really looking forward to is getting the hell out of this party. I came outside chasing after Katherine, but why? It’s better to let her think the worst of me.
But that's until I see her beside that Neanderthal lacrosse player. I watch as she grabs two champagne flutes from a tray as a server walks by, and downs them, one right after the other. She makes fleeting eye contact with me, and turns back to the guy, obviously ignoring me.
My mother says something to me, and the Congressman's wife puts her hand on my arm, but I can't hear what either of them are saying. Everything fades as I watch Katherine lean forward, with her hand on his arm, then tuck her hair behind her ear, tilting her head down as she bites her lip and smiles.
That smile is what does it for me. That smile is what kills me. It pushes me beyond the pale, and I’m done.
He’s talking about my father. He’s talking about my father’s campaign, and “the really important issues,” and the Presidential race, and oh my God, I think he just said something about wanting a wife and kids. I touch his arm and pretend whatever the hell he just said was funny, but really I’m thinking about Caulter. I can’t get the image out of my head -- Caulter standing there with that woman in the library.
I want to vomit. The idea of him fucking some other woman, in the library of all places, makes me sick. I think she's married, too; I saw her on the arm of an older man earlier tonight.
A server passes with a tray of champagne and I grab another flute, despite the fact that I’ve already downed two and deposited the empty glasses on the bar. I wish Chase would just shut the hell up. He talks and talks, endless streams of words, and it makes me want to claw my eyes out.
I wonder if I should just hook up with Chase. He's not awful looking in a meathead sort of way. Maybe that would be enough to erase the memory of Caulter's touch that seems to just linger on my flesh. Screw Caulter, anyway. There's nothing special about him.
I look up and Caulter is right in front of me.
"Excuse me," he says, putting his shoulder between Chase and I.
“What the fuck?” Chase asks.
“I need to talk to Katherine.” Caulter says. “That means you can leave.”
Chase puffs out his chest and stands his ground. “I’m talking to her, dickwad,” he says. “Do you want me to have to beat your ass at your own house?”
“Chase.” My voice is sharp, warning. “This is not the place.”
“Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Obviously you give more of a shit about your step-brother here than --”
Caulter looks at him. “Why are you still here?”
“Fuck you, asshole.” But Chase walks away. I'm not disappointed to see him go.
But I am pissed at Caulter. “What, did you get tired of banging the redhead in there?” I hiss.