1. 2
The so-called “merchandise showcase” has grown by the time Bill steps away from the bar, where he’d bumped into a guy he’d known in the Air Force. The reunion was a surprise, and Bill is honestly thrilled at having bumped into the guy again. He’s also feeling somewhat fortified by the warmth of the drink that’s coursing through his veins, and when he looks around the ballroom, everything has changed. Ted Mackey is out of his line of vision, and neither Jo nor Jeanie are nearby.
Bill wanders back to the merchandise showcase and eyeballs the De Beers stand. Their famous slogan “A Diamond is Forever” is hanging over a table where two gorgeous women in ball gowns are draped in sparkling gems.
"Lieutenant Colonel Booker," one woman says, shooting him a thousand-watt smile. "Can I show you some of our best-selling pieces?"
Bill stops near the table, as much because he's now into his fourth (or is it fifth?) whiskey of the evening and he feels himself slowing down, as because he's truly interested in diamonds.
"Is your wife here with you this evening?" the blonde woman asks, eyeing the small Air Force pins on the lapel of Bill's tuxedo. He can feel her eyes grazing him hungrily, and he tries to ignore this; he's long grown accustomed to the way women look at a man in uniform, or even in a well-cut suit.
"She is," Bill says, setting his whiskey glass on the table. "But I seem to have misplaced her." He looks around the ballroom. He has no idea where Jo might be at that moment. Bill turns back to the De Beers representative with what he hopes is a winning smile. "Are the diamonds for us, or for our wives?"
"Well," the girl says sweetly, turning her wrist back and forth to show off a bracelet with diamonds that glitter under the overhead lights. "We have cufflinks with diamond studs for the men, but for the ladies, we offer a wide variety of stunning pieces. Do you have a special event coming up?"
Bill leans in closer to listen as the woman describes to him the carat and the wattage value of a tennis bracelet, a cocktail ring, and a statement brooch, and the giant security guards stationed on either side of the table keep their eyes on the crowd as people pass by. There must be at least a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of diamonds laying on this table, and Bill wonders how much it costs to insure this traveling gem show.
"Special event..." Bill tilts his head to one side. "Our fifteenth wedding anniversary is coming up soon."
The blonde woman brightens. "Oh!" she says, her lips forming a perfect O. "That's wonderful—congratulations!” She chooses a small velvet box with a yellow diamond on a band. "This is our canary diamond," she explains. "And it's flanked by two perfect white diamonds. The gems are nestled onto a band of gold, and I think your wife would love it."
"May I?" Bill reaches for the velvet box so he can inspect the ring more closely. There's no denying that Jo would love something this extravagant, and also that she deserves it. As he turns the box back and forth, admiring the way the light catches on the stones, he tries to imagine it on her hand. More likely, she'd keep it tucked away in her jewelry box and save it for special occasions, but Bill thinks about the way she might set it on the windowsill above the kitchen sink as she washes soapy dishes, or the way it would sparkle on her hand as she lies in bed next to Kate, reading bedtime stories by lamplight.
And she has more than earned this beautiful piece of jewelry--in ways that she doesn't even know. The mere fact that Bill has allowed himself to grow as close to Jeanie Florence as he has, and that he let himself kiss her passionately. Well, it floods him with shame. Bill is a man of his word, and he gave that word to Jo when they met at the altar fifteen years ago. He had promised to be true to her. It's of minor consolation to him that he has been true to her--mostly--because he knows many men do not willingly uphold this promise to their brides, but the fact that his heart has run away from him even a little is discomfiting; he generally has more control over himself.
"I think she would really love this one," Bill says, bending over the ring but lifting his eyes to look at the woman. "Is there any sort of deal for us if we're interested in making a purchase?" he asks, glancing at two other astronauts who are trying out golf clubs nearby. "Or are you just looking for photographs here tonight, like the rest of the vendors?"
The woman smiles and laces her hands together in front of her stomach. "We are very interested in working in collaboration with NASA," she says carefully, "and the opportunity to have the wives of one of our astronauts wearing a De Beers piece is something we would love to see. Could I give you my card and perhaps next week we could talk more about it?" She pulls a small card from a pile on the table and hands it to Bill as he passes the ring back to her. He looks at the card: Suzanne McDaniels it reads.
Bill holds it between his first and middle fingers like a cigarette. "I'll call you next week," he says, slipping the card into the breast pocket of his tuxedo as he gives her one last smile. "Thank you for your time."
Bill pats his pocket as he grabs his whiskey glass again and walks on. The night has already been long and winding, and there's still a fire burning in his belly over Ted Mackey's words, but he isn't sure yet how to extinguish it. As if on cue, Jeanie Florence materializes before him, her black-gloved hands held nervously before her as if she's saying a prayer.
"Bill," Jeanie says breathlessly. "Hi."
The excitement over the ring for Jo has been a balloon in his chest, but now it deflates rapidly as he looks at Jeanie's eager face.
"Jeanie. You look lovely," he says. "Happy New Year."
Jeanie flushes; the pearls around her neck are like droplets of cream beaded against her tanned skin. "Thank you. And to you as well. The ‘Happy New Year’ part, that is, not the bit about looking lovely. Except you do—you look nice.” Jeanie clamps her mouth shut.
"I--" Bill looks around for a place to set his drink; he wants to ask Jeanie to dance. There are no thoughts running through his head about the wisdom of doing so, all he knows is that he wants to hold this beautiful girl in his arms and sway to whatever song the band is playing, and for the moment, he doesn't even imagine that Jo might catch sight of him on the dance floor with Jeanie.
"You should go, Bill," Jeanie says, cutting him off. "Really. You should. Jo was looking for you earlier."
There is a look in Jeanie's eyes that Bill can't quite place. It might be regret, it might be wistfulness, and it's possible that it's even desire, but he doesn't have a chance to name the emotion, as Jeanie shifts her gaze to a spot on the floor to Bill's left.
"Is everything okay?" Bill asks, taking a small step closer to Jeanie. "With you?"
Jeanie gives a single shake of her head as the mirrored ball overhead rotates slowly, throwing sparks on her bare arms and on the floor around her. "A night like New Year's Eve isn't the time to talk about what might be wrong, Bill," she says softly, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. "It's a night to celebrate the close of one year and the promise of a new one."
"Sure," Bill agrees, watching the soft curve of her cheek as she turns her head and looks across the room. "But if you're not good, then I'd like to hear about it."
Again, Jeanie shakes her head—just once—and turns eyes full of yearning back to Bill. "Go," she says. "Go find your wife."
But Bill doesn't go. Instead, he stays rooted to the spot as she walks away, her strong shoulder blades jutting out from her back as she lifts the hem of her long, black dress and cuts a path through the crowd on the dance floor.
* * *
A few more colleagues stop Bill to talk shop, to toast the new year, and to consider the possibilities ahead of them on the horizon. The whiskey in his hand is always replenished, and through the liquid fortification, Bill rides a wave of gregariousness that he doesn’t normally experience.
He’s laughing at something Vance Majors and Ed Maxwell are saying and watching a smiling Arvin North as he spins his wife on the dance floor, but Bill’s eyes continue to sweep over the dancing couples. There, near the bandstand, is Ted Mackey. His broad-shouldered back is facing Bill, but the arrogance of the man surrounds him like a bubble. Ted turns around with a woman in his arms, and Bill’s smile makes a crash landing when he realizes Ted is looking down into the eyes of none other than Jeanie Florence.
A rage boils up in him that is unparalleled. Jeanie and Mackey? No. This can’t be. There’s no way she would fall for the smooth, insincere charms of a man like Ted. Ted’s words run through Bill’s head as he watches them, remembering the tasteless way the man had talked about his nanny, the smug knowingness he’d exhibited about Apollo, and the inbred sense of entitlement that Bill absolutely cannot stand.
“Booker,” Vance is saying, nudging Bill with an elbow. “You think?”
Bill’s head snaps in their direction; he’s missed whatever it is they’re talking about.
“Yeah,” Bill says noncommittally. “Sure.”
“There you are,” Jo says, appearing beside him. Her eyes follow his to the dance floor and Jo bristles. “I’ve been looking for you.” Her voice takes on an edge that sets off alarm bells in Bill’s head.
Vance and Ed have stopped talking, and without warning, they vanish, moving away from Bill and Jo like two men who can sense marital discord from a mile away and want nothing to do with it.
“Oh?” Bill says, rattling his ice cubes once again. How does this glass of whiskey keep ending up empty? “I’ve been right here.”
“Here?” Jo spins on him like she’s angling for something. “You’ve been standing right here all evening, William Booker?” she says in a clipped tone. “Because I’ve been wandering around this damn ballroom, that’s full of your coworkers, looking for you while you hide out elsewhere.”
“I haven’t been hiding.” Bill sounds defensive and he knows it. “I’ve been mingling.”
Jo folds her gloved arms across her torso; her chest is heaving slightly with the exertion of keeping her feelings in check. “I understand mingling, but I’m here as your wife. You can’t just leave me alone all evening.” The anger has turned to hurt, and Bill knows Jo well enough to understand that the hurt is what’s fueling her fire here.
“Hey,” Bill says gently, turning his whole body to her. He takes one of her elbows in his hand, holding his drink in the other; her arm is warm through the fabric of the glove. “I was talking to the guys, and I met this man from Connecticut—actually, as it turns out, he’s Barbie’s brother—and, I don’t know…” Bill shakes his head, trying to pick up the train of thought. He knows the fury is still in him over the interaction with Mackey, but the abundance of whiskey has somehow dulled the sensation and numbed his memory. “He really got under my skin.”
Jo is staring at him with flint in her eyes. She’s clearly still upset with him, but he knows that if he talks his way out of this, things will be fine.
“Anyway, he seemed to know more about my job than I did, and I just hated everything about him. The way he talked. The sound of his voice, I just?—“
“Is that the man dancing with Jeanie right now?” Jo asks flatly.
Bill deflates; he’s been caught, and he knows it. Somehow, through some busybody or other, Jo has heard about the kiss. Visions of his marriage falling apart collide in his mind like two asteroids making contact in space. Surely Jo has encountered one of NASA’s many secretaries in the ladies’ lounge. Perhaps she’d been in a bathroom stall and overheard them gossiping. Maybe when he’d spotted Jeanie and Jo together on the dance floor, Jeanie herself had been the one doing the unburdening, telling Jo Booker how sorry she was for kissing her husband. Each of these thoughts hits him hard, and he struggles to keep his breathing even.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Bill says carefully. “Jackass extraordinaire.”
“I see.” Jo waits. It’s a game of patience and steadiness, and she’s had next to nothing to drink all evening, so it’s almost certain that she’ll come out on top here.
“I just need to have a word with him,” Bill says, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. “I don’t want him running around, talking about things that are out of his purchase.” The words are thick on Bill’s tongue.
“Purview,” Jo corrects him.
Bill waves the hand holding the glass through the air and a few chips of ice fly out, landing on the wooden floor. “I just can’t stand the arrogance, you know? I’ve put in a lot of years, dedicated my life to this, and some kid whose dad is a senator wants to come down here and tell me what my future holds? I don’t think so, Jo.”
Wisely, Jo takes her husband by the arm and steers him toward the back of the ballroom. “I’m not sure we should stay until midnight,” she says disapprovingly. “You’re not in any condition at this point.”
Bill is chagrined at hearing his own wife talk to him like he’s one of their children. Her disappointment in him is palpable, and she leads the way, head held high as she strides toward the ballroom doors, ready to make their exit.
But there is no doubt in Bill’s mind that the minute they step out of the grand ballroom, the gloves will come off, and Jo’s real feelings about this evening will bubble to the surface.
Bill stops walking. “Jo,” he says, unsure what will come out of his mouth next. He doesn’t know what to say, only that he needs to stop her from walking out and forcing him to follow. “I need to talk to Arvin North.”
Jo turns to him, her beaded clutch purse held in one hand. She frowns. “Can’t you talk to him at work? He’s probably spending time with his wife, Bill.” The comment is not untrue, but it’s also a pointed one that reminds Bill that he hasn’t been attentive enough to his own wife throughout the evening.
But Bill feels determined to change the course of the coming events; he doesn’t want to leave the party and spend the rest of the evening in a tense deadlock with Jo.
“I need to talk to him now,” he says, setting his empty glass on the tray of a waiter as he passes by. It takes every ounce of willpower that Bill has not to search the dance floor to see whether Ted Mackey is still holding Jeanie in his arms. “This can’t wait.”
Jo, visibly exasperated, puts a hand on her hip. She looks like she’s about to say something, but then doesn’t. Instead she waves a hand at the ballroom vaguely. “Go,” she says. “Do what you need to do.”
Bill glances at his watch; it’s after eleven, and the mood in the room has grown progressively more festive. The women have shed their gloves and purses, leaving things on the linen-covered tabletops, and the men have loosened their ties and taken off jackets. The dancing has a frenetic feel to it, and the laughter goes on longer when people joke, making the amount of alcohol that’s been consumed completely evident.
With a peck on her cheek that feels like he’s kissing a cement wall, Bill turns and walks away with purpose, determined to find Arvin North and get to the bottom of what exactly Ted Mackey does and doesn’t know about the future of the space program.
“Bill!” Todd Roman, wearing a party hat that’s slightly askew atop his sandy blonde head, raises a hand to get Bill’s attention. Todd’s wife, Barbie, is draped over him, her wispy blonde hair escaping its chignon as they sway together. Her eyes are closed dreamily. “I’ve been looking for you!”
Bill is mildly curious, but he’s on a mission. Rather than stopping to find out what Todd wants to tell him, he waves back but doesn’t break his stride.
Many of the women on the dance floor look like they’ve spent the evening sipping cocktails ahead of the glass of champagne they’ll have at midnight, but even for all of their careful sipping, they’re already well on their way to being plastered. Bill steps between couples, putting a hand gently on the back of one wife so that she won’t back up into him, and he gives a small salute to a man he recognizes from the third floor at work.
“Hey,” Bill says, tapping Vance on the shoulder as he dances with Jude. Vance turns his head to him, lifting an eyebrow but saying nothing. “Have you seen North anywhere?”
Vance glances at Jude, who has her temple resting against his chest as they sway. He speaks in a low voice, as if he’s holding a sleeping baby: “Saw him over by the bar a while back.”
Bill pauses to consider the fact that maybe Arvin has also been imbibing all evening, and that perhaps he’s not coherent enough for a work discussion. “Was he drunk?”
Vance gives a light, scoffing laugh. “North? Drunk? No, he looked right as rain to me. Now his wife…”
Bill catches himself before he makes a joke about drunken wives; everyone in their immediate circle is well aware that Jude has battled her own alcohol problem, and as he glances at her now, he assumes that she’s not drunk, just dancing happily with her husband. But, either way, it’s none of his business, so Bill pats Vance on the shoulder twice to say thanks for the info and walks on.
At the bar, Bill sees a line of Cape Cookies waiting for drinks. His first assumption would normally be that they’re the wives of his coworkers, but not a one of them is in gloves, and none are wearing wedding rings. They’re also quite young, extremely lovely, and possessed of a singular look in their eyes that Bill associates with the women who hang out at The Black Hole and avail themselves to astronauts and pilots. The look they all have is one that is best described as ravenous. Each time Bill finds himself in their presence, he realizes that he is not predator, but prey.
“Ladies,” he says with a slight tip of his head. A brunette lifts a fresh cocktail and sips it through a little straw as she looks him up and down. “Happy new year.”
“And to you,” the brunette says, managing to make those three words sound as suggestive as possible.
As North is nowhere near the bar, Bill moves on. He doesn’t need to get caught in a conversation right now, and he most certainly doesn’t need any more whiskey in his system.
Bill is scoping the area as he walks the perimeter of the ballroom, and along one darkened wall he nearly bumps straight into Jeanie Florence.
“Bill,” she says, stepping away from him. He stops in his tracks, looking at her. She’s still alone, and she’s clearly been standing against the wall, watching everyone else as they drink, laugh, and dance. “I thought you left.”
Even though finding North is his top priority, Bill pauses; Jeanie has been considering his whereabouts? This gets his attention.
“No,” he says, “I didn’t leave.”
Jeanie chuckles. “Obviously.”
“Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I was, but…” She trails off. “I don’t know. I was thinking of leaving, but it’s awfully close to midnight now. I felt like maybe I should stick it out. Wait for the confetti to fall or something. See if 1966 starts with a bang.”
Bill is watching her face as she talks, and for the first time in hours, he feels like everything else that’s going on around him is simply background noise. The most important thing in the room is Jeanie and the look on her face, which is a little sad. And then the image of her dancing with Ted Mackey returns with a vengeance.
“You and Barbie’s brother looked pretty cozy,” he says.
Jeanie squints her eyes like she’s trying to follow, and Bill remembers that she and Barbie don’t necessarily know one another all that well.
“Todd Roman’s wife, Barbara. The other wives call her Barbie,” he adds. “Anyway, Barbie is Ted Mackey’s sister.”
Jeanie still looks confused. “The senator’s son? The guy I was dancing with?”
“Yeah, that one.” Bill takes a deep breath in through his nose and holds it before releasing it all in one exasperated go. “He’s a jerk.”
Jeanie rolls her eyes. “You can say that again.”
“Why?” Anger rises in Bill that feels like a roaring fire. He’s ready to swing on Ted Mackey for even the slightest impropriety. Even if he’d simply abandoned Jeanie on the dance floor mid-song, Bill feels like he’ll track the man down and give him the beating of his life.
Jeanie glances around, shame pinkening her cheeks. “He touched me,” she says.
“Excuse me?” Bill rears back. “He did what? In what way?”
“Look, it was nothing.” Jeanie waves her hands back and forth and leans over to pick up her black gloves and her small purse from a table nearby. “I should go. Pretend I said nothing.”
Bill tugs at the bow tie around his neck. His blood is pumping furiously. “He touched you how?”
“Bill,” Jeanie pleads. “I don’t want to say. It was just something I didn’t ask for, and when I told him I didn’t like it, he called me?—“
“He called you what?” Bill nearly shouts.
“A tease. A whore.”
Bill lurches away and then turns back to Jeanie. Not knowing which way to go, he turns away again and then pauses, trying to still the urge inside of himself to punch Ted Mackey’s lights out. “I’ll be back,” Bill finally says to Jeanie, his decision made.
The quest to find Arvin North has been suspended as Bill hunts the crowd and looks for Ted Mackey. He will find Mackey, and he will set the man straight on multiple counts, but he needs to find him soon or this anger will multiply and make any sort of confrontation even more dangerous.
Of course, right now is when Arvin North steps into Bill’s line of vision. “Booker,” he says gruffly, one hand in the pocket of his pants. “You look like a man on a mission.”
Bill halts. He runs a hand through his hair, wiping away the sweat that’s accumulated on his brow. “I am,” he says, clearing his throat. He’s got Mackey on his mind, but now that he’s run into North, he realizes there’s no time like the present.
“And speaking of missions, I want to talk to you.”
A loud roar goes up from the crowd as the band, now in its fifth hour of playing, launches into a fast, upbeat song. People throw their arms in the air, and more than one woman has kicked off her heels and is dancing with abandon.
“Let’s step in here,” North says, gesturing at the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen area. The two doors have high, round windows, and as they approach, Bill can see waiters and chefs in uniform bustling around with purpose. “We’ll find a quiet corner,” he assures Bill.
Once in the kitchen, North leads Bill to a tiled room right off the main hub of activity.
“Okay, what do you have?” North folds his arms over his chest and stares at Bill, who is clearly disrupting his New Year’s Eve with something work-related.
Bill has plenty that he wants to say, but he swipes a hand over his face again, taking a moment to regroup. “Ted Mackey,” he finally says, letting the man’s name sit between them.
“What about him?”
Bill gestures wildly. “Why is he walking around like God’s gift to planet Earth, telling anyone who will listen that I’m going to the moon? Does he know something I don’t know? Because last I heard, there were still plenty of missions left between now and the end of the decade. Nothing has been decided, nothing is set in stone.”
Arvin North gives Bill a look of confused amusement. “Would that be a bad thing, Booker? Would going to the moon not fit in with your life plans?”
Bill is exasperated by this question, and by North’s tone. “Of course it would. You know that any one of us would sell our souls to be on that mission. But my issue is with some senator’s kid acting like he knows more about my life and my future than I do. Not to mention the implication that he could have some hand in how our space program runs. The thought of Ted Mackey?—“
“Did someone summon me?” Mackey appears in the open doorway of the little room and it takes everything in Bill not to close his eyes and let his head loll back on his neck. “I walk in here because someone told me I’d find you in the kitchen, and lo and behold, you’re saying my name.”
Bill nearly lunges at him.
“Mackey, now is not a good time,” Arvin North says, holding up a hand as if this will intercept any sort of showdown between the two men. “Can I talk to you next week?”
“Now is a good time for me,” Bill says angrily. “In fact, there’s no better time than right now. I want to understand your level of involvement in our space program, and to hear how you know more about my future than I do.” As he’s saying the words, Bill hears himself and understands that he sounds petulant. Childish. Demanding. The rational part of him knows that Arvin North would probably bench him for the rest of the season if they were high school basketball players, but of course there is more at stake here.
A knowing grin spreads across Mackey’s face as he looks back and forth between Bill and North. “I have a vested interest in the space program,” he says patiently.
“Why?” Bill challenges him.
Mackey shrugs. “My father does. And, to put it simply, I want to take over my father’s constituents. I need their votes to be locked in. If they believe in what he does, then I need them to believe that I’ll uphold those same values. And if getting to the moon is the thing that lights their fire, then it has to light mine as well.”
This enrages Bill. If the space program is just some ploy to get voters, then he hates Mackey even more than he already did. For everyone involved in NASA, getting to space and reaching the moon are very real and important goals, not just chess pieces they can move around in order to reach a bigger goal. And suddenly, Bill understands what that bigger aim is.
“You’re making a run for the White House, aren’t you?”
Mackey smiles and narrows his eyes at the same time. The result is the most insincere look that Bill has ever seen. “Absolutely. Mackey for President in ’72,” he says. “And I want Lt. Colonel Bill Booker to stump for me after he’s set foot on the moon.”
“Come on,” Bill says, incredulous. “You have to be joking. Don’t you think there are bigger things to worry about if you’re looking at a bid for the Oval Office? How about Vietnam? Or civil rights?”
Mackey shrugs. “Listen,” he says. “I don’t give two hoots about the moon myself. Frankly, there are more attractive women here on our own planet for me to conquer, but if the people care about it, then I care about it.” He lifts two palms skyward in faux apology. “It’s the way the political machine works, Bill.”
The mention of women infuriates Bill all over again and he drops his fists to his sides, clenching them. “Say one more thing about what you want to do to women and I’ll punch you so hard that your dentist won’t know where to start,” he says in a low voice.
At this, Mackey looks to North in disbelief. “Is this guy for real?”
Arvin North, who has been quiet thus far, puts a warning hand on Bill’s arm. “Booker,” he says quietly. “Let’s just bring it down a notch.”
“Did you put your hands on Jeanie Florence?” Bill nearly shouts, his body straining towards Mackey and itching for a fight. “Did you touch her inappropriately on the dance floor?”
At this, Mackey laughs and runs a hand through his floppy, prep-school hair. He sneers. “Who? I danced with a hundred women tonight, Booker. Cool your jets. Or did you see me put a hand on your wife’s ass?”
“Cool it,” North says to Mackey, sounding as serious as Bill has ever heard him sound. “I’ll ask you to show some respect for another man’s wife.”
Bill turns to Arvin North. “How about you demand he show the same respect for one of your valued employees?”
“Did I offend one of your men?” Mackey asks, confused.
“Jeanie Florence—she’s one of our men,” Bill says sternly. “Jeanie is an engineer at NASA and not some floozy you can just manhandle however you please.”
Mackey laughs again. “Right. The brunette who said she was an engineer. I thought she was yanking my chain; I assumed she was a self-important secretary in the engineering department just trying to get me to bed her so she’d have a story to tell at the office next week.”
This is it for Bill—the final straw. In hindsight, he’ll look back and wish that he’d been able to exercise more self-control than he has at that moment, but unfortunately that isn’t the case.
“Bill,” Arvin North says, but any attempt to stop what’s about to happen is really just wasted energy. The train of Bill’s anger has long ago left the station.
Bill reaches out with both hands and puts them around Ted Mackey’s throat. Shocked, Mackey flails both arms, but Bill is too fast. He knocks Mackey off his feet and sends him flying into a polished silver rack that reaches from floor to ceiling. The rack is laden with pots, pans, containers full of silverware, and stacks of folded linens. Ted Mackey’s back makes contact with the rack in a way that is clearly painful, and he gives a loud grunt, his head rearing back and knocking into the shelf as the wire cuts into the soft skin on the back of his neck.
Bill doesn’t wait for Mackey to gather his wits, and instead reaches out with both hands, grabbing him by the lapels of his tux. He yanks Mackey to his feet and pushes him backward, this time towards the cement wall. By now, Arvin North has joined the fray and is trying to pull Bill off of Mackey, but to no avail. The loud clatters and bangs and the general ruckus of the skirmish have already caused the kitchen staff to halt their work and come to the doorway, where they’re all standing and watching as three dignified men in tuxedos scuffle in a kitchen pantry.
The doors to the kitchen swing open and the sound of the lead singer of the band talking into the microphone comes in at full blast: “Well, my friends, here we are. We’ve arrived.” His voice goes quieter as the doors swing closed again. Bill pins Mackey to the wall and the sound of the two men breathing heavily fills the small room. The kitchen doors swing open once more and Denny Hitzman’s voice comes back at full blast. “We’re ready for our countdown to midnight. So grab your champagne and find somebody to kiss, because here we go!”
The doors close again and the countdown is muffled but still audible over the sound system: “Ten, nine, eight…”
Bill takes a swing at Mackey that connects squarely with his jaw.
“Bill! God dammit!” North barks. “Knock it off!”
“Seven, six…”
Mackey finally gets his feet under him and he uses his full body weight to shove Bill away, giving him the space he needs to come barreling at Bill with his shoulder pointed at Bill’s sternum.
“Five, four, three…”
Bill dodges Mackey and Mackey loses his balance, stumbling towards the rack once again.
“Two, one…”
Capitalizing on Ted Mackey’s lack of balance, Bill takes one last step in his direction and puts both arms around Mackey, lifting him off the floor and catapulting him towards the tall rack of pots and pans. But Mackey does him one better: he hangs onto Bill’s arms with a tight embrace, and instead of Mackey flying into the rack, the men go tumbling together, knocking the entire thing over in one go.
The violent cacophony of metal pans and falling silverware drowns out the shouts and cheers of the crowd. Mackey hits the floor with the side of his head, temple meeting tile, and is knocked out. Bill, though winded, lands on top of Mackey, triumphant.
Though Denny Hitzman’s voice is silenced by the clatter in the kitchen, Bill lifts his head at exactly the same moment that Denny Hitzman shouts into his microphone, rasping the words that he knows the rest of the ballroom are cheering along to: “ Happy New Year! ”