CHAPTER ELEVEN #3
Lillian tilted her head at him like a bird. “First of all, sweetheart, I would have dealt with it,” she said. “You know I had no issue with continuing to take point on this, so that’s a lie. And you enjoying your weekend is also a lie. You’ve been sulking since we got here.”
Carver sipped his drink and shrugged. In the background, over the hall’s speaker system, Britney Spears crooned about being killed by her loneliness.
“This is coming out of your ass,” she said. “This is going to cut into our pipeline for the deals you want. My leads get priority from now on. You’re the one who’s going to be scrounging for cash by Q4.”
“Fine. Good.”
“And whatever this is, you need to knock it off.”
“There’s nothing to knock off,” Carver said, meeting her gaze. “In my heart I’m a vindictive little prick, you know this about me. You love this about me, in fact.”
Lillian’s jaw tightened. “You don’t turn that shit on me, Carver. I am not your doofus fucking family.”
“You married me, honey, so you actually are my doofus fucking family.”
“I know being insolent gives you a hard-on, but I think you drank too much and forgot who you’re speaking to.”
“I’m speaking to my wife,” Carver said, almost giddy. He couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been so pissed at him. “I’m the head, you’re the neck, baby, so turn.”
“Uh-huh. Keep pushing it.”
“I want to. Let’s push it right over the edge.”
“What the fuck has gotten into you?”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Chip, who leaned on the backs of their chairs with a genial, “Hey,” then seemed to belatedly realize they were arguing.
He grimaced as if to say oops, then carried on: “Mom wants to make sure all of us go up and congratulate the brides. She says if it goes past ten o’clock and we haven’t yet, we’re officially rude. ”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to be rude,” Carver said, finishing his drink and getting to his feet. He offered Lillian his hand. “Let’s go do our duty, lovely wife. Let’s be polite.”
Lillian took his hand and rose to her feet, forming a terrible smile that didn’t even reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes.
Chip looked between them with a disturbed expression. “Uh, great,” he said, and walked away.
Letty and Sana were in high spirits, seated in the middle of the wedding party’s long and flower-laden table which looked like it came straight from one of the Godfather movies, giggling and obviously tipsy.
They greeted Carver and Lillian with excitement as they walked up, although Carver saw something in Letty’s face as she looked at him — some nervous recognition that he didn’t like.
“Beautiful wedding,” Lillian said. She was once again composed, the picture of serenity.
Carver loathed the sight. He was jealous of her and he knew it; he had felt this way many times before, but it had never been so potent. There was an awkward physical gap between them, and friction filled it.
“Thank you,” Sana gushed. “We’re so glad you guys could make it. It was so nice to meet you both.”
“Of course,” Lillian said. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”
Sana began bending Lillian’s ear on the topic of her enjoyment. Carver continued watching Letty, who kept glancing between him and his wife, bringing her thumbnail to her mouth seemingly without realizing.
“Letty,” Carver said, in a falsely chipper undertone, and she looked him in the eye. “Do you know something?” he said between his teeth, low enough for only them to hear.
Letty shrugged as if caught and beckoned him close. He leaned in, bending over an arrangement of white gerpom daisies and green hanging amaranthus. She whispered in his ear, “If you’re about to lose it, I get it, but please just not here.”
Carver was simultaneously comforted and offended. He stiffened, then whispered back, “Don’t worry about that. Enjoy your night. It was a beautiful wedding, congratulations.”
Letty patted him on the back, and he straightened up. Then Lillian all but elbowed him aside so she could hug Letty, too, and he walked away.
He passed the dance floor with the vague idea of going out to the balcony to bum a cigarette off someone, but he didn’t get very far before running into his father, who was sitting at a mostly-deserted table drinking a glass of scotch.
Doug spotted Carver and lifted his hand to beckon him, at which point Carver’s gaze slid over to the guy sitting next to him: Silver Fox.
His heart dropped. Silver Fox looked back at him, and his face froze in clear horror. Carver walked over to them, feeling like he was in a dream.
“Hey,” Doug said, reaching up to pat Carver on the arm when he got close. It was clear he’d had a few drinks — he was rarely physically affectionate with either of his sons. His casual touches went to Nora and Conway. “Carver, this is my buddy Pete McHugh. Pete, this is my younger son.”
“This is Pete?” Carver said, glancing at the Silver Fox. “From Morgan Stanley?”
Pete gave him a tight smile. “Yep.”
“Hey, man, nice to meet you,” Carver said, extending his hand to Pete, who gave him a limp handshake. Now that his initial shock had passed, he was amused by the way Pete was squirming.
“You too,” Pete said, without eye contact. “Carter?”
“Carver. How are things at Morgan Stanley? I’m hearing you guys are about to have layoffs.”
“Uh… no, I’m not hearing anything about that.”
“Really?” Carver said. “Maybe you should put your ear to the ground, make sure your ass is covered.”
“Carver,” Doug reproached.
“Sorry. Make sure your butt is covered.”
Doug shook his head. Pete inhaled and said, “I’m guessing everything’s going well for you at… where are you?”
“Blackbrick. Yeah, we’re solid.”
“I bet,” Pete said, his tone almost accusatory.
“You enjoying the wedding, Pete?”
“Yeah, it’s been great. Really lovely.”
“It’s too bad Charlotte couldn’t make it,” Doug said.
“Is Charlotte the wife?” Carver said, and Pete gave him the tiniest nod possible. “Yeah, that’s too bad, I would have liked to meet her.”
Pete gave him a tight smile. “So you’re Doug’s middle kid? How old does that make you?” He already knew the answer, of course.
“He’s thirty-five,” Doug said. “And he’s already a managing director at work.”
“Thirty-six, Dad.”
“Right.”
“Wow,” Pete said. “Thirty-six. You don’t look it. Yet.”
“Uh-huh.”
While Doug was distracted saying hello to some passing woman who Carver didn’t recognize, Pete mouthed, “Tick tock, twink.” Carver blew him a kiss.
Doug turned back to them, none the wiser.
“Good to see you, Dad,” Carver said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get some fresh air.”
“Alrighty,” Doug said, sipping his scotch.
Carver continued on with his original mission of going to the balcony to score a cigarette, then ran into a waiter who offered him a flute of champagne, which he accepted gratefully.
As he stepped outside, he saw a tall male figure leaned up against the railing, smoking.
A split second later he realized the figure was Scott.
Scott turned his head and spotted him back. He exhaled smoke. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Carver said, his stomach fluttering. “Can I bum one?”
“Yeah.”
Carver made his way over to him, trying not to look drunk. He was, though, and his inhibitions were sinking out of sight. Despite everything, he was thrilled to see him out here, thrilled in a teenage way. It was the way he’d felt when the bell over the door at Max’s rang and Scott walked in.
Scott held out a cigarette for Carver, who opened his mouth instead of lifting his right hand, which was holding the glass of champagne.
Scott chuckled and placed it between his lips, then leaned in to light Carver’s cigarette with his own.
Carver stared up at his dark eyes as he did all this, watching him concentrate.
“How’s your shoulder?” he said shamelessly.
Scott raised his eyebrows at him, then smiled. “Shoulder’s fine. You fucked my back up, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, you clawed me open.”
“I’m sorry,” Carver said, inching a little closer to him.
“You’re not sorry,” Scott said, his voice soft. “So what’s the play, here, you want to fuck at this wedding?”
Carver’s face flushed, and he smiled wider. “I’m down if you are. I’d like to blow you.”
Scott exhaled a laugh, shaking his head and looking away toward the windowed walls of the reception hall. “I don’t want a blowjob here.”
“Fine, you can give me a blowjob.”
“I don’t want to sneak around with you. I’m not a teenager anymore, Carv. That shit loses its appeal.”
Carver grinned at him and finished off his champagne, setting the empty flute on the railing.
He was, unfortunately, often charmed by Scott’s self-righteousness.
It was easy to see that Scott was a strong personality who had been neglected and left to his own devices for much of his youth — he’d had to invent a personal code from scratch, and he’d rarely had to deal with the daily reality of compromise.
When he didn’t like the terms, he walked.
This was so far from the reality of the average person that it made Scott feel both more and less real.
“What do you want, then?” he said. He could feel himself nearing some vertiginous point of no return, and he wanted Scott to hasten the journey by making him wild propositions.
Behind them, the door opened. Scott looked over. His entire body stiffened, and he stepped back from Carver.
Carver turned to look too, full of dread, expecting to see one of his parents. Instead he saw Lillian.
She strode over to them, smiling, as cool as can be. When she reached them, they turned to her to form a triangle, and she put her hand out. Scott looked at her for a moment, then put a cigarette into it.
Lillian took it and lit hers off of Carver’s. She smoked for a moment, then looked between them and said, “Did you two fuck last night?”