DANTEIf Dante Bianchi knew one thing well, it was how to throw one hell of a party. Pam had been correct the day she said he had the look of a party boy. He knew that look: pretty, unconventionally pretty, well tended hair, gaudy jewelry, especially cuban bracelets and stringy necklaces, and most importantly, a tendency to clutch bottles by their necks.*He had learnt the art of it in college, living in a frat house with a bunch of wayward kids, all of whom came from money like him, but most of whom were spoilt brats, and most of whose parents were people made clean, legitimate money. Money that they did not have to hide. It was a difficult thing to be a thoroughly spoilt brat when one came from illegal money and had a father like Raymond Bianchi. However, even though he tried to stay focused in school because he was very aware that his mother would have wanted him to—the woman had been the first to go to college in her family, and had her degree laminated and plaqued, put up on the
JACKIEAnyone who had been a student at a college, any college at all, understood the first rule of parties: Do not, for the life of you, be obvious. Obtrusiveness could make any one, any one at all, seem like an imposter at the party. Even its host.This party, however, was better than any she had ever been to. Not the energy, no. There was money here that she had only seen around her father. There was lustre to the money too, not like the kind she had grown accustomed to in San Diego. Frat boys with obscenely wealthy parents driving obscenely expensive cars around campus; boys who shone like oiled wood, only on the outside. Their interiors were often drab and dull. Hollowed out. Jackie detested that sort of wealth, the sort that made people lose their personalities, the type that people built the entirety of who they were around. Even when she was little, Jackie had never wanted to be a mannequin like those boys were. A fixture who achieved nothing more than making bad
DANTEWhen he entered the small gathering, a man he did not quite recognize called out to him. 'Dante!'Dante shook the man's hands with a quizzical look. Under the scarlet mask, he could not make out the man's face.'You do not know me, but I knew your father,' this man told Dante. 'We were good friends, him and I.' He still had Dante's palm in his and he was pumping it vigorously.'It is good to know. Nice meeting you, Mr—''—Kanan. Kanan *Johnson.'Dante knew the name. Most people in the city did. It was the name of one of Queen's most notorious dealers I'm the 90s. The man had long since retired, Dante had heard. Left much of his work in the hands of others, and now, spent most of his time vacationing. It was life to aspire to, Dante thought. A life that made time for rest. A concept his father never seemed to have understood.Dante asked, 'You are the Kanan? I have heard things about you. You knew my father?''Da
ANDRENick Noah stood at the stairs overlooking his guests, holding a glass and a spoon in his hands. The sodding man was wearing a blue tux and a white dress shirt underneath that. The chandelier light reflected dimly on his head.Andre had taken one look at the buffet table and had gone looking for much stronger alcohol. Everything the party had to offer was light weight, rich people liquor. And no matter how wealthy Andre became, one thing he could never conform to was rich people alcohol. It made him feel like an imposter. It always did. Luckily, he had brought a small cask of whiskey which was in the breast pocket of his clothes, so he edged into a corner of the room and proceeded to extract it. He took small sips of the burning liquid as he watched the crowd.Nick knocked the spoon against the glass again and again and it made a sharp clanking noise. He had everyone's attention in a few moments.'Welcome!' He boomed. A cheer rose up to answer his salu
JACKIE'When was the last time you were at a party?' Jackie asked Dante as they walked the length of the hall together, walking so close to each other that their hands touched occasionally.'What?' Dante asked over the din of the music.'I said, when was the last time you were at a party?' She said again. 'A real party.'Dante had both hands in his pocket; he took one out and ruffled his hair in thought. 'When? I do not remember.'She laughed. 'That long ago?''It is not like I kept tabs. If there was a party, I just went. And then, one day I stopped.''Why did you stop?' Jackie asked. Dante was so tall, she had to look up at him. He had at least a head or two above Neil, and that, she thought, was really saying something.A masked woman sashaying past slid her hand down Dante's arm as she went. He smiled politely at her but never slowed his stride.'For one,' he said, 'I graduated college. And then, I started a club.'Jackie f
ANDREAndre liked to think that the worst things that could have happened to him had already happened. But when Nick and the crowd of onlooking mob bosses recognized Dante as one of them, Andre knew that Trent was just one of the incidents life had in store for him; that the worst was still a long time coming, that the world still had more in store for him.He stalked through the ball afterwards, barely able to contain the full width his anger. Somehow it seemed as though he had unwittingly handed even more power to the Bianchi boy than he had had the onset. In the process of trying to fix things, he seemed to only be making them much worse than they already were.He was at a corner of the room, leaning against a intricately designed Corinth-style column that stood tall in the ball room, watching the dance floor. To crown it all, Dante had found a woman, he was dancing with her. He was elated, if Andre was to tell by the look on his face.'You have any more
DANTEThe day that Dante returned to New York after his graduation, the first thing that he did was go to the Red Wolf Brooklyn. It was a small restaurant on 97 Wythe Avenue that his mother used to take him to, famed for its meat specialty. There was mezze, and there was meat and, of course, the best French fries that the entire city had to offer. At least, in his mother's opinion. The first few times that Dante had been there in that small, cramped space sizzling with aromatic spices, he had felt nausea. The meat was too seasoned he had said, and his father, Raymond, made a joke that it felt as though the air itself was seasoned. But they had gone at his mother's order, because that was simply the way that things were with them. The place had begun to grow on them and eventually, it became what his remembered his mother liked to call the ‘family spot’.Now as Imani parked the car in front of the building, he stared at it, wondering how in God's name he had made an impulse decision to
ANDREThe Torrents was still open when Andre left the masquerade ball—at least according to the crimson lights that still shone at the front and inside the bar. From outside, the CLOSED sign that hung at the door was quite visible.Andre pushed the door open and the door bell jangled_ announcing his arrival. He was quickly encircled by the tepid air in the bar, a temperate contrast from what was to be had outside the double doors. Andre had not walked five steps into the room when the almost noiseless tap of bare feet on floor came padding towards the front. There was a rustling and Gloria burst through the gaudy curtain that separated the main bar from the rest of the building.'You cant be in here now, I am sorry. The sign outside says we are closed, doesn't... oh.' Recognition light up in her eyes. 'Andre, it is you.'Andre had switched his formal clothes for street gear. He pushed down the hood of his sweatshirt. The weight of the fabric rested in his back.'Gloria,' he said simpl