Page 101 of Rush: Deluxe Edition

I described the hall, the décor, the people for Noah. “Imagine a flock of birds with brightly colored plumage and sequins, all squawking and cooing their way to a champagne watering hole.”

He smiled gratefully. “I can see that.”

We stepped up to the ballroom entry, to a table littered with nametags and seating charts. Two women were taking invitations and checking them to binders full of names and giving attendees their table numbers. One, a blonde in a shimmery silver dress, stared as Noah and I approached, her mouth agape. She elbowed her companion—a brunette in sapphire blue—and her mouth fell open in an identical expression.

“Noah Lake?” the blonde screeched. “Oh my God, honey, get over here right this instant!”

Noah cocked his head. “Barbara?”

“Yes, it’s Barbara. Oh shit, it’s true, you can’t see a thing, can you?” Barbara came around the table and threw her arms around Noah. “I can’t believe it. I saw your name on the list and thought someone was playing a trick on me. Didn’t I say that, Wendy?”

The brunette nodded and took her turn hugging Noah. They both stared and gabbled and cooed over him, taking possession of him as other old friends and coworkers came to the table. He clung to my arm like a vise, or else I would have been shunted to the side.

“We’re all so happy you’re here,” Wendy said, wiping tears and moving back to the other side of the table. She consulted the guest list. “And you must be…Charlotte Conroy? His assistant?”

“Charlotte is my girlfriend,” Noah said, and it was the first sentence in the whole exchange that didn’t make me cringe. Their pity was as tangible as their perfume.

“Oh damn, but that’s precious,” Barbara cooed and handed me our nametags. “So sweet of you to take care of him like that.” She huffed a sigh, regarding Noah as if he were something beautiful, now ruined. “You’re at table forty-two with Yuri, and I’ll tell you right now, he does think your name on his table is a practical joke.”

They laughed their tears away, and we were finally allowed to go in. Noah read my silence as he so often did.

“Charlotte…”

“You’re not a joke.”

“They didn’t mean it literally.”

“Or something to be pitied.”

“You’ve only known me as blind,” Noah said, his voice low. “They knew what I was before.”

At the head of the ballroom was a small proscenium with a drop screen hanging over it. The word “Welcome” flashed in a dozen different languages. A third of the room was cleared of furniture, and people danced to pulsing music from a DJ table set up to the left. I looked for the live music Noah said would be here but saw nothing, not even a stage where a band might set up later.

I wended us through beautifully set tables with gorgeous centerpieces of twinkling LED lights and crystals. We were stopped several times by old friends wanting to shake Noah’s hand and inquire about his health. I tensed every time but was relieved that most were polite and genuinely happy to see him.

Of course they are, I scolded myself.We’re not surrounded by monsters.

Then we arrived at table forty-two and my heart sank.

I saw his coppery curls a split second before Deacon stood up from the table, his booming voice carrying even in the crowded high-ceiling ballroom.

“The man of the hour,” Deacon crowed. He hugged Noah and then took my hand and kissed it. “Sweet Charlotte. Always a pleasure. You look ravishing. Do you know how ravishing your sweet Charlotte is, Mr. Lake? You probably don’t, or you wouldn’t have brought her to this pit of vipers.”

He gestured at the people seated at the table: a portly man with great shocks of white hair, two young men—Logan and Jonesy by their nametags, the former possibly Irish, the latter African American—and a wiry, spikey-haired woman in black leather. Her nametag was upside down. Polly, I deciphered. They all stood up to greet Noah and hug him and shake his hand.

I was introduced to everyone and then we sat, Noah on Yuri’s right, then me, then Deacon. Somehow, I knew that arrangement was no accident.

“I thought Barbara tells me a lie,” Yuri Koslov said, rubbing his reddened nose. He reminded me of Santa Claus without the beard and red suit but with a flask of something in his pudgy fingers that made his eyes shine. He hauled himself out of his chair and thumped Noah on the back. “I miss your face. But never thought to see you here. Strange business.”

“No business just yet.” Deacon laughed. “Noah and sweet Charlotte haven’t even had a drink. Business can wait.”

Yuri leaned back, watching with dark eyes as Deacon pulled a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket in the middle of the table and poured two glasses. He gave one to me and reached across to offer one to Noah.

“Here you go, buddy.”

Deacon pressed the glass to his hand, but Noah set it down, twisting the stem in his fingers.

“To Noah:PX’s very own Lazarus!” Deacon reached across me again to clap Noah on the shoulder. “Welcome back, chief.”

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