When We Were Bright and Beautiful(6)
“Anton!” I greet him as I climb out of the car. “You’re working late.”
“Miss Valmont is getting a facelift. I’m just here to ensure there’s no scarring.”
Dapper even at this hour in a European suit, silk tie, and pocket square, Anton grabs my bag and accompanies me inside. He communicates with his doormen, porters, valets, and security using earpieces. They look like well-dressed Secret Service agents, and are barely distinguishable from the residents, which is by design. Behind us, a valet is already moving the Porsche to a secure, climate-controlled parking lot underneath the building. Below our feet, a security team watches live footage of the grounds on a wall of monitors. Two guard stations sit at either end of the driveway. The Valmont is a fortress, which means my family is safe and protected, but we’re also prisoners.
Locked in step, Anton and I cross the marble lobby. Inside the elevator, I pull out a pack of Marlboros I’d stopped to buy at a bodega. “Smoke?” I ask Anton.
“Ah.” He shakes his head. “I’d love one, my dear, but I’m on the clock.”
“Fine. But here, take the pack. I bought extra.”
Once upon a time when I was twelve, Anton caught me smoking. He never told anyone, but over the years, we’ve developed a ritual: I offer him a cigarette, he politely declines, and I give him the pack. Residents and staff may coexist, but we don’t fraternize, so it’s our small moment of connection; and for me, a small act of rebellion. It would drive my parents nuts if they knew that I share a secret, however inconsequential, with a Valmont employee.
As Anton rides with me up to the fifth floor, I scrutinize his face, trying to figure out if he’s heard about Billy. His expression is blank, and his eyes, inky black pools, reveal nothing.
Anton is fifty-seven; he’s been with the Valmont forty-two years. His son Joey is twenty-four. During high school, he sorted packages for his father. Briefly, Nate and Joey were friends, and occasionally, Joey would stop by to play video games. When Anton found out, he went ballistic. High-end doorman positions are impossible to come by. They’re preserved in families for decades, handed down from father to son, uncle to nephew. Joey’s behavior was foolish. He not only jeopardized his own job, he also put his father’s career on the line.
“School okay?” Anton asks. “How’s Arabic coming?”
“Ana murie.”
“Which means what?”
“That I suck, basically. Dumbest move I ever made, taking this class.” I speak fluent French and enough Spanish to find the ladies’ room. When I finish my PhD, I plan to work overseas—assuming my family doesn’t rope me into their foundation. Either way, I want to be prepared. In the next fifty years, Arabic is projected to be one of the most commonly spoken global languages. “It’s harder than I thought, so I’m stupid and arrogant.”
He laughs. “You’ll get better. Stay focused and don’t look back. It goes quickly. Before you know it, you’ll be my age.”
“Oh please, Anton. You’re like a giant oak. If anyone’s gonna live forever, it’s you.”
Despite a mutual affection, Anton and I never depart from our assigned roles or scripted lines. Our conversation, while pleasant, is all surface and deflection. But don’t let this fool you. As a long-serving, high-ranking Valmont employee, Anton occupies a seat of power. Doormen may be invisible, but they’re all-seeing and all-knowing. They’re here and not here, like a conscience.
The elevator stops, and Anton makes a sweeping motion. “Welcome home, Cassie. We’ve missed you.” His tone is light, but he touches my shoulder and offers a fatherly squeeze. “Take care of yourself, dear girl.”
“Thank you, Anton.” Flashing a smile, I radiate well-bred confidence and nonchalance. “But I’m a survivor.” It’s Billy we need to worry about, I almost add. Except Nate told me to keep my mouth shut, so I step out of the elevator and into our foyer. I feel Anton observing my every move. Still, I say nothing. If he doesn’t know about Billy, I won’t be the one to tell him.
5
THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE UP TO AN OMINOUSLY QUIET house. It was just as quiet—and eerie—last night. By the time I got home, it was one-thirty. Nate had gone to his place, but Lawrence, my dad, always waits up for me. So when I stopped by the celebration room, expecting to find him, the empty space felt like a rebuke. Hours later, I heard padding footsteps outside my door. When they slowed, I thought it might be him, making sure I got in. But it was more likely Maeve, our housekeeper, who has family in Ireland she calls at odd times. Our house has four quadrants; and I have my own separate wing, with Maeve, on one side of the house. My brothers and parents are on the other side. Being far away used to frighten me, but as I got older, I relished the distance and solitude. To be fair, I’m sure my parents did too.
Being back here makes me ache for Billy. When we were little, the two of us were always together, playing on the terrace or cuddled up on the couch. We’re so close in age we liked the same TV shows and movies: Wonder Pets!, Elmo, SpongeBob, Disney. The only time we diverged was when I went through a pink princess phase, and Billy stayed loyal to Elmo. He dragged that scrubby red Muppet everywhere.
I’m a terrible sleeper, but must’ve dropped off at some point last night, because I dreamed that Billy and I were on the beach in Southampton. We were playing hide-and-seek in Hawkins Cove, but there was tension between us, and the mood was grim. Billy started to back away, so I tried to grab him, only his T-shirt was made of silk, and I couldn’t get purchase. To my horror, he slipped through my fingers and plunged over the side of a cliff, a ledge, something with a steep drop below. I woke up in a panic; and now, half-awake in my childhood bed, I’m flooded with feelings of loss and dislocation. Nothing seems real, as if time has rewound and I never left.