Moonlight

One

The joke was always the same. Whether he said it or not, it sprang up in Tom's head every time, almost at the same spot. He didn't always remember that he had made the remark to his wife many times before: when he did, he just chuckled to himself, then gave Alice a look. 

It was dark, and the woman hoped she could get away with not returning the look: she really didn't want to partake in this sort of humour. But the bore nudged her with his elbow. Like a drunk behind the bar.

Alice found her husband gross. She sighed and turned to him with a little smile that said, 'Yes, darling: very funny.'

Tom knew she didn't find that funny, but having drawn her into his train of thought, felt satisfied.

Every time they had to visit the Durands at their country house, which happened every two or three months, they were forced to drive through the outer city ring. They had to leave behind the shadowy boulevards flanked by rows of identical buildings with limestone façades, that had an air of largess and were occupied by old aristocrats, merchants, and people of means. They both were familiar with those streets: the small boutiques from fashion houses, the embassy buildings, the museums they had visited many times during the school years. Even though the buildings were generally carved in the same austere style, and every corner seemed to resemble each other, they knew that if you take a turn in that direction, you could reach a familiar address. They were well-connected people, embedded in a network of people like them who inhabited large apartments that spanned entire floors and controlled the affairs of the city.

There was a big moon in the sky. They crossed to the other side of the bypass with unease. The austere beauty and the order of the city was replaced by knots of constructions that had emerged in disordered bursts with every new expansion plan. In the evening, the streetlamps cast their lugubrious light onto anonymous figures who moved about, directed to unfamiliar destinations. The buildings, much taller than the ones the couple had left behind, resembled deformed monsters with overgrown limbs. A myriad of windows lit for dinner pierced the darkness, but you couldn't count them. There were so many rows of them that you were simply overwhelmed with a sense of overcrowded spaces where people were crammed, where many smells accumulated, and the noise of a million voices echoed.

Tom often joked about his employees occupying buildings like these. He was the head of the biggest tyre manufacturer in the country. They had almost the full market share throughout Europe. The factory was founded by Tom's grandfather: it had been a small a small experiment to employ some of the rent the family draw from their large estates, but as the World changed from an agricultural to a mechanised one, the car business grew larger and more profitable. They now also produced springs and engine parts for many car manufacturers.

'Eight hours a day,' he would say when he mused over the point. 'Hundreds of people, hundreds of hours. And this is all they ask for.'

Tom found it very funny.

'They want less than five percent of our profit, so they can live like this – like rats. I keep the rest. Isn't it stupendous?'

That phrase, five percent, had struck her. Whenever she heard of someone wanting money, she thought he must have been on five percent. That explained it all: a bad bargain.

Alice came from a very prominent family, just like Tom. She had no notion of what those eight hours were really worth, but five percent... She imagined those men dirty with soot, and their wives with small frames and a child to the breast and another in the womb. It surely was too horrible.

She didn't know why she was feeling so moved by these thoughts tonight. It was maybe the thought of another dinner with the same people, the same gossip, the same retreat into different rooms after dinner where the men could discuss business and the women could plan more dinners like this one.

Alice wondered about the frictionless existence of their friends, marred by little worries and little tragedies that they seemed to invent to relieve the boredom. They built new and complicated houses, tried their hand at new ventures, committed little peccadillos. But nothing seemed to matter: the excitement that ran through their ranks at every little change was easily and quickly forgotten.

The Durands' mansion came into view at the end of the park. A row of lights hidden in the gras illuminated the gravel road that led to it. The Durands had made money with biscuits.

Tom was in the tyre business: if people wanted to go anywhere, they had to pay him for the pleasure. The Durands had grown rich with people's hunger. Every necessity of life was taxed along the way by people like them, so they could build large Palladian villas in the countryside, so they could entertain friends like Tom and Alice, whom, she was sure, they didn't like.

Tom helped Alice climb the stone steps that led to the entrance. He was worried any sign of distance between him and his wife would turn the gossip machine towards them, and he knew the brutality of its shells.

The large hall was lit by candles and dimmed artificial lights. Their sparkles reflected on the tall antique mirrors speckled with the dull spots of old mercury. A string quartet played in a corner, and the various guests were already huddled in small groups, chatting among them and sipping their drinks. Waiters in dark suits moved about with canapes and glasses on silver trays.

Alice smiled wide as she recognised some people across the room. She waved her hand. Her fingernails were perfectly lacquered in red, and she had a large bracelet with rubies around her thin wrist. She was tall and well-proportioned, with long legs and the grace of a catwalk model. For this occasion, she had chosen a red designer dress, backless and with a low cut that revealed the top of her cleavage. As she moved, it followed her curves and offered hints of what it so expertly covered. Some of the men turned to see the newcomers, and their gaze dwelled on her long enough to know she had achieved her goal.

Tom wore a tuxedo. It was a good cut, expensive at that, but it couldn't hide the fact that he was growing heavier. It wasn't the large paunch, or the thick legs: Tom moved like an older man. His face was also permanently flushed. He looked like a bear, big and dark.

She was fair skinned, and her hair, still unaided by any die, was fine and so blonde that it seemed white.

Even though Alice and Tom were close in age, there was something grotesque in the impression he gave you when he held his wife by the waist, in a gesture that was more predatory than protective.

From the room, you couldn't see the large trees of the park, or the sky brightly lit by a full moon. All you could see was the distorted reflection of the guests on the French windows moving about. The air seemed warm, too warm.

A waiter came to offer them drinks. She took a glass of champagne, which she detested, and he reached for a tumbler of whisky. She gave him a look, but he took the glass and drank it quickly.

'Hold on,' he barked. 'Where's my refill?'

He handed back the empty glass and took a full one.

Alice was soon dragged away from Tom. Some women she vaguely knew wanted so terribly to chat to her.

'It's so good to see you!'

'How was Aspen?'

'Have you lost weight?'

'Oh, my! I don't know how you can stay so fit.'

'And look at these rubies!'

Alice smiled knowing no answer was really required. She scanned the room, trying to hide the fact that her mind was elsewhere.

Vincent returned her smile when she finally spotted him.