by Oli White
“No, no, no,” she said. “I am not going to be that person, no way.”
“What person?”
“Jack, I’m with Hunter. I’m sorry. Wow, I shouldn’t have done that; what an idiot.”
She jumped up from the grass and I followed suit, grabbing her hands.
“Ella, if that’s how you felt, then why is it wrong?”
“It’s not fair on you or Hunter or anyone,” she said. “God, I really need to sort my crap out; I’m so, so sorry, Jack. Can we just . . . forget it ever happened, please?”
And the moment was gone. That tiny, blissful moment when I felt like she was mine again—as if she ever had been—was over. As we crossed the park and made our way out of the gates we didn’t speak for a while, then once we were back on the noisy high street, Ella broke the ice.
“OK, let’s rewind all that and talk about what I wanted to ask you in the first place,” she said, giggling nervously. “It’s actually about Hunter.”
Jeez. “What about Hunter?”
“Well, it’s kind of an invitation actually. Hunter’s dad is having a big event this weekend at their house, to celebrate some massive business deal he’s pulled off, so you can imagine how swanky it’ll be. I mean, he’s having the house set up like a 1950s Las Vegas nightclub, with a casino, and live entertainment, and all sorts of crap. You know, Rat Pack style. He’s so well connected and, like, richer than God, so there’ll be all sorts of people there.”
“And you want me to go?”
“No, Hunter wants you to go. He thinks you’re cool, Jack. He says you’re smart and most of his mates haven’t got anywhere near the nous you have and he’d like to get to know you better. He’s heard me banging on about GenNext and how well we all work together, so I guess he wants to feel a bit more involved, do you know what I mean?”
“Involved?” I didn’t like the sound of that too much. Nor did I believe for one second that Hunter thought I was cool.
“Look, I know he’s going to invite you, Jack, so when he does, please say yes. You’ll have a blast, I know you will.”
“I suppose,” I said, half-heartedly. “Are you going?”
Ella shook her head. “It’s not strictly a boys-only night, but I think that’s the general vibe. I don’t think many of Hunter’s friends are taking their girlfriends, so I’m not going to cramp his style.”
“So why do you care if I go?”
“Maybe it’ll make my life a little bit easier,” she said with a nervous laugh.
How could she even think that after what had just happened, let alone say it? My brain suddenly felt like it was on a final fast-spin cycle and I was totally confused. I had to say something.
“Ella, we can’t ignore what just happened. You can’t just—”
“No, Jack,” Ella said firmly. “Not now. I need to think. I need to sort my life out.”
Then she smiled, half closing her eyes as if she were studying me.
“Now, have you got a tux, Jack Penman?”
“I think my dad has.”
Yeah, I know. That was possibly the uncoolest thing I could have said, but this was a bit of a freaky proposition and a pretty wide curve ball. I mean, aside from the meteor-hitting-the-planet-sized event that had happened less than fifteen minutes before in the park, Hunter was a guy who a couple of months back pretended not to even know me and then semi-threatened me in the school corridor. Inviting me into his inner sanctum with all his best mates was a complete 180-degree switch-around, and as far as I was concerned there had to be more to it than Hunter suddenly deciding that he and I should become BFFs. And as for Ella, as for that kiss . . . Well, there had to be more to that, too. I was just going to have to be patient and wait for the right moment to find out what it was.
THE KEY
As I left my house that Saturday night, it crossed my mind how annoyed with me Austin would be if he knew what I was about to do and where I was headed. He wasn’t at all happy that I’d been invited to Hunter’s dad’s casino night, but from what I could tell that was mainly because he hadn’t been. Sour grapes, you know? We even got into a stupid argument about it, to the point where I said I wasn’t that fussed and wouldn’t go if it bothered him that much. So yeah, as far as Austin knew, I was having a rare night at home, binge-watching The Walking Dead and filling my face with Domino’s finest. And honestly, that was my plan. There was something about the whole idea of spending an evening in the company of Hunter and his rich pals that didn’t exactly sit right with me, whether Ella wanted me to go or not. However, when the official invitation to the event was hand-delivered to my house in a black and silver envelope by a fully suited and booted chauffeur, I kind of thought again. In fact, my interest was well and truly sparked.
Even more enticing was the shiny gold key included in the slick package. I mean, what was that about? You’d want to know, right? Attached to the key was a label with a message: Jack Penman. For your eyes only. Hunter. Yeah, I was more than a little curious.
When I jumped out of the cab at Hunter’s place, the house looked dark, but when the butler—yes, you heard me right, butler—swung open the heavy wooden door, I could see it was full of life despite the dim, moody lighting. As I crossed the hall I passed a mirror, and I have to say, for my first time in a tux I looked pretty darn good. And no, it wasn’t my dad’s, OK? I bought it online from Top Man with some of the money we’d got for promoting those hipster hair products on GenNext, which I’d also used to slick my hair back so I might come close to achieving that Leonardo DiCaprio, Great Gatsby vibe. Just the thought of that made me smile, remembering the first day I met Ella, my wet hair dripping all over her prized copy of the novel. I’d even bought a proper bow tie, not one of those crappy clip-on ones, and I’d learned to tie it myself from a YouTube tutorial.
As I wandered around the party—which as far as I could tell was just a load of flashy blokes a lot older than me drinking whisky from heavy tumblers or puffing on cigars out by the pool—I couldn’t see Hunter or anybody else I knew. Ella was right: there weren’t many girls in attendance either. Crap, maybe I’d made a mistake coming to this shindig. I mean, there I was, standing in the middle of this huge room surrounded by people I didn’t know, without any idea of what to do next. Then I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt the key and suddenly remembered why I was there.
“Cocktail, sir?”
A young woman dressed like a 1950s waitress shoved a silver tray under my nose.
“Er . . . not right now, thanks.”
“OK, well there are beers over at the bar if you’d prefer,” she said.
That sounded like a better idea, so I made my way across the room and out on to the patio, where the bar was set up. For a fleeting moment, my mind flashed back to Hunter’s birthday party and I found myself staring at the spot where I’d seen him kissing Ella. I put a stop to that thought pretty fast. Nothing good ever comes of dwelling on bad memories, right?
“Just a beer, please,” I told the barman, who was wearing a better tux than I was.
“Of course, sir.”
Once I’d taken a few gulps, I finally felt relaxed, well, sort of. The thing was, I literally couldn’t see a single person I recognized. I mean, where were all Hunter’s mates, the guys from school? Come to that, where was Hunter? I looked back into the house and watched as people shoved their chips on to roulette tables and turned over cards, guzzling champagne all the while. It was very over-the-top and, I had to admit, pretty impressive. Were all these people as filthy rich as Hunter’s family? It was hard to tell with everyone in tuxedos. I mean, some of them might have been postmen or builders and not rich tycoon types at all. I could have been an heir to a billionaire fortune as far as anyone here knew. I was just pondering that idea when someone cleared their throat, loudly, right next to me.
“Are you Jack Penman?” he inquired.
I turned to see a small, pimply kid I recognized from school—Year 10—kitted out in an old-fashioned bellboy get-
up.
“Seriously?” I said.
“I know, I know, just go with it,” he said. “Are you Penman or not?”
“You know I am.”
“Do you have your key, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Then would you like to follow me?”
I followed him into the house and up the impressive staircase to the upper floor, where he walked me along a hall and through another grand lounge—this one deserted.
“Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” I said, quickening my pace to keep up with him.
“Just Bellboy,” he said, and he gestured for me to go straight through the double doors at the end of the lounge.
“That’s not your name,” I said.
“It is tonight, Mr. Penman,” he said. Creepy. I wondered how much Hunter was paying him, or if he’d just bullied him into it.
I found myself in another, smaller hall with three doors running along it. I took the key out of my pocket and stood there for a moment, thinking that it surely must open one of them. But which one, and why? Knowing Hunter, I’d suspected all along that this might be some elaborate prank to make me look like an idiot, but I was determined to find out either way. I turned around to ask Bellboy which door the key unlocked, but he’d vanished. I was on my own, and as I wandered over to the first door I have to say I felt a bit stupid. There was something rather “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” about the whole thing: trying the doors, one by one. In the end, I ignored the first two and went straight for the third, and bingo . . . I was in.
“You found us, then, Jack.”
Again, the large room was dimly lit, but I spotted Hunter right away, sitting at a solid square table surrounded by a few of his regular sidekicks plus a few I didn’t recognize. Others were milling about the room with drinks in their hands. The room was like a proper old dude’s study, with antique furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a small, old-fashioned bar, heavy drapes at the window and a Chesterfield sofa on one side where a trio of pretty young women were sitting, all staring at me as if I’d just walked in without any clothes on. I hoped one of them might be Hunter’s sister, Fran, but no such luck, so I turned my attention back to Hunter.
“Come in, Jack. Shut the door before my old man finds out where I am,” he said.
I closed the door and moved into the room, coughing slightly with the cigar smoke.
“I feel like I’ve walked into some kind of secret society or something,” I said, laughing nervously.
“Well, you sort of have,” Hunter said with an arrogant smile.
“What’s with all the mystery, then? The secret key and the Year Ten kid dressed up like something out of The Grand Budapest Hotel? Couldn’t you have just said ‘Upstairs, first on the left’?”
“There’s no fun in that,” Hunter laughed.
“So how come you’re not downstairs, schmoozing with all your dad’s mates?”
“Oh man, that’s exactly what the key and this room is all about, not having to schmooze with my dad’s friends. They’re totally boring,” Hunter said. “Only very special people get a key to this room. Only people I choose. The thing is, Jack, my dad doesn’t even know this little cubbyhole exists. As far as he’s concerned it’s the dusty old library nobody ever goes in.”
“So what goes on in here?” I asked.
“Pretty much anything you want,” Hunter said. “Come and sit down. Have a drink. Have whatever you like.”
OK, I know what you’re thinking: that Hunter wanted something—I was thinking the same thing. There was something odd about this whole scenario and part of me wanted to turn around and walk out of the room and out of the party, but a bigger part of me felt compelled to stay.
“Jack, I want you to meet my uncle Callum, fresh off the plane from New York,” Hunter said, steering me over to a thickset guy who looked a bit like Phil Mitchell from EastEnders. “He’s kind of in the same game as you, the whole online media thing, but on a much bigger scale, of course.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You guys should chat,” Hunter said, patting me on the shoulder like we were old buddies.
Callum pulled a chair out from under the table next to him, so I grabbed a beer from a nearby ice bucket and sat down between him and Hunter.
“Hunter’s been telling me all about your GenNext project,” he said cheerfully. “I did some research; you guys are getting a lot of attention from the press.”
“Yeah, it’s going well,” I said, loosening my bow tie in an attempt to feel a little more relaxed.
“It’s good to see young people being entrepreneurial and having success—I like it.”
Young people? Hunter’s American uncle looked about thirty at the most. He had an almost-shaved head and piercing blue eyes, but his lips were so thin they were almost non-existent, and although his mouth was smiling, those steely eyes most definitely weren’t. He was one of those dudes who just looked immediately untrustworthy; in fact he could have been dressed as Woody from Toy Story and holding a basket of kittens and I’d have had him down as dangerous.
“So what does your company do?” I asked.
“We’re experts in social media, but what we do best is help people like you,” Callum said.
“How so?”
“Investment, advice, that sort of thing. We help up-and-coming media companies grow,” he clarified.
“Callum’s done some pretty amazing stuff over the last couple of years, Jack,” Hunter said. “Joint projects and partnerships with Google and YouTube . . . all sorts.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Cool.”
So was this it? Was this why Hunter had invited me to his super-secret room? A two-pronged attacked to get in on some GenNext action? That must have been what Ella meant when she told me how Hunter would love to feel more involved. I glanced around the room to see what was going on around me, and there was definitely a weird vibe. People kept coming and going from a small room off the one we were sitting in, and when I looked over at the sofa, two of the young women had disappeared while the other was being leched over by one of Hunter’s idiot mates.
The rest of the conversation with Callum went pretty much how I’d expected, with him laughing and slapping my back and banging on about how amazing he and his company were, but it was all leading up to the million-dollar question and I knew it was coming.
“So would your GenNext crew be up for talking to me about a helping hand? See what I could do for you? Just an idea, Jack, if you want to move on to the next level.”
I could have written his script myself, and after a few beers I was more than ready for it.
“The thing is, Callum, I’m pretty sure the reason GenNext is so successful is because of my GenNext crew, as you put it,” I said confidently. “We’re a team of young people communicating with an audience of young people, and that’s why it works. That was our vision and the whole point of it. As things stand, I think we’re doing pretty well on our own.”
“Well I’m sure you are, but—”
“Look, I appreciate your interest, Callum, but it’s supposed to be a party and I find business discussions at a party a bit boring, do you know what I mean?”
I surprised myself with my bluntness. Callum’s eyes were blazing and his thin lips had practically disappeared. He stared at me for what seemed like ages until his face suddenly changed, moving into something almost resembling a smile.
“You’re right, Jack,” he said. “Let’s just have a drink, shall we? A proper drink.”
This guy made me feel seriously uncomfortable, but I didn’t really see how I could refuse, so I said, “Sure.”
Hunter yelled over to his barman to rustle up some amaretto sours, which I thought might be gross but actually weren’t bad at all.
“Here’s to no business talk at parties,” Callum said, holding his half-empty glass in the air. “Cheers, Jack.”
I clinked my glass to his. “Cheers!”
“Another?” Hunter asked, g
rinning. “As I said earlier, you can drink whatever the hell you like here.”
The party sounds cool, right? Wrong! Cut to me waking up on a massive pink sofa with a banging head, feeling disorientated and horribly sick at eleven o’clock the next morning—at least I really hoped it was the next morning; I had the sense that time had passed but I had no idea if it was hours or days, or just how drunk I’d got. There was this panicky flutter high up in my chest like something bad had happened, but for the life of me I couldn’t think what it might be. In fact, I couldn’t remember anything much about the previous night after a certain point. It was weird. I mean, you hear stories about people my age getting crazy drunk and blacking out, but that wasn’t something I could imagine happening to me—no way.
It took a while for the fog to clear and for me to realize that I was actually in the upstairs living room I’d walked through the previous evening. There was no one else in the room and no sign that there’d even been a party—the place was pristine. I also had no fricking idea how I’d got there or why the hell I hadn’t made it home to my own bed—did someone just dump me here? Was I that much of a mess? I desperately tried to unscramble my thoughts, trying to figure out what the very last thing I remembered was. Was it the second, or the third cocktail? Sure, I could remember being in Hunter’s den and the conversation with his creepy uncle, but did we stay in that room for the whole night? I had a weird feeling that at one point I’d been outside in the fresh air, and I had flashes of people shouting and cheering, but those flashes didn’t connect to any specific memory I could pinpoint.
I was properly awake now, and the more I thought about it, the more panicky I felt. I tried to tell myself that I was fine and there was no harm done—except where the hell was my shirt and jacket? OK, something had clearly happened that night, but as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t find the missing pieces of the puzzle, and the way I was feeling at that moment, perhaps it was better that way.
