Chapter 18: The Party

She didn’t think it such a terrible idea to attend the gathering at Paul’s that evening, considering that the money supporting her fatherless children came directly from him. Paul never asked for sex or anything like that, but lately he had been acting a bit strangely towards her by insisting she do things she normally wouldn’t do. Just last month, in fact, he convinced her to walk in the gardens adjacent to the capital building with some of the male friends he introduced her to, and then, when their exaggerated descriptions of faraway lands, distant adventures, and military conquests made her yawn in the urbane affectation reserved only for the horniest of them, she would lead them back to their apartments and sacrifice her body to their ever-expanding egos until the hot morning dawn made it too uncomfortable for her to get a good night’s sleep. And then, like an abandoned animal, she would walk back to her place amidst the muted stares and offhand insults of the Republic’s poorest citizens who hawked their wares in the desperate city streets.

In fact, she was invited to the party by Theresa, Paul’s wife. She hadn’t seen Paul in over a week or so, and suspected that he had turned gay since their last encounter, or at least he was so uninterested in her sexually nowadays that the only real reason for sharing her with his friends was to grease his own steady social climb. Paul had always been an opportunist this way, and there was no telling when he would smile at her the way he did when they first met several years ago. But Theresa always cheered her up, and she would accompany her to the party even if Paul was too busy to escort her on his own. Who else but Theresa would have given her so much comfort after so many years of sorrow?

She looked herself over in the mirror and figured that she didn’t look bad for a widow with four children, and maybe she even looked good enough to make love to a man without Paul ordering her to do so. Either way, the kids had to eat, and Theresa, fanning herself in the cabriolet downstairs, couldn’t be kept waiting just because her children didn’t want her to leave. Perhaps Theresa would stick it to Paul on her behalf.

A woman only had so much energy during the hot, midsummer months, and she missed the simple act of going out on a casual date with a guy who didn’t demand sex. She did, after all, count on the likes of Paul and Theresa for her very survival, and she knew it too risky to question them about anything they ordered her to do. Question them, and she would again wind up in the streets with the very delinquents who had caused all of her misery in the first place. She’d rather do the party circuit than be a slave to loud rebels waving flags, beating their drums, dressing like fairies, and smelling like sewer rats. Such was the nature of political soirees – there was always a rebellion brewing just outside their closed doors, and it really didn’t matter who served whom, because even the wealthy had to serve somebody. Her circle of friends just happened to look better doing it.

She kissed her children goodnight and handed them off to the nanny. She rode off with Theresa in the mosquito-laden heat, laughing and gossiping the entire way there. The warmth of the evening wetted the facades of the beige stone walls they passed, and Paul’s apartment was already crowded by the time they arrived.

Tobacco smoke from long brass pipes and the acrid, fungal scent of spoiled red wine filled the spaces between fastidious men and cultured ladies chit-chatting and munching on hors d’oerves. She and Theresa sat on vintage maroon lounge chairs apart from the action, hoping not to be noticed, as they were having way too much fun ridiculing those who put on their best airs for a party that would ultimately sink into debauchery.