Chapter Six
The pride Albert Lloyd had felt about his son had dissipated as he gathered the facts about the Alyson Crawford tragedy. In his practice as a rainmaker and named partner of his firm, which he founded with three other disgruntled lawyers, Albert had come to the rescue of high profile clients. If Senator Seth Crawford had been his client, he would by now know the ins and outs of exactly what happened.
Not having the professional link to a story, which he instinctively knew would soon be sensationalized, he had to settle for figuring out what the exact role of his only child was on the matter. He owed it to his mother to see to it that he was shielded from trouble.
“Now is as good a time as any to start talking. This thing isn’t going to go away simply because you magically wished it away. Do you understand me?”
Keith had arrived in their modest home with his father and went to his room, which he hadn’t been in since the winter break. He went over everything that had happened. Seeing if he had left any trace that could be linked back to him. He still couldn’t believe he did what he did. Getting into the party itself was a major miracle. First going in as pretend servant of the caterer, then quickly changing his clothes, throwing his worn out jeans and shirt in the garbage bag.
By the time he changed into his black trousers and trench coat he borrowed from his roommate, he felt like he belonged to a different world. The mask completed the transformation into an invisible impostor. At first, worrying that all the people around him would notice how out of place he felt inside. Or, if they would see through his disguise. He avoided saying anything. Preferring to walk around as if he were a viscous fluid sloshing around in a container. Lingering long enough to listen in on conversations and absorb the incandescent flare of youthful infatuation.
Keith noticed there was a space for dancing and adjacent rooms where other things happened. Murmurs, screams, and moans filled the rooms. It seemed people were hooking up randomly with one another. He was surprised how easy it all seemed. Some sort of a signal exchanged to express interest or disinterest. In the dim lighting of the space, he couldn’t quite ascertain for a long while, which provided for ample opportunity to fuel his voyeurism.
In the mask he was wearing, he was his alter-ego. The invincible womanizer of immense skills. Irresistible and smooth. None of the qualities he had in his everyday life, but somehow magically acquired in his disguise and many months of study of Maxim and Cosmopolitan magazines. He felt he had covered both sides of the equation, with only his eyes and lips showing through the mask he wore. He mustered the courage to move to the dance floor after realizing part of the inhibition came from the realization that everyone at the party was from a select group. Pre-screened and validated for status. This wasn’t the typical club scene. This was a sophisticated and whimsical ball of delight and pleasure. The last bastion of freedom and intrigue before most of the seniors went off to face the world.
Keith loved that he could do away with the talking and simply move about the crowd. Discrete maneuvering where the usual customs of awkward courtship were done away with for indulging in pure carnal pleasure. Approaching anyone he liked, shaking his head and peering into their eyes with the confidence of a gladiator.
His height, although a minor disadvantage, gave him the clandestine aura to mingle about inconspicuously. They had no idea who he was, but he knew quite well more than a few of them. Their eyes, their gait, their hands, the overall posture, and most important, the clothes. He had a detailed understanding of the fashion sense of the girls that attracted him immensely. He had studied their routine.
The day he found out about the secret club was perhaps the moment all that he had worked towards had come to fruition. Without seeing the end result, he was as sure as can be that he would find his way inside. The more he learned, the more impressed he was about the possibility of infiltrating the group without having to create a different identity. It was a discovery that reduced the projected time of success by at least a couple of years. Now as a freshman, he could dare imagine possibilities he didn’t think he would reach until his senior year.
It had turned out to be simpler than he imagined to find out about the nature of the group activities. He figured there was no party without the jocks, and identified top ten targets. The sorts of guys who were prone to brag about their conquest or seek celebrity.
To attract the top women prospects, he figured there had to be a higher level of accomplishment. Money bought access. But rare achievement in an arena of competition was even better. To be a top athlete signaled more about the manliness of a guy than the money he stood to inherit. Money wouldn’t impress the elite women. They were born into it.
To be the starting quarterback, or hunk of the crew team, or top-notch polo player opened more doors and parted more legs. That was where Keith’s journalistic investigation came in handy. Writing effusive profiles of guys they would be proud to show their father. The sort of puff piece that could pump a chest more than pushing iron for weeks on end. Without overplaying his advantage, Keith had built up the source of information which he could triangulate to identify where the epicenters of activities were.
Keith now listened to his father, who sat across from him on their kitchen dining table. He wished his mother was alive. But he had sensed his father had eased the way he talked to him. Especially since they found out he was accepted to Harvard. Keith was now a grown man. Worthy of respect. So, the father patiently waited for Keith to speak.
“It was a party.” Keith started to talk.
“Alright. A party. That seems harmless enough,” Albert said.
“This is a secret party. Lots of the elites go there. Some kind of graduation party.”
Albert was tempted to ask what business his son had attending graduation parties, but withheld himself. It was most definitely possible that his son might have grown up more than he imagined and made friends among the graduating class. To top it off, secret party with the elites. He kept quiet.
“Lot of things happen there. Such as the usual dancing and drinking. And other things, too. Lots of interactions.” Keith darted around the topic.
Albert knew exactly where this was going. He could imagine the privilege of interacting with the elites of society. None of his life has allowed for that fortune.
“Are the attendees all known to each other?” Albert asked.
“Perhaps. Everyone wears a mask. It is almost like as if people know about it and are invited, they are open for everything. Kind of interesting.”
Keith couldn’t make up his mind whether he should be scared or excited about this revelation. “And you were invited, I assume?”
“Well, kind of… I mean I knew a few of the people there…”
“Did you trick your way into the party?” Albert said, leaning on the table covered with a transparent plastic overcoat.
The embroideries on the white textile underneath contoured the plastic cover, reflecting light in scattered ways. Keith hadn’t noticed this optical phenomenon before and found it a representative of his being. Something about the beauty of the ornaments shielded from contact with the world and how the light rays fragmented off the curvature…
“Yes and no,” Keith said. He decided he had no advantage by hiding information from his father. “Yes, because I worked for the catering company. Like a servant. I did three other parties before this one. Serving food and drinks before being asked to leave. I could tell there were the same number of people there never more than twenty or thirty. But it kind of varied. This time, instead of leaving, I changed into a costume and joined in.”
“Let me get this clear, you were at a party where you weren’t invited, and it just so happened to be the one where the daughter of a billionaire gets attacked?”
“I know these people, dad. I have been studying them. For the newspaper articles and my own understanding. They are like regular guys and girls, except that they have a lot of money. The one common theme among all of them is they are not in college for the academic purpose. They could care less about classes. Their competition is on status and all these secret clubs and parties. I swear dad, I didn’t do anything terrible. I didn’t even drink all that much. That is why I remember everything. I see it as a movie in my mind.” Keith said, anxious to inform and impress his father simultaneously.
