"You okay?" Tuth walked up behind me, causing me to turn.
"Yeah. I mean, I have no choice but to be, I guess."
"That's not necessarily true. I've spoken to Gatsby, he just?—"
"I can't." I put my hand up. "Tuth, I appreciate your concern, but Max destroyed my chances with Gatsby when he came back. And Lydia is here now, which only makes things worse." My chin trembled, the guilt returning as I imagined the little girl upstairs sleeping peacefully.
"Why don't you tell him the truth?"
Because I'd lose everything. Max would make sure of it.
"Because real life doesn't work that way," I said. "You can't just lay it all on the table and think everything is going to be fine."
"You're miserable," they commented.
"Yes, but telling Gatsby the truth wouldn't change that. He'd hate me just as much as I hate me."
"You think so?"
I knew so.
"Let's go back inside," I redirected. I looped my arm through theirs and forced myself to return to the party. We found the wives heading toward the living room, but the men had all disappeared.
"Where did they all go?" I asked, keeping my fake smile on.
"Oh, their entertainment arrived," a blonde woman whose name I'd never learned explained with a wave of her hand. "Let the men be men."
"Entertainment?" I shook my head. Max never said there was going to be entertainment. I excused myself, Tuth following behind. We went upstairs to where his den was.
"What do you think they got? An exotic dancer?" Tuth snickered. "How fucking cringe. These men don't have an original bone in their?—"
The sound of giggling stopped Tuth and I in our tracks.
It was children's laughter.
We paused to listen. Giggles were heard over ballet music. ‘Waltz of the Flowers’ was playing. What was going on? Anger rising, I stormed down the hall. The door was shut, but the sounds were so loud they could be heard through the door. I grabbed the handle and threw the door open.
A dozen men sat around a circle, while six little girls stood in the middle, with tutus and flesh-colored leotards, dancing. Everyone turned toward the door. The men stood, the girls stopped dancing, and the music stopped.
Tuth stepped in.
"You sick fucks." Their words brought me back.
"Get out," I said. When no one moved, I screamed it. "Get the fuck out!"
The men began to scramble, muttering about not knowing what was going on, and sorry. There was no apology acceptable for whatever they'd been doing. Tuth stood by the door, holding their suit jacket open to flash the gun at their waistband.
"Don't think you're staying to party more when you get downstairs. Get your wives and go," Tuth ordered. "The parties are done here."
Even Clarke left. Once the men were all gone, I asked Tuth to take the girls upstairs to my dance studio until we could sort things out. Where was their adult? They took them out of the room, leaving Max and I alone. I shut the door and spun around, angry tears filling my vision.
"You're taking this all out of context," Max started, but I stopped him.
"No, you bastard. You're sick. You are fucking sick."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached for the doorknob with a shaky hand.
"Say what you want about Gatsby and his parties, but I'd rather be with a cannibal over a pedophile," I said, and stepped outside, but then, I paused. Without looking back, I added, "He feasts on the flesh of men like you. And if you end up on his table, I won’t tell a soul."
