Trevor Homam put down the glass Lisandro had poured for him and took advantage of the fact that attention had been focused on Adam’s friends to seclude himself to one side, waiting for a prudent moment to leave undetected. But a woman from Carinae’s group, a voluptuous brunette, came up to him, and whispering as much as she could so that her comment could barely be heard over the music, she said to him, “I know I may sound nosy, handsome, but lemme give you some free advice.”
Trevor looked at her, making his disinterest somewhat evident, although the woman did not acknowledge it, or didn’t care, and pointing at Adam with her gaze, she said, “I imagine you know that the White that egomaniacal flea has after his name is not related to the White surname, but rather to the color of the city area, right? When you’re not interesting enough for someone to adopt you, they assign you the color of the area in Proxima where they found you as your last name. You knew that, right?”
Trevor no longer tried to hide his dislike for her. If he hadn’t done it with Lisandro, why wouldn’t he do it with one of his little girlfriends?
“Oh!” he answered. “And I thought it was to identify in which sector of the city the abandoned child was found in case someone claimed him, not that it was the consolation prize of a popularity contest within the orphanages.”
“Whatever, handsome. He doesn’t have an actual family to back him up, like you or me. I’m telling you, if you let this kind of people think you’re their friend, they will claw their way up and steal your company. I know of cases like that.”
Trevor adjusted his glasses, annoyed.
“Lisandro is a charming little boy,” the woman continued; “he loves to be surrounded by buffoons just for the kicks. I’m sure that White guy thinks he’s already bought his place just because he once modeled for the firm. But the time will come when Lis gets tired of him, you’ll see, and he’ll kick him back to the hole he jumped from.”
“Hi!” Adam got between the two of them. The woman smiled at him; he smiled her back, and she went away to find someone else to chat with.
“These people are not your friends,” Trevor told Adam.
“Oh, you bet! They aren’t even friends with themselves,” Adam replied with alarming calm. “What did she say to you? The last-name thing or that I have a free pass to this place because I’m Lisandro’s pet?”
Trevor shook his head.
“Well, in a way, it’s true,” Adam admitted. “Lisandro has no friends, he has subjects. Mint and Strawberry—See, I always kept the good vibes with them, but we were never really friends. They look for me because I have access to places they don’t have. And well, also because there was a time when we shared more than just a photo shoot… If you know what I mean.”
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“Of course, I know what you mean, you are no enigma! But I know you, Adam, you are not like them. Why are you hanging out with these people?”
Adam shrugged. “I seize the moment. What else do you want me to tell you?”
Trevor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re playing their game; don’t you see? They’re all in on this—” He pursed his lips; he had a hard time cursing. “—in this shitty circle, waiting for their turn to latch onto someone’s ass and claim a piece of the cake.”
“Whoa, whoa! Two profanities in one phrase, dude! That’s a milestone for you right there!”
“What’s the difference between you and them?” Trevor insisted. “Now I understand what they told you today—about plugging your emotional potholes. How come you want these people to think otherwise of you if, according to their way of seeing things, you are a—?”
“—Poor little orphan looking to have a good time?” Adam finished the sentence, and Trevor looked away. “Who cares?! Look, Trevor, maybe you don’t need to socialize because you have someone like me doing it for you. In a way, you pay me to talk to people like this. Now I’ve come to close a deal for these girls, and I thought it would be fun if you, my true friend, would come with me like you used to do; that’s it. Good grief!”
“I’m sorry, Adam, I didn’t mean…” Trevor sighed. “I think I’m going home.”
“All right. Hold on, I’ll get the girls and—”
“No, that’s fine,” Trevor stopped him, attempting a smile. “Stay with them and… Well, get them that job they need. I’ll take a taxi, don’t worry. See you Monday at the office.”
And so, Adam let Trevor go, with a strange sense of defeat stuck in his throat.
“Too much noise for Mr. Homam?” Lisandro asked.
“I think so,” Adam answered, grabbing a half-full glass of champagne from the table and downing it in one gulp to get rid of the unpleasant taste of the moment as quickly as possible. His bladder was full, maybe because he’d had too much soda in the restaurant or maybe because nerves had speeded up his metabolism, so he nodded to Lisandro that he’d be back soon and went to the restroom. He needed a break for the evening and getting away from there for a while would help.
On his way to it, he evaded as many familiar people as he could. He didn’t feel like greeting anyone, much less staying to talk, so he moved fast, enduring a couple of stomps along the way.
He entered the men’s room and made room for himself among those fixing their hair in front of the mirrors. All the urinals were occupied, and he went straight to the toilets. He banged on the door of each stall and went into the only one where he didn’t get an enraged ‘Busy!’ as a reply.
There, he could finally take the weight off his bladder.
‘What’s the difference between you and them?’ Trevor’s question popped into his mind.
“I am so much more than Adam White, the Poor Little Orphan,” he hissed through his teeth, and his eyes stung. So many tense moments, so much talk with something related to his past as the major topic had managed to strike a chord in his heart.
He zipped up his pants, snorting against that black cloud of emotions dancing around his head, when someone tried to enter the stall and hit him on the back with the edge of the door. The missing key to push him over the edge.
“Why the hell people don’t knock first?!” he yelled.
He pushed the door with his shoulder, trying to close it again, and with an angry ‘Busy, here!’ on the tip of his tongue, he pivoted to confront whoever had interrupted him.
When he did, a barrage of adrenaline and fear shoved the scolding back into his mouth, throwing his soul to the ground and turning his eyes into two wells of pure wonder.
The one who had broken into the stall was someone with a face identical to his.