by Kat Pace
By merely stepping inside it is to say the least: an equivalent of passing through the Veil of Time. An air of mystique swallows you whole, promising a drowning in which you’ll revel. The atmosphere is tangibly 1920: Everything from the golden-plated phonograph emitting jazz notes to the castle of champagne glasses, effervescent, rising to the ceiling and overflowing with a steady cascade of bubbly. I think Fitzgerald wrote about this.
It’s all very murder mystery, only no one is dead and there’s no secret to solve. The party is the secret. Looking around at the guests, I wonder who they are –what their lives are like –how they ended up here. Pearly white strands snake around women’s necks; men’s top hats cast shadows on the walls.
Everyone is fancy. Some seem famous. Feel famous. Maybe we do too. Maybe they are tycoons or politicians or starving artists. Maybe they’re actual artists. Maybe socialites. Maybe just twenty-something nobodies from the east coast. Yesterday we were strangers. Hell, an hour ago we were strangers. Now, we are sharing a clandestine rendezvous at a hidden château nestled in the Colorado Mountains.
The glossy marble floor spills onto the terrace along the back wall. There is a fountain in the courtyard that overlooks the backside of the hill. Bulbous string-lights crisscross the cobblestone outside. The yard boasts quite a view of the resort village below –the orange lights glowing like stars against an inkblot sky. The train took us farther than I realized.
“Two words.” Trix says in my ear, taking me by the hand. “Photo. Booth.”
I follow her eyes across the promenade to the side lawn. My jaw is going to hurt from all the dropping. A magnificent tent is erected before the edge of the forest. Deep red and ivory trappings hang around the posts, the entrance lined with lights. It’s like a vintage carnival marquee, bright and full of life against the silhouette of trees.
A standing camera is in the opening. It’s wooden with velvet cloth and looks like an old accordion. A flashing bulb goes off and a small puff of smoke bursts into the air.
“Holy,” I breathe in. “Cow. Holy cow.”
She laughs at me and pulls me over to it.
“Welcome ladies,” the man outside the canopy tips his hat to greet us. “Would you care for a photograph?”
“We would care for one. Deeply.” Trix smiles, her red hair almost matching the tent curtains.
“Please step inside,” the man says. “Surely you want to remember the group of you.” He looks at the people five feet behind our heads.
“Come on!” Trix waves to the rest of them. I see Brooks roll his eyes before smirking and walking to join us, Nate and Travis in tow.
We arrange ourselves like it’s prom. Whether intentional or just a subliminal callback to high school, I’m not sure. Brooks stands on the end, next to Travis. Nate is next to him and Alex is on the other end. I line up next to Trix, Meg and Katie. We stand in the front with our backs to the guys.
Brooks places his hand on the small of my back. I smile to myself, pleased and relieved he can’t see my face right now. Fuck. This ~feeling~ is about to be encapsulated in an antique photo. Years from now once I’ve wizened up, once this night is just another memory, this photograph will be proof. It’ll look like one of those cheesy sepia portraits you take at the boardwalk. It’ll look like it actually came from a time-capsule.
Still, I smirk. Brooks’s hand stays there and his other finds mine loose at my side. Our fingers lace together. My left hand finds Trix’s and we hold hands too.
“Three, two, one.”
FLASH. Smoke. The faint smell of something burning, like when a sparkler is lit in autumn.
“The photographs will develop by the end of the night. You can pick them up next year.” The man smiles.
We laugh at him and thank him with praise as we leave the carnival canopy. More people have arrived since we entered the makeshift photo booth.
“Ok. We’re still empty handed. Why are we empty handed?” Alex laughs.
“I spotted the bar inside. Shall we?” Travis says, pulling Trix’s hand.
“Lead the way,” she nods.
I walk next to Brooks. Our fingers still lightly laced together. I didn’t let go after the photo. He didn’t either. It’s not lost on me.
We find the bar inside. It’s on a second platform, next to the champagne flute chandelier. The decadence though. An Art Deco menu is propped behind the bar. It is cocktails o’clock. French 75, Sidecar, Gibson. Oh my.
A third platform, taller than the rest, is a stage. It’s lined against the side of the main lounge, opposite the bars. The curtains are drawn to reveal a Burlesque show.
10:19 PM
“Oh, come on!” Alex says, his arms around Travis and Brooks. “Let’s just explore a bit.”
“OK. OK. Then will you stop?” Travis shrugs him off his shoulder.
“You lead the way, Magellan,” Nate nods.
Alex leads us from the main lounge, past the foyer, and into a maze of hallways. Trix and I walk together, each of us focusing on our heels and the soft clicking sound they make against the marble. We also focus on the twin French 75’s clutched in our hands. Meg and Katie walk behind us. I crane my head to the very back to see Brooks at the end of the hallway.
We stop at the top of a narrow staircase. I’m talking so narrow I almost would have missed it if the lights weren’t on and there weren’t shadows from the candles burning in the brick alcoves. We have to duck under the low entryway-archway leading into the room. No, not room.
It’s more a cellar really –dimly lit with a flagstone floor and dark wood beams supporting the ceiling. There’s a damp underground smell to it but it also smells like cigar, old books, and weirdly, leather. It smells like a fancy person. The back wall is stacked with wine casks that look a hundred years old. Shelves line the walls, filled with old bottles, some covered in dust and tattered, peeling labels. The date on the closest one says 1917.
Holy shit.
A wooden plaque on the center table says Private Holdings Only.
“Don’t think we can drink any of this,” Meg says, looking at the sign.
“No, but this,” Alex says, grinning, “We can.”
The cask closest to the table is tapped and engraved with golden words: To the 20s.
Old-fashioned wine glasses are stacked upside down on the bar. A spotted mirror hangs horizontal along the wall behind the bar. I can see our shapes, the colors of our hair, but we seem distorted like I’m seeing us through some insane vortex (of time).
“Allow me.” Alex moves around the bar and plays the bartender. He pulls glasses off the rack and passes one to each of us.
The wine is stupid good.
Better than $300 Corbel Finn wine good.
“Shit, this is amazing!” Travis almost downs his first glass. Trix laughs.
“This place is amazing,” she says. “I just can’t believe we are here. Us.”
“I know. To think we were gonna go to the Poconos,” Meg laughs. Alex shoots her a look and I guess Katie doesn’t know about Brittany.
“Let’s play a game!” Alex says quickly. Smooth subject change.
“What game?” Nate asks.
“Kings?” Travis suggests. “No cards though.”
I think back to the last drinking game I played with these people –to flip cup –to Meg spilling beer all over my shirt –to Brooks helping me clean it off.
“It’s New Years. Let’s share some secrets.” Alex says, riddled with mischievous. “Never Have I Ever?”
“Oh god, I alllways lose this game.” Trix curses under her breath.
“Sure.” Meg chimes at the same time.
Brooks doesn’t react. He’s just watching Alex move behind the bar, refilling our glasses from the cask.
“I could share some secrets.” I shrug, bringing the blood-colored wine to my lips.
“Me too.” Brooks says, staring directly at me. There’s something odd about his eyes.
I can’t tell which Brooks I’m looking at
. Vampire Brooks. Playful Brooks. Something-to-Prove Brooks.
This is a really terrible idea but, LOL.
“OK,” Alex calls over the bar. “Everyone settle in and get comfortable.”
There’re no couches in the cellar –just the bar, the small table, the casks, and two leather chairs in front of a stone grate. Everyone makes themselves cozy in the dimly lit room. Brooks leans against the wall of casks, directly across from me. I’m sitting on the edge of the leather chair closest to the bar. Alex stands on my right.
“OK. Who wants to go first?” Alex asks, putting up three fingers. Everyone follows suit.
“I may as well. I’ll lose first anyway,” Trix says, volunteering, already laughing at herself.
“Well then, the floor is yours, Miss Trix,” Travis says, gesticulating for her to a nonexistent stage.
She stands in the middle, her hands smoothing the emerald sequins standing on her dress. Even nervous under the dim lights of the underground cellar Trix looks like a Scottish princess with her red hair and green grown. My eyes flicker to Brooks. He’s watching intensely.
Def vampire vibes.
“Okay… hmm.” Trix begins. “Never have I ever given a lap dance.”
“Liar!” Travis shoots at her. “You always do.” She blushes scarlet and everyone laughs.
“Not a real one,” Trix laughs, rolling her eyes.
“That doesn’t count. You’re skipped,” I’m saying, laughing with everyone else.
“I’ll go,” Alex begins. Everyone shifts their attention to him. “Never have I ever dated more than one person at a time.”
“Liar too!” Travis is laughing.
“Nut uh!” Alex barks. “Well, not dated anyway.”
Katie makes a weird noise next to Alex. Poor girl thinks they’re dating. Cute.
“Why doesn’t someone go who can actually tell the truth,” Nate says holding out his fingers. “Never have I ever had a one night stand.”
Everyone looks at him. My eyes also bulge. ZERO CHANCE. Meg laughs at him too, but he still stands there with his fingers up looking at everyone else. “Nope, never did. Now who’s putting a finger down?”
We all share a look and eventually more than half of us put a finger down. Strikes against us. I can’t help but let my eyes wander over to Brooks’s hand. One down.
Not that I can talk. I smirk thinking about cute sleeping dimples. I can almost see them in the ripples on top of my wine.
“OK. Me,” Meg says, holding up her hand high for everyone to see. “Never have I ever gone commando.”
“What!” Trix shouts, spilling a sip of her wine. “How have you not gone commando?”
“I second that,” I nod at Trix. We both laugh.
Shit. Two strikes against me.
“Ok, I’ll go.” Brooks’s voice startles me. I see that he too only has one finger left standing.
Everyone looks at him, quiet.
“Let’s see what you got,” Alex nods. Brooks’s eyes are blank in return.
Brooks thinks for a minute and then opens his mouth. “Never have I ever been arrested.”
Everyone looks around again. Travis puts a finger down and I almost gasp.
“What?” He says, defensive. “It was a petty arrest. Hardly counts.”
“Never have I ever gone skinny dipping!” I blurt out before hiding behind my wine glass.
“Really?”
“No way!”
“Nope, never.” I shake my head.
“OK. Never have I ever had a ménage à trois.” Katie squeaks with laugher.
“Yet,” Alex adds.
Trix almost spits out her wine and Meg just starts laughing. Even Nate and Travis start doubling over.
I cannot keep my eyes from looking Brooks’s hands. Did his finger go down? Has he had a threesome?
I find it hard to believe he hasn’t had the opportunity. I think of all the blondes on his media pages. I wonder how many of them want him. How many of them have had him. I am highly skeptical.
“OK. We are getting some low fingers. I’ll go again,” Alex says, leaning back on the bar. “Who here has slept with someone in this room?”
*Crickets*
“I think… Everyone, mate,” Travis says, sucking on his tongue ring. We look around the room slowly and we all burst out laughing.
“Plus that’s not a never have I ever if you have!” Meg shakes her finger.
“Fine, fine. OK,” Alex says, waving us quiet. Brooks is just staring directly at him. Still a vamp. I take another sip from my glass. Alex asks another question. “Who here has hooked up with more than one person in this room?”
Crickets X’s 100.
Eyes dart around the room. Everyone poring over everyone. Brooks is looking at Alex with something like disgust. Finally Brooks puts his finger down and a V tiny sound gets caught in my throat.
I pretend to inhale my wine to cover my mistake. I feel Trix move next to me. I can feel Brooks’s gaze –the fire in his eyes burning into me.
WHO THE FUCK IN THIS ROOM HAS HE HOOKED UP WITH. Apart from me? Not Trix or Meg. I will die. I look at them and try to say this to them silently via telepathy. Trix picks up on it and I think I see her head shake marginally. Meg too looks shocked.
That leaves Katie. And suddenly I see us all playing horseshoes on Champagne Island. I see her and Brooks laughing and touching each other and I’m going to be sick.
Why is this wine cellar so fucking dark and damp and underground? There’s no AIR.
I jump up to my feet and my heels click on the flagstone beneath me.
“I'm off to find the ladies’ room,” I say, turning away from them all, away from Brooks.
“Good idea. We should all go up.” Trix says, coming to my rescue.
“Yea, it’s almost 11:00.” Katie smiles.
Her voice makes me crawl back into myself. I recoil away from Brooks when he moves his arms for me. I try to smile and pretend I’m just in a rush to get to the bathroom.
We are back upstairs in the main room. More guests have arrived. The excitement is palpable. It’s intoxicating. It’s suffocating. I cross the floor as fast as I can, weaving in and around the crowd so no one can follow me. No one does. It’s my first time tonight I’m alone.
I take the exit on the left side of the room. The landing leads to a narrow hallway with marble floors. There is an eerie quietness about it but still my footsteps are muffled by the hum of music reverberating throughout the mansion.
As I walk along in the quiet, I take in the expanse surrounding me. The ornate wood-carved hangings, the glossy marble sculptures and painted crown-molding on the ceiling. This entire mansion is a work of art –even the hallways are extravagant. I remind myself this should be unsurprising. Look where you are after all.
It’s a study or library of sorts. Three walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling bookcases and the fourth has double French doors. The curtains are drawn back to reveal the moonlit terrace. I cross the room and look at the titles of the books –at the antique desk and chairs and rich oil painting hanging above the fireplace. The mantle is massive and decorated with more books and candles and paintings.
A vintage rifle is encased in crystal on top of the nearest bookcase. A rusted sword mirrors it on the second bookcase. Animal busts and hides are mounted to the walls. I feel like I’m in some weird antiquated safari museum. The tempo in the floor increases beneath me and my heart picks up with it. Everything feels quiet. All the party sounds are muffled. It’s like the pseudo human-hunter/dad from Jumanji is going to pop out from behind the sofa bed.
You know the dude.
The candlelight dances over something on the last shelf. It looks like a small globe made from crystal. It’s not round, but like a 3D dodecahedron. Each continent and country is a different color gem or stone.
“Em?” I hear a voice call behind me.
I turn swiftly to see Alex standing in the doorway.
“Hey,” I say, looking back at the
crystal globe resting feet above my head.
“What are you doing in here?” He asks, smirking. “And alone?”
“Getting lost, obviously.” I roll my eyes.
He walks over to stop in front of the towering bookshelf I’m staring at. His eyes follow mine. He is only about one foot below the many-faceted globe.
“Is this what you’re drooling over?” Alex asks, looking at it.
“I wasn’t drooling,” I nudge him. I notice next to him how tall he must be. Taller than Brooks maybe. His eyes are the lightest brown quartz color I’ve ever seen.
