At some point, apparently having run out of options, Elizabeth made her way back to me. I was alone momentarily—I had just finished talking with a new contract actor from Perennial—when she appeared at my side. She was holding a martini and her eyes had assumed the glaze they often did on long nights of drinking. “What a fabulous party,” she said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I hope you’re having as great a time as I am.”
I took the drink away from her to keep her from spilling it. “You should slow down a little, Elizabeth, don’t you think?”
“Why?” she asked, glaring at me. “I’m not hurting anyone. You think I should be a teetotaler like Nora, don’t you? The prissy little bitch.” She screwed up her face when she said Nora’s name, and I was angry on the young girl’s behalf.
“Nora’s a very sweet girl,” I said. “And she’s never done anything to you.”
“Never done …” She looked at me sharply, then let out a bitter laugh. “Give me a break, Jun. Do you know how many roles she’s gotten this last year—roles that should have been mine? Do you realize what they’re doing to me? And now, as if that isn’t bad enough, she’s trying to take Ashley too.”
At this her eyes welled, and I suddenly felt sorry for her. “Elizabeth,” I said gently, placing my hand on her shoulder. I had touched her this way a thousand times, but now, in the presence of all my guests, she flinched and moved away. I felt it like a slap in the face.
I could not remain there with her, so I walked off to find Phillipe and check the status of the fireworks preparations. Tyler and Vail had disappeared, and I wondered if they had already left. There was no time to think about that, however; Phillipe said the men I’d hired to stage the fireworks show were ready to begin. Phillipe and two others went inside the house and turned off all the lights, while I instructed the guests to gather on the west side of the lawn, where chairs had been arranged for everyone to sit. Once the guests were settled, Phillipe turned off the out-side lights and we all sat still in the darkness. Across the wide space of my parklike grounds, we watched a twenty-minute display of explosions, swirls, blooming flowers of colorful light. The guests oohed and aahed at the firework that looked like a sprouting plant, which then put forth a burst of bright red petals; and again when one explosion produced a sprinkling of stars that blinked and glittered before they faded into the darkness. It was a wonderful display, ambitious for such a small setting, and when it was over, the crowd broke into a spontaneous cheer.
“Here’s to the fireworks!” someone called out.
“And here’s to Jun! To Jun Nakayama, for throwing such a wonderful party!”
Everyone shouted and cheered and raised their glasses, and I bowed to them with a flourish. The night had been a success. And despite all the complications, I now felt pleased with how everything had turned out.
The waiters circulated with bottles of champagne, and the guests gathered to receive their drinks. As I looked around the yard, I realized that Elizabeth was missing— and I did not remember seeing her before the fireworks had started. She might have left, which would not have been particularly surprising considering how upset she had been. More likely, given the amount of her consumption, she had simply slipped away somewhere to rest. She knew every room in the house and would have felt perfectly comfortable letting herself into a guest room or the library, or asking Phillipe to take her to my room. So after taking one last look around at the guests—who had all assumed the calmer rhythms of a long party winding down—I headed into the house to look for Elizabeth. I checked first in my own bedroom, which was undisturbed, and then in the downstairs library. I looked in the kitchen, in case she was getting something to eat, and then in the drawing room where she sometimes sat in front of the fire. Finding her in none of these usual spots, I ascended the back stairs and was surprised to encounter John Vail outside of one of the bedrooms, leaning against a wall and smoking a cigarette. His hair was slightly ruffled and his tie undone, and when he saw me, he appeared distinctly amused.
“Hello there, handsome,” he said. “Quite a party, isn’t it?”
We were standing in front of one of my many guest rooms. Sometimes when parties lasted late into the night, guests slept in this room to avoid returning home to angry spouses; sometimes two of them would stay here together. People had developed an understanding about this room over the years, and they knew that they did not have to ask my permission; that I’d know someone was taking advantage of this open invitation if the door to the bedroom was closed. It was closed now. And I could not understand why Vail was waiting outside, but I didn’t have time to inquire. “I’m not sure you want to do that,” he said as I placed my hand on the doorknob.
