Page 34 of A Noble Affair
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The music was audible as soon as Louis entered the iron gates and turned down the lane towards the house, a somewhat crumbling old manor that was set far back from the street and encased in tall oak trees. This was probably how the party was able to carry on in full force without incurring a neighborly call to the police.
There were a few people outside the house, and one or two of them nodded at Louis. As soon as he walked through the door, Mitchell and Sandeep hailed him in an inebriated pitch. “Louis. You made it, man.” He gave a small wave and walked over to Max and shook his hand.
“You got here just in time,” Max said. “I was starting to run out.”
“My dad wanted me to have dinner with Manon Duprey. I couldn’t leave until we were finished.”
Max whistled. “Is she just as hot in person? You’re a lucky dude.”
“Yeah, but she’s dating my father, so—”
A girl fell into Louis, laughing as she was pulled to her feet again. He tugged his beer-soaked shirt away from his bare skin and tried to wring it out.
“Hi, Louis.” Another girl with straight blond hair walked up to him, her skin tanned from makeup, her voice flirty. “I’ve never seen you at any of these parties before.” He didn't recognize her.
“I’ve been to one or two,” he mumbled, torn between surprise and annoyance.
“What?” she yelled over the music. She fell forward into him.
“I’ve been to a few,” he said more loudly. He glanced around, desperate to leave her company and find a place where he could get his hands on a drink, anything that would give him something to do. He didn’t see the bar from where he stood, so he stayed put.
“So,” she said with a glinting smile, her breath a combination of beer and cigarettes. “What do you say you and I head upstairs and find someplace to talk and get to know each other better?” She linked her arm through his, and added, unnecessarily, “If you know what I mean.”
Louis looked her over. He was sure she didn’t attend Fenley, though she seemed to know a lot of people at the party. Even in the muted lighting, there was something repellent about her. He realized with dim surprise that he wasn't even interested in a one-night fling with her. He shook his head and pulled his arm away.
“He may be the son of a viscount,” she said to no one in particular as she walked away, “but he’s still a loser.”
Sandeep jerked his head towards the departing figure. “She’s from Sartrouville. I have no idea who invited her. Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you a drink.”
Louis turned to Max. “I’ll be right back.”
Max had a satellite of girls around him, but he didn’t seem interested in any of them. He was watching what happened at the party with a keen eye. To anyone but a casual observer, it was obvious he was the one who kept all the plates spinning. “Make it quick,” he said.
When Louis returned moments later, one drink downed, the other in hand, Max immediately disengaged from the girls and signaled with two fingers for Louis to follow. They walked up the winding staircase, carpeted with a faded oriental rug, and continueddown a hallway decorated in shabby chic, with old wallpaper and well-chosen frames. Max stopped, and rapped on the door in front of him.
“Entre.” a voice called from within, but Max was blocked from pushing the door open by a meaty hand. “It’s just me,” he said with a tinge of impatience.
Inside, the room was dark with a red lava lamp in motion, which was strangely compelling to Louis in his altered state. He hadn’t taken anything strong, but he smoked some pot on his way to the party to calm his nerves. He had beentempted to use the little red pill that now made a regular appearance in his stash, and which he had learned was speed, but he wanted to save it for next week when the exams would start. He was just starting to understand how to use the drugs properly, and the knowledge made him feel wordly and grown up. The speed helpedhim to maintain good grades and get things done, and the pot—or hash, whichever he had on hand—kepthim mellowand cool so he could talk to people without fear.
“Louis is here with the supply,” Max said, crisply. “Move over. And you—give me that scale. Let’s bring it out and weigh it."
Louis opened the backpack full of various packets, wrapped in plastic. His supply had increased, as had his acceptance in the crowd, just as Jean had predicted. Now that he had promised that favor to Jean—still didn’t know what it was, but he was assured it was nothing illegal—he was able to get a certain amount of drugs for free. This had become necessary since his father didn’t exactly give him an unlimited allowance, Louis thought with disgust.As if he didn’t have it.
Max watched with an eagle eye as Louis brought the packets out, one by one. He said, more to himself than to Louis, “I don’t know why the dealer insists on using you to bring the supply when I’m the one with all the contacts. He could save himself time and money.” Louis only shrugged, mellowed by the combination of vodka and pot.
When the money had been counted and tucked in the inside pocket of his bag, Louis had the vague idea he should head straight home and put the money in a safe place. He started walking down the stairs, taking his time to stop and look at the paintings with a fixed interest.
“Good evening, Louis,” he heard someone say. “Louis.” The voice was now lilting, brimming with laughter. He turned and faced a girl he recognized from his history class. Her dark brown hair was cut short to frame her face, and he had never seen such beautiful, large brown eyes as the ones that were raised tohis at that instant.
“Eloise,” he managed.
“Ah, good. You’re not completely stoned then.” She smiled at him, and he continued to stare at her face, fascinated by the multitude of colors reflected in her eyes.
Her dimples peeped out at this, and she concluded with slightly raised eyebrows. “All right, then. Take care, Louis.” She turned to walk up the stairs and only glanced back at him once before walking down the hallway. He was relieved to see she headed into the bathroom instead of going into the room where Max was. He thought hazily that he would wait for her to come back down. In any case, it was so pleasant on the stairwell, he saw no reason to move.
Charles marchedthrough the hospital doors. He was unable to explain, even to himself, why he was at the hospital again when his week of filling in was over. He had already handed all his patients over to Docteur Toussaint, except young Whitmore. He told himself he was particularly interested in how this case was progressing from a medical point of view, curious as to how the young boy would fare cognitively once he woke up. He found himself anxiously hoping for the best—for the mother’s sake, as well as the boy’s.
