“You see her?” Logan pointed to the girl. She stumbled as she tried to hold him up, and I reached out, grabbing on to his arm to help steady them before they both fell back. “This is my beautiful girlfriend Selena, and tonight is her twenty-first birthday. So everyone should help her celebrate, even you … strange girl I’ve never seen before.”
I’d only wandered out with the intention of seeing Caudry and clearing my head, and I shouldn’t stay out too late since we’d have even more setting up to do in the morning. But it would be a nice change to spend time in a house instead of a stuffy old trailer.
“If I wouldn’t be an intrusion,” I said, looking to Selena to confirm that it was okay.
“My boyfriend is a drunken mess,” Selena said with a half-smile. “But he’s right. This is my big party, so if you want to join, you can. If not, I’ll just drag this idiot in myself.”
“Well, since it’s your birthday, I should at least help you get him to the house,” I said.
“Thank you.” Selena offered me a grateful smile as Logan threw his other arm around my shoulders.
“The more, the merrier!” Logan laughed as Selena and I started leading him up to the house.
I glanced up at the balcony to see if the guy was still up there, but I didn’t get a good look. Helping Selena with Logan required all my concentration, since he barely seemed capable of standing on his feet. I had no idea how she would’ve managed it on her own, even without the heels.
“Logan decided to start with birthday cocktails early tonight,” Selena explained as we weaved between the cars parked in the driveway. “Even though it’s my birthday, he thought he needed to go celebrate out at the bar while I was having a party here. And then he called me to pick him up, so I had to leave my own party to get him.”
“Hey, hey.” Logan held up a finger and tried to defend himself. “Happy birthday.” He tried to kiss her on the cheek, and she leaned away.
“You’re still gonna be in the doghouse when you sober up,” Selena told him.
When we opened the front door, we had to push through people to get to the living room. The entry opened into a massive front hall, with a curved staircase and a chandelier, and even that area was filled to capacity.
As we walked farther into the house, it didn’t get any less crowded. If I had to guess, I would say that Selena had invited the entire teenage population of Caudry, along with a chunk of southern Louisiana.
When we finally made it to the living room, Selena dropped Logan unceremoniously on a white leather sofa.
“There,” Selena said, speaking loudly to be heard over the music and the people talking. She smoothed out her dress and stared down at her boyfriend, who appeared to be on the brink of passing out.
“At least he can’t cause trouble when he’s sleeping,” I said.
“You would think so, but knowing him, he’ll find a way.” Selena turned and smiled at me. “You have to at least have a drink, for helping me.”
“No, that’s okay.” I shook my head and smiled. “I don’t really drink anyway.”
“I’ll get you a soda or something, then,” Selena said. “Lugging that idiot around was hard work.” She gestured to Logan, who had already begun to snore. “You deserve at least one drink.”
I’d been to parties before, but never ones like this. Not only was it packed, but everyone here was dressed like they came off MTV or out of a teen magazine. They were all flashy and bright, while I wore a flowing skirt and a denim jacket almost as old as I was.
“Just one drink!” Selena was backing away. “Stay right here, and I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared into the crowd, presumably running off somewhere to get me a soda. I’d planned on waiting for her to return with it, but people kept bumping into me as they tried to get by.
From the outside, the house had looked glorious—albeit foreboding—and now that I was inside, I was thrilled at the prospect of being able to see it on my own. After spending the past decade living in a motorhome, one of my guiltiest pleasures was looking around actual houses, and I’d never been in one quite as nice as this.
It was a strange setup. The classic antebellum architecture clashed against the ultra-modern plastic furnishings, looking more like they belonged in a showroom in New York than in a two-hundred-year-old house in the Deep South.
Next to the plantation shutters was a round sofa in bright red. A giant shiny white sculpture sat in one corner, but I hadn’t the faintest idea what it was supposed to be. An Andy Warhol print hung on one wall, with a Piet Mondrian on another.
Many of the pieces I recognized from the books I’d picked up in my travels. There wasn’t much to do on the road, so I spent most of the time with my head in a book.
I’d edged my way out of the living room and went into what I can only guess was another sitting room—this one furnished as garishly as the last—but stopped when I caught sight of another painting.
It was an anarchist drawing of graffiti-style writing and paint smeared haphazardly across it, with a cartoon wolf in a top hat lusting after sausage. The only colors were beige, black, white, and red, and there was something abrasive yet captivating about it.