An Evening Out

The night was black around a brightly lit mansion. The mansion, which seemed to be enveloped in a fire of artificial light, was settled inside delicate gardens, green and lush with perfect hedges and white rose bushes, and balconies and ground-level patios. The mansion was three stories tall and sided in stucco with large, elongated roofing. There was a wide, circular drive that looped up to the house and stretched out into an expanse of trees and darkness, beyond the reach of the glittering light from the party raging from within the building. Behind the house, through the looping gardens and lapping incessantly against the heavily manicured lawn, was a gleaming lake, dark and clear in the fresh night air. The moon hung low on it, its pale rays bouncing on the rippled surface.

            An automobile pulled up the dark, paved drive, coming to an eased stop in front of the mansions front door. As her chauffer helped her from the car, a sudden, harsh breeze caught the bare shoulders of Miss Emily Swant. She gave a slight shudder, both with her shoulders and with a noise deep in her throat. She thanked the chauffer, who went to park the car and wait the several hours before she, or anyone, would seek to leave. She wore a dark, black evening dress, bought just hours before the dark had crept in. It was strapless, and a long cut on the right side ran all the way from her ankles to her mid-thigh. A dark shawl covered her arms and the inside of her elbows, leaving her shoulders exposed to the increasingly frigid night air. Her heels, giving her a good four inches, knocked loudly as she walked slowly up the marble steps and to the door. Her hair was done up in a bun, but nothing of her face could be seen, nor any material objects that adorned it, as she kept her head looking down. And despite the light, it was still too dim to see her face.

            She pushed open the large, multi-paned French doors, and suddenly became immersed in the warmth and buzz of a party. A greeter bowed deeply and motioned her into a lavishly decorated hall. She smiled and thanked him. It was nearly as large as the yard that stretched down the lake equally as elegant. Large, vaulted ceilings rose so high it almost gave Miss Swant a touch of vertigo, and she had to peel her eyes away from the several chandeliers that hung from the slanted ceiling. Large bay windows were black from night, and the party lights reflected in small, glowing orbs on the window. She gave a small smile to people as she walked through the crowd, most of them she had never seen in her life. All of the women were dressed in a multitude of different fashionable dress, from this year’s couture, of course. Most of the dresses were black and red more sensual and seductive colors. Many were with their husbands, who stood, tall and important, wearing tuxedos and sipping large fishbowl glasses of brandy. There was a yearning in many of their faces to get away from their wives to join the other men for cigars, to talk business and escape the drag and gossip the women fed off of. Emily’s husband was out of town on business, so, unfortunately, she was forced to go alone. She couldn’t see an invitation go to waste. Yet she felt bare and vulnerable without her husband. As she moved over to a group of lounging chairs, she heard and unmistakable, squeaky voice.

            “Emily! You made it! I had been hearing that you wouldn’t! Everyone was saying you wouldn’t!” Amelia Mark, giddy with excitement, jumped off of her husband’s lap, who had been slowly sinking into a dark blue lounge chair. His face had more content on it than many of the other men in the hall, and Emily could see that he had been drinking.

            “Well of course I did, Amelia. I never miss an opportunity to see your house. It amazes me every time. It’s so grand.” There was a sound of relief in Emily’s voice.

            “Well, come, come! I’d like you to meet a couple of people!” Amelia’s eyes scanned over Emily’s face briefly, her blond curls sweeping over her pale shoulders and red dress. “You look beautiful by the way, darling.” In the enhanced light, Emily’s narrow face was revealed to be bright and rosy, with startling emerald eyes and red lips, as if she had been drinking wine. Large diamond earrings hung from her earlobes, catching the dazzling light of the chandeliers.

            Emily moved to join a crowd of people that were sitting in a group of lounge chairs, which were sitting alone and clustered together, a small island in the sea of people and hardwood floor beneath their feet. There was a lot of smoke coming from this area. The men all had cigars lit, much to the disgust of their wives. They were bigger man, some about as big as their wallets. And for some of the wives, the wallet was far more attractive. Emily even thought that sometimes Amelia was that shallow. But she was her best friend, and she was determined not to speak a word against her, or at least, she could start with not letting the words leave her lips. Amelia hand her a glass of red wine and offered her a spot of the arm of the chair in which her husband sat, and she accepted.

            “Well, where do I start! You know my husband Ron, and of course Johnson and Lucy Johan!” The Johan’s were Emily’s neighbors, and a seemingly expanding line of trust for her. “And over there…” She pointed to an older couple and a very, very young couple, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen each, compared to Emily’s twenty eight. “That is Arthur and Ella Portimer,” she said pointing to the elderly couple. “Arthur runs the steel manufacturing in Manhattan for Carnegie. A real privilege, no?

            “The only privilege is the number on my paycheck, good lady!” Arthur bumbled, a little drunk. Emily laughed and took a sip of her wine, which was sweet and tasted like spring.

            “And finally,” she said pointing to the younger couple, “this is Eric and Tessa VanBlutheran. His father recently passed away, and he inherited quite a sum of money. His father worked with investments, and knew quite well how to handle money.”

            “Oh, it is quite a sum of money, if I do say so myself.” He was in the beginning stages of becoming inebriated, and it was obvious by the look on Tessa’s face that she was not pleased in the slightest. “I would never be able to invest wise enough to save my life! It was rather lucky!” The men all chuckled. Not Tessa. Tessa was gorgeous, and wore a periwinkle dress, the envy of so many of the women. And all of the men wanted a glimpse of her. Emily looked at Ron, who’s head was bobbing back and forth incessantly, and noticed that he was watching the young VanBlutheran’s. Emily consumed some more of her wine, not really tasting it this time, but thinking and listening to Amelia introduce a few other couples. Their names immediately slipped Emily’s mind.

            Suddenly, violins, cellos, horns and percussion sound their instruments and everyone stopped muttering and made for the dance floor.

            “Ohhhh!” Amelia shrieked. “Let us dance!” Amelia turned to her husband, who was already out of his seat, but not offering his arm to his wife, but rather, to Tessa VanBlutheran. Her face turned red, and there was not smile of shyness. She was nervous, and Emily could see it. Ron Mark was drunk, but he was able to walk straight, but his face told all, with his red puffy cheeks protruding from behind his black beard. Eric seemed to pay no attention. Tessa looked at her husband, and it almost seemed as if it was an act of defiance to him, because she got up and went to dance with Mr. Mark. Eric nodded as they walked away and finished off his brandy. Amelia looked a little dumbfounded. And so, Mr. Johan, at the urging of his own wife, got up to dance with Amelia, immediately rekindling her girlish visage. She gave a slight squeal as they walked to the dance floor, delighted. Emily went to sit down, but Arthur Portimer stopped her.

            “Oh no, pretty lady. May I have your hand to dance?” He extended his hand in such a gentlemanly way that Emily could not refuse him.

“Are you sure, Madam Portimer?”
“By all means! I haven’t the energy! I cannot believe that my husband does! And

besides, I would much rather talk to Mrs. Johan here.” Emily nodded, and finished her glass of wine before heading to the dance floor with Arthur.

            The floor was already full when they got out there, but they managed to find a small square of hardwood floor that they could dance on. They took each other’s hands, Emily’s other on his shoulder, his on her waist. He smiled and began to pull her in the music. Emily was not one for dancing, but somehow, this felt nice. They were dancing to a very legato, flowing, orchestral piece. People were moving in the same motion and direction as they were, listening as the music grew louder, in a large crescendo, peaked by a large cymbal crash, before falling into a beautiful, quiet, woodwind melody. It was so quite Emily could almost hear the fire crackling in the massive hearth behind the lounge chairs.

            “How are you Emily? Your husband doing well?” Arthur was the one to initiate the chit-chat.

            “Quite well, thank you for asking. My husband is well, though I do not know how he is enjoying his business in Philadelphia. I do hope he is enjoying himself.”

            “Oh, I’m sure he is.” He looked over Emily’s shoulder. His face contorted in a frown.

            “What is it, Mr. Portimer?”

            “Ronald Mark.”

            “What about him?” Emily was clearly confused. Perhaps it was some business scuffle. No, they were in different businesses; she was sure her husband had said that.

            “He has been all over poor Miss VanBlutheran all night. And his wife is ignoring him. And her husband doesn’t seem to notice.”

            “Or she hasn’t even realized it. That would be Amelia.” Emily tried the joked, and it elicited the right response, because Arthur laughed.

            “That man is vile, sometimes. No respect, no morals. I always thought Amelia could do better.” Emily was stunned. She did not know how to talk to her friend about this, or if she even should. Was this all a joke to tease her? Maybe it was just the stupor that Mr. Mark was in at the moment. But she couldn’t be sure. Now she needed to make sure nothing happened. She didn’t want to take the chance. She couldn’t bear to see Amelia hurt. Just as she thought that, the song ended, and the audience clapped for the musicians. She turned around to see Ron lead Mrs. VanBlutheran away out of the crowd.  

            “I’m sorry, I must attend to something, Mr. Portimer. It has been a pleasure.”

            “Nay, it was all mine, my dear Miss Swant. Hurry along, quickly.” She stopped at his words. He probably knew what she planned to do, or at least, she was convinced that he did. She left the crowd, just in time to see Ron and Tessa exiting the living room, to a side room. She could see a little resistance in Tessa, but she was no match to Mr. Mark. Emily, removing her heels, walked rather quickly over to the door that was still ajar.

            Ron and Tessa were seated at a cluster of chairs, in a room nearly one fifth the size of the living room. There was a pool table, and a bar along the far right wall. The walls were paneled in wood, and there were a few, live plants in random corners of the room. The fire place was going, and the room was empty except for the two of them. Tessa was trying to get away from Ron’s grip, but his was iron clad. He was trying to get her to sit on his lap, trying to kiss her neck.

            “C’mere! I just wanna say hi, baby!” Tessa, as quiet as Emily had known her to be in the few minutes of knowing her, silently struggled against this. Emily was horrified, both at the repulsion of what she was seeing and the treachery of her best friends husband. Emily innocently walked into the room, walking around in circles until she saw them, and gave a slight exclamation.

            “Oh!” she exclaimed. Mr. Mark froze as soon as he saw Emily, and sat up, releasing his grip enough so that Tessa could slide out. Tessa stopped when she approached Emily, and there were tears smearing her make-ups. Emily was struck with emotion, and nearly started crying, and simply kissed her on the cheek, and ushered her out of the door. She then turned to Mr. Mark. He was behind the bar, making himself another drink. She knew he was vile, and mean. But his actions were definitely attributed to the alcohol.

            “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find her later.” He uncorked more brandy and poured an excessive amount into a glass.

            “No, you won’t.”

            “’Scuse me?” His beady eyes looked menacing, and she knew she was playing with fire by poking this drunken man.

            “Yes, you need to leave her alone.”

            “Gimme one good reason to, and one good reason not to slap you across the face right now.” Emily was breathing heavily. If she had had her husband here, she could have had him settle the matter. But, he wasn’t here. She needed to think, fast. She knew she couldn’t let it be. Tessa’s husband was paying no attention to her, and Amelia none to her husband. And she feared to tell them, or at least, Amelia. This would continue unless she did something. Out of the blue, she let the shawl fall from her arms and hit the floor. Mr. Mark froze. She walked towards him seductively, letting down her hair, revealing long, beautiful brown hair, which curled slightly at the ends. She saw the smile grow on his face as he grabbed her on the waist and pulled her to his mouth. His breath was hot and reeked of booze, and it took all she could to keep up the performance and not vomit. Her husband hardly ever drank, and she was not accustomed to this smell. He was vicious in his assault. As he made to undo her dressed, her hand stopped him.

            “Perhaps somewhere more private? Like a bedroom.” He looked at her and smiled.

            “I like your thinking.” He let go of her and made for the door, finishing half his brandy as he did. “Upstairs bedroom. Third on the right from the main staircase. And don’t get lost, eh?”

            Emily stood there, stunned at what had just happened. Had she really let herself do that? She felt sick to her stomach, and she crouched down, and stood there for a few moments, reeling in shock at her actions. She had gotten herself in too far, and that was the only thing she could have thought of to get out of it. She stood up and went to the door, and walked away from the crowd, and into a vacant bathroom. The light came on when she flicked on the switch, and stared at herself. Her hair was frizzled, and she did her best to put it back to the way it was before, but a few stray hairs stuck out; noticeable, but the best that she could do. She took a deep breath and left the bathroom, with the intent to find Amelia.

            As she walked towards the crowd again, she was ambushed by the very person that she was seeking, Amelia. But, she did not get the same, friendly greeting she was expecting. Instead, she shoved her against the wall. Her usually spirit was gone, now an empty vessel of anger. Her eyes were wide and glistening.

            “How… DARE… you!” She bared her teeth as she hissed these words.

            “Amelia, what…what are you talking about!”

            “How DARE you!” She repeated. “You, my best friend, try to seduce my husband!” Emily froze. She knew instantly what had happened, and had neither an idea nor any way to remedy the situation.

            “Oh no. Amelia, please listen to me! It’s not…” CRACK! Amelia slapped Emily across the face, the pain searing through her face. Emily crumpled to her knees, leaning against the wall, as she began to sob from the pain and the humiliation. Amelia glared at her for a few minutes, before walking away. Emily sat there, sobbing into her hands, not wanting to show her face to anyone. She felt so vulnerable. She had tried so hard to help, only to be beaten and kicked while down. As she sat there sobbing, she heard a pair of footsteps come over to her. She did not want to look up. She did not want to allow her face to be seen. She felt a hand on her arm, helping her up, until she was face to face with the grin of Ron Mark.

            “Feeling alright there, pretty?” Emily sobbed and wrenched herself from his grip and walked towards the crowd. She lost herself amongst them, trying to find an open chair, and finally, she found one. Mrs. Portimer were seated in two chairs next to the one she chose, one for her to sit on and one for her legs. She had moved since she last saw her talking to Miss. Johan. But as soon as she sat down, she rose. The floral chairs released the tension in the cushions and rose up as they left the seat.

            “Emily, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. How could you do that to poor Amelia! To think, you of all people!” Mrs. Portimer was in hysterics, led on by her traditional views of society. Emily sobbed even harder. The news was spreading like a wildfire. She felt her reputation slipping from her grasp, and suddenly realized that she actually cared about what people thought of her, and brought on more tears. She had married her husband because she was the kind of person she thought she was. Not self-absorbed. But as she thought about the events, she found herself fearing for what others would think of her rather than what her friend was feeling at this moment. A waiter in a white suit carrying a silver platter with crystal glasses of champagne walked by. She could hea ther clinking of the soft crystal glasses. She immediately rose, took a glass and engulfed it, barely tasting the oversweet liquid she had let slid down her throat. She grabbed two others and walked away from Ms. Portimer, leaving her stunned, and downing another glass as she made for the exit.

            As she sat in the frigid night on the cold steps, her makeup smeared like Tessa’s, her empty glasses next to her, and slightly drunk, she continued to cry. It was obvious she couldn’t even listen to what she told herself. She wanted to be a part of this social scene, one that she was so used to being a part of. She tried to wipe the tears away, but they were already caked to her cheeks from the cold. She decided that it would be time to leave, and rose to try to walk to her chauffer, and found that she had difficulty walking.

            The door opened behind her, and to her dismay, Mr. Mark came stumbling out, drunker than ever, and the next thing she knew, he had flung his entire weight on top of her, knocking them both into the bushes, flattening several flower beds. Thorns tore at her dress. She felt him working with the thorns, both of the tearing at her dress every which way. Everything happened so fast. Despite his attempts to stifle her screams, it did not go unnoticed. She suddenly felt the pressure leave her, like some great relief being lifted from her conscious. There were some screams and the crack of bone and the sound of someone falling to the pavement, and then silence. Emily’s head was spinning, and she couldn’t get herself up from the rose bushes. She felt someone pull her up, and tried to resist until she saw that it was Arthur. He had a deep sympathetic look in his eyes, and she flung herself into his arms, and sobbed. He only spoke two words.

            “I know.” He helped her to her car, and rode with her home. She sobbed for a few more minutes, before either passing out from the alcohol or simply falling asleep from exhaustion.

 

            The next morning dawned clear and cold, with a layer of frost on the grass outside of Emily and her husband’s country home. She had come to stay here while her husband was away on business, because Amelia’s home was very close to it. She was in her bed, still in her dress from the night before, an awful nausea sweeping over her. The room was bright and cold, and Emily simply wanted to slip back under the covers and escape the day. But she remembered how she had come home, and the kindness of Arthur Portimer, which couldn’t be forgotten. She pulled the goose-down comforter away from her, exposing her legs to the cold room, which was absent of a fire in the hearth. The shades around the canopy bed were pulled closed, and put the room in a haze. The bookshelves, the chairs, the desks, all of it. Or perhaps that was her own sight. She climbed out of bed, determined to phone Mr. Portimer and thank him, when there came a knock on her door. It was Edith, her maid. Emily opened the door slowly.

            “Ms. Swant?”
            “Yes, what is it?”

            “I have a message here for you. They phoned earlier this morning, but I told them that you were not well, so they left a message.”

            “Who is it from?”
            “Ms. Mark, ma’am.” Emily’s face flushed. It could have been embarrassment, or perhaps anxiety to see what was written. Edith handed her the note.

            “Thank you, Edith.” She nodded and left the room. Emily stared at the unopened note for some time, sitting on a loveseat by the large bay window that opened up to the lake just to the north. The trees were bare of leaves, and caked in frost as well. The trees were silent under it all, unable to do anything to stop the frost. Emily stared out at it for several minutes, or maybe hours. Either way, it only felt like minutes. The tea that Edith had placed on an end table was growing cold, and remained untouched. She was rather enjoy the unforgiving landscape for some time, much to her surprise. The sun was pale and illuminated every grain of frost. Finally, her eyes hurt too much from it and she returned to the note. She stared at it and stared at it, contemplating. She couldn’t forget anything that had happened the night before.

            Finally, she ripped the pale paper up and threw it in the fireplace, to be burned at a later time. She hesitated for a moment before suffering the letter to its fate. She poured herself a cup of cold tea with a lemon wedge and returned to her spot on the cushioned loveseat, watching out the window as the unforgiving ruled the helpless.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[CHRIS ANDES]

nice and true!!