Page 52 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“See that lady right there?”

The sudden sound of a voice and the feeling of someone’s face close to mine nearly made me come out of my skin. Turning my head to look for the source of the voice, my face nearly collided with one that belonged to someone I had never met before. Deep brown eyes and a wicked grin met me as I found myself staring into the round face of a man standing just behind me to my right. Where he had come from, I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t someone who had simply wandered in off the street when he saw that a party was in progress. He was dressed for the occasion and seemed comfortable in his surroundings, so it was likely I had not met him yet. However, with as many people as Peter had already introduced me to, it seemed odd that I had not laid eyes on this man at some point throughout the early evening.

“Pardon me?” I managed to stammer.

“Frenchie.” His grin widened at my reply. “You must be the man of the hour. I was pretty sure I was right.”

Who was this man?

“I—”

“See that lady over there?” He cut me off, his head flicking towards the opposite side of the room. “Dark hair, the brooch that is obviously paste, and the pocketbook that she refuses to set down for fear that someone will find out it’s faux instead of Fendi?”

“I—what?” I turned to look in the direction he had indicated. “Who?”

“For fuck’s sake.” He sighed; his mouth close to the side of my face. “Don’t be so obvious. That lady. Là-bas. See? In the corner talking to the three men? Red lipstick? Audrey Hepburn little black dress that’s seen the dry cleaner’s far too many times?”

My eyes went to the corner across the room and finally found the target. A woman with an Anna Wintour bob, lipstick that was startlingly red, heavily-lined eyes, and the aforementioned purse, was standing in the corner, cocktail in hand, carrying on an animated—and obviously flirtatious—conversation with three men. Two of the men I knew to be married, though they seemed to have forgotten their wives for the time being.

“That’s Lady FiFi Knobhouse, heir to the throne of Gang Bangs,” the man behind me whispered conspiratorially. “She was here when Peter threw a Halloween party a few years ago.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t help but grin at this ridiculous introduction.

The man moved in closer. I could practically feel his face touching mine as he looked over my shoulder.

“She came dressed as Scarlett O’Hara. Ya’ know? From Gone with the Wind? Anyway, this other guy—married, of course—came as Darth Maul. From Star Wars? He had one of those fake two-ended light-up lightsabers—for authenticity, I guess. The face paint wasn’t enough to get his point across, apparently. Well, they ended up in a room together with a few other guys, doing unspeakable things with Darth Maul’s accoutrement. Apparently, they got so enthusiastic that the lightsaber broke, totally ruining it, and Lady FiFi Knobhouse spent the night in the emergency room getting treated for chemical burns on her hoo-ha.”

“What?” I gasped, shocked at this stranger telling me such a lurid story.

“Yeah.” He sighed, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder as though we were old friends. “It was tragic really. I hear that due to the disgrace of such an incident, Lady FiFi had to abdicate her line to the throne to her younger brother, Sir Sloppy Knobhouse. It was a bloodless change of succession—except for the vial Lady FiFi gave at the hospital to be tested for all manner of sexually transmitted diseases, of course.”

“You lie.” I threw a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Believe what you want,” the man said. “Everyone still refers to that incident as the night the lightsaber went out in Georgia.”

Unable to control myself, my belly convulsed, and laughter poured from my mouth. My hand did no good in keeping my laughter from spilling forth. Obviously, someone laughing so uproariously spontaneously caused everyone in the room to turn to find the source of the noise which had disrupted their chic, yet profound conversations. With all eyes on me, most of them concerned or annoyed, I turned to my right, hoping the stranger would help me out of such an embarrassing predicament. But he was nowhere to be seen. Heat started to crawl up my face as I turned back to face all of the people who were slowly going back to their conversations, looking unsettled by what had happened. Obviously, I was now going to be branded a crazy person. Fortunately, Peter rescued me before my entire face turned as red as a tomato.

“Enzo.” He smiled at me, obviously having seen what happened, but pretending it was of no consequence. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you?” I asked with more irritation in my tone than I had intended.

“Of course.” He leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the lips. “I haven’t shown my amazing husband off to everyone yet.”

“Peter,” I mumbled as he slid his hand into mine, trying to pull me after him.

“What is it?” He stopped to lean in to speak with me more privately.

“I am…” I began, my eyes darting around the room, “I am…”

“Need a break? Want to go get something to drink?” He smiled warmly, understanding my intent. “Maybe raid the food table?”

“Please.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

Peter’s fingers were laced between mine, so he gave my hand a firm yet gentle squeeze, then lifted my hand to kiss the back of it. There was no way that I couldn’t smile at his effort to comfort me. Regardless of what I thought of the party and its attendants, Peter was still charming in the face of all of it.

“Come on, husband,” he murmured. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll get another drink and you can gorge on potstickers.”

My stomach grumbled loudly enough that Peter noticed. He glanced at my stomach before giving me a wink and dragging me away from the living room by my hand. Making our way through the dining room, Peter was stopped by a few of his friends, whom he was then forced to reintroduce me to before he chatted with them for a few moments. I did my best to look interested, though joining in on the conversations was still nearly impossible. Everything felt as though it was happening on a level I was still trying to scratch and claw my way to—another floor in a building where I was still stuck in the basement.