Afterlife Read Free

clotting thumb. There was a burst of laughter from the living room as Ray Lee vamped, Joan Collins in high dudgeon. Fuck the salad, Steven thought, moving to sweep the vegetables into the sink. The doorbell rang.
    Though Margaret would have answered, Steven bolted from the kitchen to get there first. Passing through the living room, he saw the five of them grouped about the fireplace. Margaret billowed in harlequin silk, while Lynn was tailored in white cotton, absurdly spotless. Ray refilled their wineglasses with effortless worldliness, more Blake than Alexis now. Side by side on the sofa, Dell and Sonny sat stiffly, as if they were waiting to see the dentist. Sonny should perk up in a moment, thought Steven, as soon as he saw Ted Kneeland.
    Steven opened the door in the vestibule and grinned at Ted, unnervingly handsome as ever, tan as a Polynesian prince. “Long time,” said Steven vapidly as Ted threw a bear hug around him.
    The next second was very “Twilight Zone.” Steven looked over Ted’s shoulder and saw another figure standing under the porch light, a dark-haired man about Steven’s age, with a hunted look in his eye. Of course he knew it was Mark Inman, but the name arrived a beat behind the face, since he hadn’t seen Mark in two years. Steven flashed to the time before the nightmare, when he’d expended considerable energy avoiding the likes of Mark at parties. What was Mark doing up here? Had his car broken down in the street?
    â€œOh,” said Ted, unclenching from Steven and glancing in at the group around the fireplace, “I thought this was a party.”
    â€œMark, how are you?” Steven reached to grip Mark Inman’s hand, then stopped because of the halfwit bandage on his thumb. Instead they locked eyes. Steven thought: Why is he in so much pain? He hasn’t lost anyone.
    â€œLook, Steve, I’m sorry. Ted said there’d be a lot of people—”
    â€œAll my fault,” purred Ted apologetically. “We’ll just stay for a drink.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” retorted Steven. “There’s tons of food. Really.” With his good hand he coaxed Mark over the threshold and watched as the two men exchanged a tentative look, feeling each other out. Suddenly Steven realized they were an item. He felt a curl of rage in his gut.
    â€œWell, if I knew you were going to be here,” said Margaret, sweeping into the vestibule, “I would have brought your tickets.” She nuzzled the air beside Mark’s cheek, then turned and held out a hand to Ted. “I book all Mark’s reservations. He can’t make a move without me.”
    As she introduced herself to Ted, Steven realized he didn’t even know Mark was a client of the agency. That wouldn’t have happened a year ago. “Where are you going?” he asked Mark.
    â€œLondon. Just for four days.” He grimaced, as if to reassure Steven he wouldn’t be having any fun. Then Margaret put an arm around his shoulder and led the two new arrivals into the fray. As Steven lumbered back to the kitchen, he saw the laser look in Sonny’s eyes, picking up on the unavailability of Ted. Steven let the swing door shut behind him and leaned his forehead against the refrigerator. He didn’t want to hear about anyone going anywhere, which was why he stayed out of the office. Shaw Travel mocked him now with all its promise of freedom, the paradise beaches and Gold Card souvenirs. For Steven travel was over. He’d become a walking bad advertisement, like a misspelled sandwich board.
    He was lousy at getting surprised too. Ted Kneeland had been a friend of Victor from the prehistoric time before Steven. Victor’s furious loyalty had always kept a place for Ted, long after they hadn’t a thing in common, save having been twenty-two. Ted cried the loudest at the funeral, practically writhing on the floor, offending Steven mightily.