There are several open doorways farther along, and when I get enough away from the ballroom to make out anything but the sound of the band, I can hear Max. He’s not yelling, but his voice is definitely raised in anger.
“I don’t care where you go or what you do, but stay the hell away from me. You and I are done.” There’s a pause, then a bitter laugh. “Do you think you scare me? You don’t. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, and if I’m ever in a room with you again, you’d better bring bodyguards, because you’re not getting out of there in one piece, asshole.”
For a second there’s silence, then I hear a frustrated, “Fuck!” before a huge crashing sound.
I walk over and peek into the room. It’s set up with several large tables covered in white cloths. One of the tables is on its side, surrounded by toppled chairs. Max is standing with his phone in one hand, his shoulders slumped and head down. His other hand is clenched into a tight fist. I can almost feel his rage from where I’m standing.
I used to think Max had solid-gold composure, but after the thing with Brick earlier in the week, and now this? My already-eager curiosity has switched into overdrive.
Who the hell was he talking to? And why did they push him over the edge?
Knowing he has this kind of rage inside him is troubling. Is that why he always seems so studiously calm? To keep this part of him under control? And after his statement about violence at the bar the other night, it’s ironic to hear him threaten someone so vehemently.
I have the strongest urge to go to him and ask what’s wrong ... to try to help somehow. But how do I do that?
After a few seconds, I make the decision that maybe it’s best to leave him alone to gather himself. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as angry as he is, but I can imagine it’s not something you want other people around to witness.
As quietly as I can I step away from the door, but I must not be stealthy enough, because before I get two steps, he bellows, “Miss Crane!”
I freeze, thinking that maybe he’s like a T-rex and won’t see me if I stay still. That doesn’t seem to be the case, because he says, “I know you’re there. Come in here.”
Like a kid who’s been caught sneaking in the morning after prom night, I walk into the room.
His glare nearly pins me to the wall. “Shut the door.”
I slowly turn and close the door behind me, and there’s way too much going on in my body right now to make sense of it. This Maxwell character is like regular-Max turned up to eleven, and that’s eleven points too much for me to handle.
“Do you often eavesdrop on private conversations?” he asks, his voice is quiet but intense.
“No.”
“But you thought it was acceptable to listen to mine?”
I want to play the submissive role, but there are so many questions swirling in my head right now, it’s difficult to stop them from spilling from my mouth.
“You looked upset. I wanted to find out why.”
He comes over to me, cups my face, and then runs his thumb over my lips. “It’s not worth discussing. I’m sorry we were interrupted. All I wanted to do tonight was have a nice time with you.”
The warmth that’s spreading from his hand to my face increases, and I struggle to not close my eyes.
The stroke of his thumb on my lips has grown softer, and even though some of the anger has drained from his posture, it’s still bright behind his eyes.
“You started out thinking I was a conman, Miss Crane. Is that still your opinion?”
“Your clients don’t think you are.”
“My clients hardly know me.”
“Are you saying that you’re a bad person?”
He leans his forehead against mine. “I’m saying that everyone is someone’s monster, and I’m no exception.”
Again, a slew of questions flare up in my brain, but before I can articulate any of them, he goes over to pick up the table he assaulted.
“Go back to the party, Miss Crane. I’ll join you shortly.”
I want to stay with him, but I understand he needs some space in order to calm down. His broad shoulders are back to looking like he’s carrying the weight of the world on them, so I close the door and head back down the hallway to the ballroom.
It’s clear that as much as I think I know Max, he’s still a total stranger to me. For the sake of the truth, I’m going to have to fill in those blank spaces about his private life in the near future, by whatever means necessary.
*
“Do you think we’re strange creatures?”
I turn to see Vivian standing beside me as I watch the interactions in the room. “Excuse me?”
“The expression on your face is one of incredulity. Is it the decorations? The music? The people?”
I shake my head and smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what my face was doing. It’s just so bizarre for me to be among the rich and the beautiful. When I was a little girl, I trained myself out of having princess fantasies.”
She waves at a couple passing by. “And rightly so. We should encourage girls to drop the fairy tales. They create unrealistic expectations that make us think men can complete our lives, when very often, they destroy them.”
“Wow. It’s nice to meet a likeminded soul. There aren’t too many of us around.”
“Miss Crane, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you know how the world works. Now, don’t get me wrong. I generally love men, and my current boyfriend is one of the best I’ve ever met, but you only have to look around this room to see a symptom of what’s wrong with the world.” She points to Marla Massey, who’s standing in a group with her husband.
“Congressman Massey there portrays himself as a man who believes in good, Christian values. He’s an ex-preacher and a government representative, and yet he treats his wife like an object he owns rather than a partner in life. And don’t even get me started on the number of affairs he’s had over the years.”
She points to the group of ladies I was talking to earlier, who are now gathered near a group of men, presumably their husbands. “In this world, Miss Crane, people don’t necessarily marry for love. A large number of these women are treated like possessions. Their partners give them sex, but what they truly crave is for someone to see them. Value them. Love them. That’s what Maxwell does.”
I think about that for a moment. I never thought it possible to have sympathy for women who pay more for a pair of shoes than I do in rent, but after getting to know them tonight, I’ve discovered it is. I wonder if I could live like that – rich, but miserable.
Vivian turns to me. “Exposing the seedy underbelly of the social elite would make a wonderful addition to your story, wouldn’t it?”