The Love of My Afterlife(57)
Cooper nudges me with his arm and points in the direction of another Gatsby and Daisy. I spot two more talking to each other by a table with an ice sculpture of a chubby cherub reading a thick storybook. Amongst the Daisys and Gatsbys there’s an Adam and Eve, a Justin and Britney, an Elton John and David Furnish, and a Julia Child and Paul Cushing Child.
“Where is he?” I mutter as I stand on my tiptoes and search for Jonah. “I should go and, you know, circulate. Try to find him. The longer we’re here, the more chance we have of getting thrown out. He might be in a back room or something.”
Cooper sips his champagne, appearing fully at home in this environment. A woman dressed as Elizabeth Taylor walks past, looking Cooper up and down. She gives him a coquettish little grin. Cooper holds his glass up to her, his eyes glinting like a wolf.
“I said I’m going,” I repeat. “To find Jonah.”
He’s still got his eyes on Elizabeth Taylor as he nods. “Happy hunting,” he says distractedly.
I’m immediately pissed off.
“I’m not hunting,” I tut, wiggling uncomfortably because the torn spandex has rolled up and is now really digging into the tops of my thighs. “I’m doing my duty to a poor man with venereal disease! Has it ever occurred to you that some of us want more than a string of bodies to fuck without ever knowing their names?”
Cooper blinks and glares down at me, the tips of his ears turning red. His eyes fix onto mine. “I’m sure Jonah will be very pleased to see you looking so…good, Delphie. Very good.”
I press my hands to my chest and fake a swoon. “Good Very Good! What a wonderful compliment, Cooper. Thank you for boosting my confidence. No wonder these women find you irresistible with flattery like that.”
God. I don’t even care what he thinks anyway. He probably only agreed to help me so he could find some kinky costumed rich girl to bring home tonight.
I guzzle the rest of my champagne before taking Cooper’s glass from his hand and draining what’s left inside it. Then I hand him back both empty glasses and march off into the centre of the ballroom to find Jonah.
* * *
I have hovered around eight or nine little groups of people, trying to figure out if any one of them is Jonah. I’m having no luck at all, though. It doesn’t help that a bunch of guests are wearing wigs, most of them actively in disguise. What if Jonah was hired to dance in costume? I’ll have no chance of finding him!
No. Remain positive. You’ve come this far, Delphie. He’s here. He has to be. And once you find him, everything is going to be okay.
I grab another flute of champagne for myself, and one to give to Jonah when I find him. I venture toward the hallway in search of a makeshift dressing room, but just as I’m about to leave the ballroom, the band stops playing. The tap of a microphone echoes, followed by the tinkly tones of a voice that makes my stomach drop to my knees. A voice I never ever wanted to hear again.
I spin around, the room shuddering a little due to either the champagne or the shock, I don’t know.
Standing on the stage, dressed, of course, as Marilyn Monroe in the pink dress from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, is Gen Hartley. Beside her lumbers Ryan Sweeting, a little thicker-set than he used to be but still objectively handsome, especially dressed as Joe DiMaggio in full vintage baseball garb. Surprise, surprise: he’s still a jock.
I take a deep breath and try to steady my heart, but the chime of her voice, so pretty and melodic, feels like someone has taken a ladle and is scooping out my insides bit by bit.
“And as you know, it’s been an honour to host this event tonight on behalf of Lady Derwent, who is somewhere out there!” Gen shades her eyes from the glaring lights and gazes out over the crowd, waving as the audience claps for Lady Derwent, wherever she may be. “And as always Lady Derwent and I have chosen the most deserving of causes for us all to lend our support to this evening. Ditch the Bullies helps provide training and support for schoolteachers so that they are better able to protect our children against bullying, which now, with the advent of social media, is as prevalent as it’s ever been.”
An anti-bullying charity? My hunched shoulders soften a little. Is this Gen’s way of trying to make amends somehow? Does she feel guilty for what she put me through?
“I myself was deeply affected by the trauma I endured at the hands of others during my time at high school in West London,” Gen continues. “Pranks, exclusion, psychological warfare. So much so that I left the area. It was only recently—with the help of my husband and my own two precious little ones—that I had the courage to return when the opportunity to buy my beloved childhood home became available. It was challenging to come back. But I knew it was where I belonged.”
Beside her, Ryan rubs his wife’s shoulder, nodding sympathetically.
Are you fucking kidding me? She’s using my story as a way to ingratiate herself with these people? To make them think she was ever some kind of victim? She was the bully. She was the one doing the excluding and playing the pranks. The room tips slightly. I cannot feel this way again. I look down at my hands and try to focus on my prettily painted nails. But, of course, I can still hear Gen speaking in the altruistic tones of someone who has never put a foot wrong.
“The entertainment will continue with performances from John the Magician and Elbow the Singing Dog. In the meantime, please do follow the links on your digital tickets to the donation site and give all you can. We’ll do an announcement of the final tally in one hour. Esteemed guests, we’d love this to be our most successful gala yet. For the children. So if you hate bullying, prove it!”