Into the Light

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"All universal moral principles are idle fancies."

Marquis de Sade

Bugatti, Rolls Royce, Fisker, Bentley, Mercedes and all manner of luxury car, bronze, pewter or black as obsidian, line up and idle on the swooping crescent driveway in front of the main house of the Guilder estate. Immigrant valets in red vests helm the drop off and direct the drivers to pull behind the guest house named "Constance" on the west side of the property when done delivering their payload. Fur wearing matriarchs and silver haired foxes of industry with thousand-dollar black ties mingle on the walk leading up massive double oak doors. Blake and Carlton, hands in pockets, buzzed and grinning, survey the scene from the slate walkway.

In an Aston Martin Vanquish, a young white prince of three boarding schools, dressed in hip-hop attire with a crown of cornrows drops off his proper father in black tie. The sound system in the Aston Martin begins to boom as the father exits the sports car and the tires spits white stones at the valets as they try to wave him over as he cuts the wheel and rambles by the confused attendants. A squeal of tires peeling out is heard as the Aston Martin reaches the blacktop of the road. Blake imagines himself as the kid smiling, giving the finger to all the rich folk, as he hits the gas of the Vanquish. His lips hook up in smile.

Blake pats the head of a cherub statue next to ornamental iron torch and looks over to Carlton who gives a man with a decorative silver capped cane a handshake. Smiles and nods give promise to more interaction later in the night. An impulse just to run away flows over Blake as Dulce Gabbana gowns with Harry Winston loaners and Saville Row suits brush up against him. Then, a boisterous laugh like a Soviet Commissar startles him.

"Blake my boy. I'm glad you made it," Mr. Guilder says hidden in the crowd.

"Oh, it's been too long dear and so handsome," Mrs. Guilder says.

The crowd in front of Blake disperses. A white-haired couple, regal and sharp, walk arm in arm to Blake. Some of the partygoers raise their hands trying to get their attention but to no avail. Blake has their focus. The Guilders in all of their regalia, blackest of the black ties, the most clad of the diamond clad, stop and look Blake up and down. He manages a fainthearted smile.

"Blake my boy! Give me hug," Mrs. Guilder says.

Blake is without ability to deny the true master of the domain. Mrs. Guilder moves her husband aside and squeezes Blake to near unconsciousness.

"How are you?" Blake asks after his release.

They laugh as if such a question never needs to be asked in their presence. Mr. Guilder grabs his arm and walks him into the main house where the interior was based on WinterPalace of the Czar. Crystal chandeliers from Ireland caress the vaulted entry way and prismatic beams of sparkling light fall on the checkerboard floors of the grand foyer as Blake is hauled to the greeting room, round with a high polish, that drafts below the grand butterfly staircase forever caught in a down stroke. The indoor temperature begins to rises with the collective body heat of the guests that begins to overtake the soft baby powder scented air.

"We must go, Blake, but we will talk later," Mr. Guilder says and they make their leave.

Carlton pushes his way through a pestilence of partygoers and shoots a look into the old library as he clacks by in his hard-soled shoes. The books are gone replaced with a gallery of expressionist paintings, abstract bronzes and naturalistic marble sculptures. He thinks the pieces must be on loan for the event as he spots Blake, alone, nibbling on a finger sandwich.