Page 61 of The Party Plot

Howie Bonard had evidently just gotten back from the bathroom, judging from how he was wiping his nose, his eyeballs jittery, jaw working to chew some invisible wad of gum. He was dressed as late-stage Elvis, in a rhinestone-studded suit, and he’d used some kind of black spray dye on his hair that was beginning to ooze down his temples in runnels of sweat. He looked insane, like he was melting from the inside out. As Laurel watched, he clenched his fists, face contorting into a mask of rage.

“You dumb little whore.” Howie was stalking across the room, people ducking out of his way. The party had already ground to a halt, but now even the hum of background conversation faded away. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. “What, did you show up to gloat? I was in a jail cell for ten fucking hours yesterday, you bitch.”

“Laurel. Let’s go.” Melody tugged at his arm, her eyes ringed in white. She was scared, and so, Laurel realized, was he. This must be the side of Howie Bonard that only she had seen, all the slimy, superficial charm burnt away.

Lavinia Bonard stood up from her chair, back ramrod-straight. “Howie, sit down,” she said quietly. “Don’t make a scene.”

“It’s not fair, mom!” he bellowed, gesturing to Melody. “She and her little sissy-ass friends have had it out for me for years. They’re behind all those bullshit charges, I know it.”

“We will settle it in court.” Lavinia Bonard’s teeth were gritted, one hand squeezing the life out of her napkin.

For a moment, Howie looked cowed, and Laurel thought maybe he would actually listen to his mother, and they could leave in peace. Wayon was making his way toward his brother, hands out to intercept him. But before he got there, Howie caught sight of Laurel’s expression, and something seemed to break loose in him.

“You. What the fuck are you smiling about?”

Had he been smiling? He guessed he had, and now he felt immensely stupid for that moment of amusement, because Howie was charging at him, and time seemed to slow down, the room all smearing together into a mess of garlands and novelty decorations and Howie Bonard’s fist and his crazed eyes, the pupils like scribbly circles of jet-black ink—

And he had the faintest impression of movement in front of him, a white sheet of fabric flashing across his vision, and then Casey was falling back into his arms and the table was giving way beneath their weight, canapés and meatball skewers and cocktail shrimp whizzing off in all directions. Laurel’s skull hit the marble floor, stars bursting behind his eyes. His ribs creaked; he was getting crushed. Casey was on top of him, and Howie was on top of Casey, and something crunched and there was a spray of wet warmth across Laurel’s face, and then he heard Howie grunt as Casey shoved him away, rolling to the side.

Laurel sat up, vision bleary. There was blood on his face, he realized, but it wasn’t his, and assorted seafood plastered to his dented chestplate, and he regained his senses just in time to see Casey on the ground on top of Bonard, his mouth and chin a mask of blood, a handful of Howie’s hair in one hand and his fist drawn back and—

Laurel was about to yell for him to stop, or to jump in, or something, but then the security guards were there, separating the two men, pulling both of them to their feet with their hands behind their backs.

People were shouting. A few of them had their phones up, recording the whole spectacle. Denise was sobbing. Jasper was baying. The Lhasa apso was letting off a staccato stream ofyap-yap-yaps.Laurel rose to his feet, a little unsteady.

Lavinia and Wayon Bonard had already converged on Howie, trying to get the guards to let him go.

“Hedidn’t do anything. It was that guy in the toga, you saw it, he was going to—“

“Get themout, get them alloutof here!” Denise wailed.

“Self-defense,” that was Casey, sounding a little stuffy but otherwise crisp and in control. “My nose is probably broken. And you’d better fucking believe I’m going to press charges.”

Laurel rushed to his side. “Babe. You okay? Jesus, what happened, did you jump in front of me? You didn’t need to. I could have—“

“I’m fine. I wanted to.” To the guard, he said, “I’m done. I’m not fighting. You can let me go.He’sthe problem.” He nodded toward Howie Bonard, who definitely wasn’t helping his own case. He was thrashing around, teeth bared, scraping the bottom of his vocabulary to call Melody, Laurel, and Casey every slur he could think of.

“Yeah, ok.” The guard gave Howie a look, seeming to agree. “Be good.” He released Casey, who collapsed into Laurel’s arms, wobbling slightly. He was shaking. Laurel kissed his forehead, then pulled back to look at his face.

“It’s super bloody,” he said, examining his nose. “But it doesn’t look broken.”

“How do you know?”

“I played polo, remember? And lacrosse.”

“God.” Casey grinned, blood on his teeth. He looked fierce and beautiful and a little bit terrifying. “So fucking preppy.”

“Your toga’s wrecked, though. There’s blood all over it, and whatever that black crap was that Howie had in his hair.”

“I know.” Casey held up a hand, showing Laurel his palm. It was covered in what looked like shoe polish. “Guess we can’t repeat Halloween costumes next year.”

Dimly, Laurel heard Lavinia Bonard’s voice in the background, dripping with silky contempt. “Well Denise, this has certainly been aninterestingevening—Howie. Howie, control yourself. Think of your brother’s campaign.”

“Lavinia, it wasn’t my fault. I swear they weren’t invited—“

Lavinia cut Denise off. “Oh, I know, dear. It’s just that I put in a good word for you with my party planner. I trusted you to have some discretion, what with Howie’s recent—difficulties. I understand, of course, with your background, you’re obviously not used to hosting large events. But I always make sure to haveverystrict security. It’s unfortunate that yours wasn’t up to par.”

“Lavinia, please. I’ll send them away, and then we can get all get back to—“

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