dinner party (excerpt)

from a novel I'm rerouting

Soon enough, the peace Charlie had provided her was shattered. Every single guest bustled over to make themself known to her, wringing her sweaty hand and beaming eagerly at her; she could hardly remember any of their names. There was some relief when Silas came over to pat her shoulder and give her a funny little wink. “Do me a favor and don’t try to match Charlie’s predilection for alcohol tonight,” he teased. “You’ll end up in a stupor, and wake up like something dragged off the road.”

Eventually, Eleanora began to herd everyone out of the parlor and into the main dining hall. It was a relief to finally get on with it, but Anya was fairly sure she was sweating buckets. All of these people were now going to attempt to make conversation with her, and she hardly knew how to make conversation with people of her own stature. She hated making conversation, in fact, and didn’t have the option of storming out or making a fuss, which were her favorite options, and very useful ones. 

Charlie sat beside her at the table, smiling kindly and easily at her as the whole group of themselves lowered themselves into chairs on both sides of the immensely long table, Eleanora offering the seat at the head to Marion, who accepted with a gracious nod. This struck Anya as slightly unexpected, but to everyone else did not seem noteworthy.

Anya found herself fidgeting again and forced herself to stop, shoving her hands underneath her thighs as they waited, servants leaning over to unveil the food laid out on shining platinum plates. Her nerves evaporated in the instant the smells wafted her way, and she had to focus quite hard on not drooling all over the lovely tablecloth. 

“Before we begin,” Marion said, just as several guests had begun to reach for the food--Anya’s hand had just given a sad, unbidden little jerk, not with her permission-- “I would like to thank our guest for seeing herself to this lovely manor tonight, and for agreeing to play an imperative role in our cause. Thank you,” she said, turning to Anya and raising a slim glass of glossy purple drink, dipping her head. Anya tried to replicate the gesture, and the rest of the table raised their glasses in turn. “I hope we can be of service to you, in turn.”

“Let’s eat!” Silas exclaimed from somewhere near the back of the room, to the general amusement of the company. Charlie chuckled a bit and started to serve herself, and Anya followed suit with great pleasure.

*
As it turned out, Charlie seemed to take it upon herself to occupy most of Anya’s attention for the dinner’s duration. Anya was grateful, as her conversation with the other, older guests was limited; despite this, she wasn’t entirely sure about Charlie. She spoke eloquently, and from afar looked well-put together; face to face, her clothes were rumpled as if she’d slept in them, her hair rebelling against its severe combover. She spoke with unfamiliar words that went right over Anya’s head, and rambled about automobiles and the difficulties of figuring out how to make one stay up in the air, sounding sort of insane. She also had downed probably half a bottle by then, despite the fact she’d definitely had more than one little serving in the parlour of that bubbly stuff.

Dessert came around; iced fruits, covered in a cold sweet sauce, dusted with a saccharine powder. Anya ate hers in about three bites.

There was lingering conversation, and some sticklers still licking the sauce off their spoons, so the meal dragged on. At last people began to lay their dinnerware aside and put on their light summer coats. Charlie hefted her own over her shoulders, and said to Anya, “Walk me out, won’t you, Miss Rodriguez?”

Bemused, Anya nodded reluctantly, and followed her out of the dining hall. She darted glances over her shoulder to see if Silas or Eleanora or Marion would see and tell her to come back or something of that variety.

“It’s fine, they won’t notice,” Charlie said, leaning down to speak in her ear, startling Anya. She took a sharp turn away from the other guests. “We’re going out the back way.

“Why is that?” Anya said, suspicious, and also remembering what had happened with Silas earlier that day. 

“I want to show you something,” Charlie said, and Anya stopped walking, eyes narrowing to very suspicious slits. Charlie turned to look at her, a bemused smile taking shape at each end of her mouth. “What is it?”

“Earlier today,” Anya began, crossing her arms over her deplorably waistcoat-less front, “Silas nearly trapped me in that creepy hidden cellar of his. So you’ll forgive me if I’d like to know if you’re planning to teach me some sort of life lesson or lock me up somewhere, or whatever you have planned, specifically.”

Charlie laughed, and moved to stand beside Anya, putting a loose arm around her shoulders. She smelled very strongly of sweet alcohol. “Silas is a weird old freak, isn’t he? No, Anya. I just thought I’d show you the best spot in town tonight, if you’d feel so inclined to join me. And then I thought I’d show you the automobile, like I promised.”

“Alright,” Anya said, relaxing just slightly and shrugging her arm off of her. “You’re not trying to ask me out, are you?”

Charlie laughed even harder at that. “What’s made you so suspicious of me?”

“You would be too, after everything that’s happened in the last month,” Anya muttered, and started walking again. Charlie knocked their shoulders together a little clumsily, although because of the alcohol or just to be teasing Anya couldn’t really tell.

*

Charlie owned a beaten old automobile not unlike Silas’, although it seemed to run a lot smoother, and she called it Roberto. She said that she’d tampered with it a little herself, and for the most part it didn’t cause her any trouble. Uptown looked even more foreign in the dark, only visible from the seldom glares of headlights and the yellow lamps leaning imperiously over them from the sidewalk. The tires bumped over the stone streets, and Charlie turned down an alleyway, parking and unlocking the doors. Unlike Silas, she left Anya to let herself out. 

They walked out from the alley, where a few other automobiles were resting in the shadows, and around the corner into another, which ended abruptly in a gritty stone wall. Charlie felt around until she found one jutting rock, and curled her fingers around it, pulling.

Anya watched, confused but attentive, as the wall broke open into a door, swinging to reveal colorful, mellow lighting and the sounds of voices.  Her eyes widened, and Charlie took her by the arm, pulling her inside.

“Welcome to Dara’s Place,” she said, that calm but eager smile on her lips. “Why don’t we get ourselves a drink?”

The place was swinging, alive. There was a dance floor, but it was empty, as there was no music being played; the stage, though, was high above the floor, and many instruments were placed fastidiously upon it with an extremely large, ornate lyre in the center, looking like it was carved meticulously from bone. Despite the lack of music, it was full of chatter; people were lounging around in flashy garments that just straddled the line between tasteful and risque, touching and leaning in to speak, sipping colorful drinks and things out of glass bottles, eating small finger foods and laughing at each other’s jokes.

“Charlie!” someone called, from the bar, and she leads Anya there, ordering a couple bottles to go. 

“Can’t drink right now,” Charlie murmured, “gotta be sober enough to drive you to my work and back. I wanted to show you my flying automobile.”

Anya forgot to answer, still staring around the room. Charlie nudged her gently with her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice low and amused. “I’ll take you back here soon.” She took their drinks, and they walked out.

Charlie didn’t touch her drink or talk as she drove, concentrating on the road. Anya drank a decent amount of her own; it was bitter and harsh when it hit the back of her throat, likely some kind of mead. 

They arrived at a small field, the tall grasses swaying in the wind, sullied by the darkness but flashing in the moonlight. There were no lamps, and it was quiet. Anya began to grow suspicious again, even through the haze of inebriation; she really couldn’t hold her liquor. 

“Are you completely sure the flying automobile isn’t just some weird one-liner?” she asked, getting out of the automobile. Charlie was already there, staring at the sky from the edge of the field, her drink still inside the thing untouched, hands in her pockets and posture exquisitely relaxed. She turned her head to smile at Anya, and Anya found that she actually did like her even in spite of how pretentious she was when she talked. Her begrudgingly handsome face was darkened by nighttime, but her eyes glowed like twin moons pinned into her sockets, flashing behind the lenses of her glasses.

“You don’t believe I’m making one?”

Anya hiccuped. Then she grinned sloppily, and shook her head. “Prove it,” she entreated.

Charlie raised her eyebrows, which were as unruly as her hair, and pushed aside the grasses, and Anya quickly followed where they had been parted. They made whispering sounds in the slight summer breeze, raucous as they plowed through them, and she could just barely make out the hazy silhouette that was Charlie, barrelling forward ahead of her.

“Where are we going?” Anya called hoarsely. Charlie didn’t answer, but she saw a shape outlined against the inky sky; a squat, box-like shed was propped above the grasses, which brushed on the front porch hopefully.

“Here we are,” Charlie called, and hurried up the front steps, Anya on her heels. It was built of old wood, and smelled of it. The doorknob was wire, like the one to Anya’s room, but much more practical in appearance; Charlie pushed it open.

“This place is really quite old,” Charlie explained. “Hardly anything works. It’s very quiet over here, though. The quiet gets my thoughts to come easier.”

Anya nodded. There was, indeed, a large, oblong-shaped automobile sort of things, and several parts taking up most of the floor space. Charlie flicked on a lamp and Anya had to shut her eyes, pressing her fingers into them; it was very suddenly bright, and she was starting to feel dizzy.

“Sorry,” Charlie said. “I should’ve warned you. But here she is.”

Blinking rapidly, Anya told her how impressive it was, in some form of the phrase. She was decidedly drunk.

“Thanks,” said Charlie. Her face looked soft, and thoughtful, as she considered the metal taking up the most of the room. In one of the furthest corners was a very rudimentary cot of sorts. “I’ve been at it for a few summers now.”

“Did you work on it during finishing school?” Anya asked, frowning. The other woman didn’t look that much older than her; she looked as though she should have graduated only a summer or two before.

“No.” Charlie looked away from the plane, her gaze settling back on Anya. “I started finishing school when I was about fifteen. I’ve been out for some time now.”

“What?” Anya frowned. She didn’t know that was possible.

“Yeah,” Charlie shrugged. “My parents insisted.”

“Did you not like school?”

“It was all right.” Charlie seemed done with the subject, so Anya didn’t ask her anything more. Instead she stared at the flying automobile for a while, at its wings, which were separated into pieces all spaced around the floor, in rigid arcs arched away from the awkwardly shaped body, stretching right up to the tips of her toes as she stood.

“I should get you back,” she said after a while, scuffing her shoe on the musky floor. “Eleanora will be worried.”

“All right,” Anya conceded. Charlie switched the light off as they went, and they swam through the fieldgrass once more.