When Carter told me Leonie would be traveling with us to Cornelius’s party, my face must have betrayed me, because he laughed.
—Now you want to go.
I knew my interest in his older sister was ridiculous, but I didn’t like to be mocked. I grabbed a book from my nightstand and threw it at him. It went wide, clattering against the door. As he sauntered into the kitchen he sang:
Went to the Captain with my hat in my hand
Went to the Captain with my hat in my hand
Said Captain have mercy on a long time man
Then he changed out of his teenage church clothes into something more like his normal attire, jeans shorts, a broad-brimmed hat that made him look like a Rough Rider, and a poetic linen shirt with big sleeves gathered into the cuffs. With the car waiting outside, and me in the living area, a weekend bag packed and a coffee in a thermos mug ready in my hand, he shut himself in his room and didn’t come out for forty-five minutes. As usual, the driver had my number as the contact, and he kept calling to warn me that we couldn’t be late for wheelsup. I went to the door to knock and heard Carter hissing under his breath. He was having an argument about money with Betty.
—Did you try the other account?
I was never sure how much I was supposed to know about Betty. She handled things. Booked travel, researched, offered options. Carter only talked to her when he thought I wouldn’t overhear. I’d never met her, never even found out where she was located. All I had to go on was his hand cupped over the phone, the shameful masturbatory hunch of his back as he tended to the logistics of his charmed life. Later he told me, in a casual tone of voice, that the reason we were going down to Virginia was because he wanted to talk to his older brother about investing in the studio.
—He’ll be cool, he said, half to himself, as we were driven through the Midtown Tunnel. He won’t want to be hanging around in the control room. He has no actual interest in music.
—He’d be like a partner?
—God no. At worst we’ll have to get him and his asshole friends comped at some clubs, so they can come on to chicks by telling them they’re in the music business.
In the five years we’d known each other, Carter had never invited me to his family home. There were other houses (in Aspen, on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, Paris) but his parents lived in this place for much of the year, in a DC exurb that was popular with wealthy government and business people. Carter occasionally disappeared there on summer weekends, hungover and grumbling, required to appear at some clan summit. I imagined an informal lunch, a lawyer dropping by. Documents to sign over coffee.
—The trouble with my family is there’s always some angle.
The tunnel lights flickered in the window.
—It’s the company. It poisons everything. You know. Different people have different levels of control. None of us can speak to each other, not really.
—What about you and Leonie?
—Especially me and her.
The car pulled up at the airport, and a doorman with an earpiece showed us into a modest terminal, furnished as blandly as a regional hotel lobby.
—Finally!
Carter didn’t enter Leonie’s embrace, raising a hand in limp benediction.
—In your usual fragile mood, I see, Carty.
—I wish you wouldn’t call me that.
—Seth, I’m so honored you’re here with us to celebrate our older brother’s surgical transformation into our father.
Leonie always used my name in a vaguely insulting way, as if testing it for impurities. She turned her eyes away and I felt as if my face had been seared on a grill. I tried to make bright conversation.
—So what’s the occasion? Is there a reason for this party?
Carter smiled at his sister.
—He is a great son.
—Such a great son.
—I mean really.
—No really.
—So great.
—A great son.
Neither of them answered my question. I didn’t mind. I always loved to hear them talk like that, finishing each other’s thoughts. I would have gone on expeditions, waited hours and days in a camouflaged hide.
—The rest of your party is here, said the pilot, who had been hovering in the background. This way.
Corny’s three friends had all been at Princeton with him and now they were in finance. That was about as far into their lives as I cared to go. They didn’t like the look of us either, and after introductions were made and interest faked, we all stood around, not making eye contact. Then the pilot escorted us to the plane and waited patiently as each of them took a picture of himself and set about posting it to social media. Hashtags #flyprivate #highlife #goodlife. No doubt their feeds also had pictures of their watches and bar bills.
Leonie handed a large straw hat to the hostess, who put it in a locker. We settled into the cavernous calf-leather seats.
#wheelsup
—What can I get you gentlemen to drink?
The hostess knew the answer before they said it. She opened the champagne and the bros clinked glasses, congratulating each other on whatever it was they thought they were experiencing.
—This is it!
—The shit!
—The shiznit.
Carter and Leonie hunched down instinctively in their seats. Leonie asked for a mineral water. Carter, one-upping the bros, rolled and lit a joint, which made the hostess instantly nervous. She conferred with the captain, who closed the cockpit door. Poker-faced, she produced an ashtray. I nursed a cold beer and looked at Leonie, at the sunlight streaming in through the Gulfstream’s window onto the contours of her face. Carter prodded her with his foot, to get her attention.
—You go first. Why are you here?
She rolled her eyes.
—Why get into it?
—Because I want to know.
—I’m just here to congratulate Cornelius on his important new job.
—Oh, sure.
—Get off my back. Anyway, what about you?
Carter gave a theatrical shrug and pursed his lips. We sat in irritated silence, listening to Corny’s friends talking about bottles and models. Once the champagne had kicked in, they began to pester the hostess.
—Got any beats?