Chapter Thirty-Six
Pax locks eyes with me across the party, snick! I’m irritated at the joy I feel. Pax’s eyes plead, and he twitches his head ever so slightly, Come with me?
I scan the room quickly. We shouldn’t do this.
We don’t have much time. It’s almost eight o’clock.
But I want to be with him, near him. I need him to tell me all is okay.
And this need of mine angers me—I’ve never needed someone else to manage my anxieties.
I’m not starting now. But still, I ease across the room and slip behind him into a gaudy, gold-wallpapered water closet.
Under other circumstances, I might be delighted to be in this small, intimate room with Pax, while a party rages outside this door. But this feels odd. Off. Pax is sweaty and twitchy, and he looks as though he might be ill.
“Are you all right?” I reach my hand forward, and he does not draw away. My palm cups his jaw. He leans into my hand, and his eyes glass. We stand like that a moment, and out of all the moments that have made up this evening so far, this is the only one that feels right.
It is the only right thing you’re doing of late, Stella.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Pax says, and my heart speeds.
Someone pounds on the powder room door. “C’mon, hurry in there!”
Pax pulls away from my touch. “Stella, I need to tell you something. In case things go awry—”
“No. That won’t happen.” I try to make light: “You promised.”
More pounding on the door. “Hurry it up, already!”
“But I should tell you…” His green eyes plead. My heart races, thrumming with panic. Something is wrong. And if I let him finish, I might lose my nerve for what is to come. It will throw our entire plan into disarray.
The pounding grows more urgent.
“No, Pax,” I say again, more abruptly. “This is not the time.” I reach my hand toward his, and he jerks away.
And oh, this angers me. He was obviously put off by our kiss. He’s been cold and distant ever since. He’s here to tell me he was wrong, kissing me.
We should never have done that. And I certainly don’t have time for regrets or embarrassment.
The pounding on the door grows louder. “I really gotta get in there!”
Pax looks at the door as if he’s just now hearing the incessant knocking. “I suppose the mescaline is kicking in.”
“Who is the other Pax?” I ask, ignoring his observation. Of course the drugs are working by now. “Is he a relative? Is there a part of the plan you’re not telling me?”
Pax stiffens at that. He ignores my questions. It’s so hurtful, how he’s acting. His voice is hollow and cold: “Did you get it?”
The combination. That’s all he cares about right now?
The door might explode off its hinges.
“Here,” I say, handing him the vial containing the grain of rice. “You’re changing this part of the plan, too, huh?” I fling open the bathroom door and stomp out. Pax sighs and leaves behind me. Spirit gives me no signs as to what this whole interaction might mean.
A gentleman pushes inside the bathroom and slams the door.
“You scamp.” Evalyn McLean is also in line for the powder room, and she points an accusatory finger at Pax. “You were just in the bathroom with some other woman.” And then she and her gentleman friend collapse with laughter, the Hope Diamond at her throat winking as if in taunt.
Some other woman?
Clarice.
Yes, that must be it. I feel ill. He told me they were nothing. And we are mere minutes away from my part in all this. This is when he chooses to confess his indiscretions? I inhale, exhale to cool my boiling blood.
I’m glad I didn’t give Pax the chance to confess his desire for Clarice. I don’t need to complicate things even more tonight.
When Evalyn McLean departs the powder room, she tosses her tight updo and sways a bit.
Max Blanck steadies her; the drugs plus the gin are doing a real number on her.
“Oh, Max. Do get your picture made with me! Please?” She grabs his hand and pulls Blanck toward the photographer.
They stand before an ancient tapestry, and the photographer ducks under the curtain laid over his 4x5 camera. He lifts the flash.
“Okay, stand still,” the photographer shouts. Evalyn and Blanck face each other, the palms of their hands touching. Evalyn kicks up her right leg at the knee, as if it were a jaunty dance move. “Don’t blink at the flash. It’s bright… Three… Two…”
POP!
The flash pops loudly, and the acrid smell of smoke thickens the air. I cringe. However in the world did I end up here, now? I feel angry and adrift. Why don’t I just leave?
Questions with no answers.
My panic rises.
The smoke thickens.
I look toward the elevator. I could escape. Now. I take a step in that direction. Two.
Yes, Stella!
Leave now!
The grandfather clock in the parlor begins to chime. It’s eight o’clock.
Too late to leave.
It’s showtime.