GILT

by

Nick Godec

            I see Amanda Gunther kissing my father by the side of the pool. They’re standing under the willow tree. I see them only because I’m sneaking into the estate grounds from the back entrance.

            What a cliché. My dad, founder and CEO of Walcott Capital. Amanda, the freshly minted, ambitious MBA. The way she always trails him around, all wide eyes and sponge-like, and knowing my father—I’m not surprised.

            I felt sick seeing my dad’s hands move to squeeze Amanda’s ass while he attacks her with his mouth. I need to get past this, get back to the party. My sister’s wedding must’ve really got him going.

            I move past the pool, carefully walking heel-toe Indian style, keeping my father and Amanda in my periphery. Then I’m on the path leading to the eastern gardens, out of their potential line of sight. The grounds are alive with crickets as I cut across the eastern gardens. The random chirps quiet me. I start to hear the low percussion of the band as I approach. I stand still a moment, trying to focus on the cricket sounds, and then walk on.

            I move toward the western garden. I hear the low buzz of chatter and hobnobbing before I see the large white tent and people lingering in the gardens, which the caterers have carefully illuminated with hidden lights that blend into the landscape.

            The band is playing Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe,” and I smile remembering my sister insisted the song play, that it was her vibe.

            “Charlie, there you are!” It’s my uncle Warren from Chicago. His face is rosy with a slight sweat on this cool July night. He’s plastered and holding a glass.

            Uncle Warren places his forearm on my shoulder, spilling a small amount of gin on my jacket. “Now, Charlie, where is that father of yours? He promised me we’d smoke a cigar. I’ve got ’em right here, and dammit, it’s high time!”

            I think of my dad pressing himself against Amanda under the willow tree.

            “Hey, Uncle Warren, good seeing you. No idea, he’s got to be around here somewhere,” I reply.

            Warren insists as he always has that I’d love living in the Midwest. “The people are friendly, and they mean it too. And you don’t need to cower in polite society for being a red-blooded patriot!” He pinches my side as if I’m in on some joke.

            I spot Daphne. She’s under the tent, illuminated by the strings of lights that crisscross the roof. She is laughing at something her friend has said. She’s wearing an elegant red dress that hugs her figure. Then I notice her fiancé, Barry, engaged in conversation twenty feet away from her. I see him stealing glances at Daphne. I know to look for it—his eye is always on her, while his other eye wanders.

            “If it isn’t you,” I hear whispered in my ear as I feel a hand reach around and inside my jacket. It’s Jenna, my girlfriend of the past seven months. I met her shortly after my return from rehab. I turn around to face her. She looks radiant, her blonde hair cascading over her green and gold dress. She softly kisses my lips; then her expression changes.

            “You said your meeting would only be an hour. I’ve been contending with the wolves all by myself for the past two and a half hours.”

            “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just, I can’t stomach another of my parents’ parties. I had to escape, plus my sponsor wanted to talk.”

            “Um, hi. Like, I get that. But know this,” Jenna continues in her best Don Vito Corleone impression. “I’m going to ask you something someday that you can’t refuse.”

            “That’s not even the line,” I say and kiss her back.

            Jenna and I walk the large garden, pausing as Jenna grabs champagne shoots that drift by. We ignore the industry tycoons, renowned artists, and heirs of fortune who my father invited. Then we detour through the hedge maze.

            An hour passes and the band gets swapped out for an electric DJ. For the most part, my parents’ guests have already retired for the evening. Some of the party animals, like Uncle Warren, are drifting around somewhere. The friends of the bride and groom are beginning to get sauced on the dance floor. I wonder where my dad is, if he’s still with Amanda or home with Mom, who left right after the ceremony.

            The DJ starts with 2000s pop, then progresses toward Biggie Smalls bellowing, “It was all a dream,” then continues on to the traditional drunken, last call ballads across genre. At one point I would’ve been leading the charge, already a bottle deep.

            I sneak glances at Daphne, though have been doing my best not to bump into her. I fear Jenna’s ability to read me at a glance. I have never mentioned Daphne to Jenna.

            “Don’t disappear again,” Jenna says as she goes to find more champagne.

            My sister Courtney is dancing with her freshly minted husband, Connor. She’s always wanted a prince charming who was nothing like Dad, and now she has one. He isn’t the most imaginative guy, but he isn’t cunning or strategic, and he loves Courtney. He is a rock—nothing like my father.

            My sister holds her arms out toward me from across the dance floor. She smiles and cries in happiness as I cross the dance floor to give her a hug. She throws her arms around me.

            “I’m so happy you’re here, Charlie. My baby brother, my Charlie Bear,” she whispers in my ear.

            I know what she really means. She’s happy I’m alive and not passed out in my bathroom next to a full bathtub, a growing purple welt on my forehead and overdosed on morphine. I think part of her has hated Daphne since then, though they’re still best friends.

            “I wouldn’t have missed it, Court,” I say, giving her a hug. She gives me a knowing look. “You look stunning, sis. Congratulations, I’m happy for you.”

            She hits me on the arm and gives me a chastising smile. “Try to have fun, Charlie. After all, it’s a party.” She pumps the air as she makes her way toward her flock of bridesmaids, their suitors, her husband, and his coterie of groomsmen.

            Daphne is in the circle, and for the first time throughout the day’s events, our eyes meet. She smiles and I smile back weakly. My legs feel heavy as she walks toward me.

            “Hey, Charlie. Looking dapper as ever,” Daphne says, looking over my dark blue tux. She hugs me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Her lips are soft and full.

            I feel myself redden. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

            She smiles. Then Barry is there, slipping his hand on the small of her back.

            “Hey, babe, I need you. Stewart wants to tell you about his recent trip to Bombay,” he says.

            “Wow, I was gone for like two seconds.”

            “Hey, Barry,” I interject. “Good to see you.”      

            Barry looks at me, perturbed that I should distract him from Daphne. Or perhaps that I am the cause of Daphne’s momentary distraction.

            “Hey, Charlie,” he says flatly. “Are you still working at, where was it again?”

            “Coyote Capital. Yep, still there.”

            “Great. That’s great for you. Must be a supportive place to work.”

            Dick, I think. Word is out about my leave of absence, I see. If Barry Castor knows, then everyone must know.

            He’s not wrong about Coyote Capital. The founder and head portfolio manager, Colin Buckminster, is a longstanding friend and associate of my father. He gave me my current job as an equity analyst and gave me paid leave for my stint at Silver Springs. It didn’t hurt that my dad’s also given Colin millions of his personal fortune to invest as well.

            “Yep, they certainly are,” I say.

            “Right where I left you for a change,” Jenna says as I feel her sidle up alongside me. I feel her hand circle mine. Daphne notices.

            Introductions are exchanged.

            “Jenna, an absolute pleasure,” Daphne says, her voice rising to the night’s sky. “Charlie, what other secrets are you keeping from us?”

            “None that the world hasn’t seemed to have discovered already,” I reply.

            “And where did you two lovebirds meet?” Daphne asks Jenna.

            “It was at a fundraiser,” Jenna replied. “We happened to be placed at the same table.”

            “Just fabulous,” Daphne says as her smile broadens and eyes narrow.

            She looks at me and I remember what happened last night.

            Last night Daphne stayed at the house with the rest of the bridesmaids and the family. She’d had a few drinks, was happy, and I was happy to be happy with her. She found me out on the veranda, where I’d gone to escape. Just the sight of her turned my innards inside out. She asked for a cigarette, and I gave her one and lit it. She stared at me with that look she’d given me so often in the past.

“How’s Barry?” I asked, and then she was on me.

            She’s still the same, able to have her fun with me and completely forget twenty hours later. Confident she has me wrapped around her pinky. Daphne, who I’d longed for since middle school. Ever since she slept over with Courtney and they cast me as the impromptu lead in their three-person rendition of Sleeping Beauty, under a white curtain of bedsheets draped over chairs in the piano room. Daphne played the evil Maleficent, though somehow ended up with the prince, played by yours truly.

            I snap back to the moment. Jenna and Daphne are wrapping up their conversation.

            They’re laughing in over-the-top fashion.

            “Aw. Well, I’m glad somebody other than me appreciates his unique brand of humor,” Daphne says.

            They both laugh again even though nothing is funny.

            “Well, see you around, Jenna. Charlie, hold onto this one,” Daphne says. She gives my arm a squeeze, winks, and says to Jenna, “Charlie’s very generous—he loves to share his wealth.” Then she moves toward Barry, who is talking to Courtney’s bridesmaids.

            I glance at Jenna and she’s giving me a hard look. “Well, that one’s a piece of work. Funny, you’ve never mentioned her. I take it you’ve known her a long time.”

            I hear a splatter as I feel something on my shoulder. I touch it and see white goo on my fingertips. I look up to see a small finch resting on one of the white beams holding up the tent. Fucking bird shit.

            “Ugh!” I say. “I’ll be back in a minute. Fucking bird shit, you believe that?! Be right back.”

            With the party raging under the tent, there’s only a few scattered guests on the main lawn. As I walk, I think about the meeting from a couple hours earlier. I take the nine-month bronze sobriety chip in my fingers. My sponsor, Rich B., handed me the coin with a broad smile and a hug, while the other thirty AAs in the dank church basement applauded. Then afterward I told him about last night.

            He has known about Daphne since my fourth step, that is, my fearless and thorough moral inventory. How we’d slept together half a dozen times since I was in eighth grade, always at her whim. Each time I’d go from being her greatest curiosity to an object she could care nothing about, yet somehow she always made me feel that each time would be different. These encounters were always followed by my devastating longing to be with her.

            On my return to the tent, Jenna is nowhere to be found. Lights strobe and new pinnacles of drunk and disorderly conduct are breached. Some of the groomsmen are struggling to keep their feet beneath them and are grabbing at Courtney’s friends, who push them off with a swat and a smile.

            I spot Daphne in the middle of the scrum. She is talking with Corey, Conor’s newly divorced best man. Barry stands nearby and pretends to drink with his Browning School former compatriot Donald, though it is clear given his position, his tightly clasped jaw and eyes that repeatedly dart in her direction, that he is observing his fiancée in action.

            I feel sick seeing Daphne giggle and gently press her delicate hand on Corey’s forearm, a reprimand and an encouragement at the same time. She’d always done the same with me, early in a fruitful evening. Stunning, whimsical Daphne. She always gets her way.

            I’m reminded of the morning of the evening I overdosed. I’d awakened next to Daphne’s naked body in one of the two guest cottages on the grounds of my parents’ estate. Courtney was hosting an adult slumber party to celebrate Daphne’s recent engagement. I was the sole source of testosterone under the roof, and that was only because I lived there. The girls would tease me when I’d float into the kitchen, or they’d pop into the billiards room asking to shoot while I sipped my bourbon and took hits from my glass pipe. I started drinking and smoking early, barely keeping it together knowing Daphne was auctioning herself off to the most aggressive bidder. My parents, wanting nothing to do with the affair, had gone to Pagliacci at Lincoln Center, then were to spend the night at their four-bedroom Park Avenue pied-à-terre. I looked around at the familiar estate, the place that screwed me up. Would I ever get away from here, really?

            By the end of that night nine months ago, I’d become part of the group, playing rounds of Would You Rather and Pin-the-Dick-on-Barry, White Claws flowing all the while. I peeked and pinned the cardboard prick right between Barry’s eyes.

            Daphne had had a few. As usual, I’d had more, and then some (plus two Xanny bars as a kicker). Near 2 a.m., five of us remained awake playing a drinking game version of Cards Against Humanity. As the night wore on, things got more raucous, and eventually one by one girls began retiring to their rooms for the night. Except Daphne, who shot me looks over her cards, cajoling me, from time to time gently resting her hand on my forearm.

            The next morning I’d had an espresso waiting for her on the bedside table and fostered hopes she’d come to her senses about Barry.

            When Daphne awoke, she couldn’t leave fast enough. As she dressed, she asked if I thought a veil too antiquated for modern marriages. She’d always imagined revealing herself on the stage before everyone she loved. Then she was gone, her espresso untouched. The sun was shining that morning, unlike the dark night shrouding the tent.

            In the sunlight that poured into the kitchen from the skylight overhead where the girls convened, I could feel I was no longer part of the group. I retreated to the parlor. Rita, saint that she was, delivered eggs Benedict, coffee, and Advil. The few times I walked by the kitchen that morning, Daphne wore a satisfied smile, showing off her ring and talking about the big day.

I clench my fist and walk toward the bar, seeing Daphne smile at Corey.

            That night I dropped a couple grand on enough morphine, Xanax, and coke to kill a small herd of cattle. I don’t remember filling the bathtub, or busting my forehead open on its lip. I don’t remember the back of my head slamming on the cold marble floor. I had no thought, at least that I recall, of checking out for good. But when Courtney found me, she concluded the worst. At the bar I stop and look back on the dance floor. I see my sister and Conor dancing playfully and unclench my fist.

            Out on the dance floor, Corey seems to have narrowed the gap between him and Daphne. He’s talking away while Daphne listens, occasionally laughing with her mouth hanging slightly open. I see Corey’s hand reach around Daphne’s thin waist. He pulls her close and kisses her on the mouth. She doesn’t fight it at first, though appears stunned at what’s happening—an advance that isn’t hers and under the strobing lights for everyone to see. She’s not used to this, an escalation out in the open. The next thing I see is Barry’s fist meeting Corey’s jaw, sending Corey stumbling backward to land hard on the trim, stomped-on grass. Suddenly another of the groomsmen hits Barry, who does well to absorb the punch and then strike back. A third groomsman joins the fray, hitting Barry in his temple with a champagne flute. Barry’s friend Dwight comes to his defense. Then his friend Adam. Girls have their hands in front of their faces as they flee the violence. They make it as far as the tables that line the tent’s periphery, then turn to gawk in horror.

            The rumble grows with all eight groomsmen now throwing and taking punches, kicks, and flung bottles. The last of the groomsmen to join, an obese man with curly red hair and tortoise glasses, bum-rushes Barry. He moves like a linebacker as he tackles Barry to the ground and then leaves his weight on top of him. Barry’s rapid taps on the grass and on the obese ginger’s shoulder go unheeded. His face turns tomato red. When Barry begins to turn purple, the ginger rolls off, his tortoise glasses still intact. The scuffle is over, nearly as quick as it began.

            I don’t move. I’m too focused on Daphne. I see her staring at the scene from the periphery. She’s trying to look disgusted though can’t mask her faint smile.

            “What the fuck, Daphne, really? Is there any man you can’t leave alone?” my sister says to her. Daphne looks shocked, surprised to be challenged.

My sister’s husband is helping Corey to his feet. “Didn’t notice the ring, bud?” he says, though Corey is in a stupor.

I hate that Daphne still shimmers, like her light needs its surrounding darkness. Even more troubling than Daphne’s radiance is my sister’s look of disgust. For the first time I am starting to despise Daphne, even though I can’t not love her.

I take out my phone and text Jenna.

Hey where’d you go? You’ll never believe what just happened.

I see three dots—she’s typing. Then nothing.

No one appears seriously hurt; however, more guests have taken their cue to call it a night. In a supervised exchange involving the groom, Corey and Barry reluctantly agree to make nice. I see Barry walk out into the dim garden, Daphne chasing after him. He sulks while Daphne appears to be pleading her case.

The music resumes, but the night has turned. My sister and her husband depart shortly after the brawl’s resolution, their guests clapping and hollering as they depart. Only a core contingent of partygoers remains on the dance floor. Even Uncle Warren is long gone. The ice buckets have melted, and the staff has thinned.

I stand under the canopy’s outer edge that faces the main house. I watch what’s left of the party, alone. The manic laughter, the ecstatic screams. People falling over and into each other, lifting bodies up to collapse in laughter. I see Amanda sitting at a table alone, my father nowhere to be found.

I watch, alone, Daphne nowhere in sight. Jenna gone. I touch the bronze coin in my pocket. Courtney is happy, starting her new life. It’s time for me to go.

THE END