Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever (good non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

Mario looked across the ballroom of the San Jose Woman’s Club. Ladies draped in diamonds sparkled in the candlelight, so bejeweled that the brilliant reflections glinted off the vaulted ceiling and arched windows. Men in tuxedos strutted, bejeweled beauties on their arms. A faint whiff of cigar smoke wafted through the windows from where the smokers congregated outside.

Funny how not smoking indoors stuck when so many other things didn’t, he thought.

The speeches were over, thank fucking God. Servers began to thread their way among the tables, serving real coffee. Soon the Valley’s high society would dance the night away in celebration of Agreement Day.

“I used to love this building,” Mario sighed.

His brother, Dominic, leaned closer. “And now you don’t?”

“It’s irrevocably associated with Agreement Day Galas.”

“Hang in there, big brother,” Dominic said, clapping Mario on the shoulder as he stood. “You’re finally in the big leagues. Don’t give up yet.”

Mario watched his younger brother work the room. Whatever it was that helped Dominic mingle and joke so effortlessly, he did not have it. But Dominic liked these people. Dominic even liked some of their fellow council members, who were about as likable as pit vipers. Dominic liked the power and being important. Mario had resisted admitting it to himself, but his brother was just as corrupt and immoral as the rest of them. At least their parents were not alive to see it.

Mario pushed back from the table and began to work the room himself, his smiles calculated, compliments insincere. He scanned the room for his wife. The witching hour was fast approaching and she’d be getting twitchy. He wanted to get her out of here before she got completely hammered.

When he finally located her, his heart sank. She was seated at a table, her head tilted so she could better hear her companion, Father Walter Brennan. Walter’s shadow, Father Doug Michel, was also at the table, laughing at whatever Walter had said. Mario did not begrudge Emily her friendships with the Jesuits. He was actually impressed that she had managed to pull it off. But it left him feeling alone, no use denying it. He could never just sit down at a party and shoot the shit with them. Never again. As the years wore on, the weight of it got heavier. Lately, he thought it would crush him.

He worked his way close enough to eavesdrop as he watched them from his peripheral vision without them noticing him.

“Are you staying long enough for me to get a dance?” Emily asked Walter.

“No, my dear. I’m off as soon as they finish serving the coffee.”

Emily’s face pursed into a pout. “That’s no fun at all. You really should stay a little longer.”

Emily prattled on about the children and her charity commitments, looking every inch the rich and pampered high society wife in her shimmery black gown and upswept blond hair. She had already blown past the checkered flag at the alcohol races, Mario realized. Attending the Agreement Day Gala was the only time Emily ever left Palo Alto. Usually the intoxication that made it possible was not so obvious.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” she exclaimed, startling the server pouring coffee into Walter’s cup. “I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to the man. A moment later, she called out, “Honey, come here!”

Shit.

Mario turned as if surprised by the summons.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” he said as he approached. He settled his hands on Emily’s smooth shoulders as he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

“Here I am,” Emily said.

Mario straightened and nodded to the priests. “Walter, Doug. Good to see you.”

The temperature dropped twenty degrees when Doug said, “It’s never good to see you, Mario.”

Mario could feel the stares. Anyone within earshot strained to hear every word, commit to memory every facial expression of this interaction between Councilman Mario Santorello and the Santa Clara Jesuits. To witness the legendary enmity in action was an unexpected and juicy prize.

Walter shifted in his seat. Mario sympathized. For an introvert such as Walter, being the center of attention had to be intensely uncomfortable, never mind finding himself smack-dab in the middle a potential public spat.

Emily ignored the hostile postures and asked, “When are you letting Connor out of quarantine, Father Walter? Couldn’t you have made an exception for long-lost family just this once?”

“You know I can’t, but he can leave campus in a few days. Say, why don’t you come stay the night? Then you won’t have to wait.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Emily said, trying to laugh it off, but there was no levity in her voice.

Mario leaned over, close to her ear. “You’re always saying how you miss our old stomping grounds.”

“Come on, Em,” Doug said. “You’ll have a great time. Maybe we nab some of this coffee that I’m enough of a hypocrite to always stay for.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head as she searched the room around them. She looked trapped. Not yet in a full-blown panic, but far more alarmed than the suggestion of a night away from home should cause. She lifted her hand to a server carrying a bottle of champagne, then turned her attention back to the priests. “Liquid courage is the only thing that gets me through this. I couldn’t stay drunk the whole time.”

“Sure you could,” said Doug. “Brother Paul’s working on a ten-year buzz.”

“Doug!” Walter admonished, looking scandalized.

Mario couldn’t smother the laughter that bubbled up inside him. Doug looked at him with such hostility that he had to work hard to keep the grin on his face. He could not let them get the better of him in public, but he had to get away, before this hurt too much. He’d been indulgent, deciding to join them when he should have ignored Emily’s summons.

Emily shook her head. “The kids need me,” she said before drinking her champagne in two gulps. She had grabbed the entire bottle from the server. Mario refilled her glass under Walter’s reproving frown.

Doug finished the last of his coffee as the band started playing and stood up.

“If I never see you again, Santorello, it will be too soon, but your wife is another story.” He turned to Emily, his hand outstretched. “Come on, Em. Let’s dance.”

Emily finished her champagne as she stood, then smiled, game face firmly affixed. She kissed Mario on the cheek as she took Doug’s hand.

“We can go whenever you want,” Mario said to her.

“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m going to dance with Doug first.”

Mario watched them make their way to the dance floor. Doug held Emily’s waist, managing her fragile grip on her balance so expertly it was almost invisible.

“I’ll be going now,” Walter said, rising, his tone stiff with public courtesy.

“Say a prayer for me?” Mario asked, feeling insolent and angry, which was ridiculous. Why the hell was this bothering him so much?

“Even I have to draw the line somewhere, Mario.”

Walter walked away as the titters and whispers began to sweep through the onlookers. Point, set, and match to the Jesuit. It surprised Mario, how much the insult smarted. He turned to the people seated at the table behind him, which included two other members of the Council.

“Some people never get over losing.”

They all laughed, but Mario could tell that they had enjoyed his comeuppance. He made his way to the bar, got a bourbon neat, and headed for the kitchen. In contrast to the ballroom, the kitchen was bright and frantic, as cooks shouted and chopped behind billows of steam, servers rushing in and out. No one paid him any attention as he left the kitchen for the service stairs.

If he hurried, he might catch him.

Slowly, he opened the door to the second floor, looking down the hallway to make sure it was deserted. He hugged the wall as he passed the main staircase, with its peacock green