The Dirty Ones

I can see his point. So does Hayes. But he’s not giving up the head of the table. Not in his own house. This is his little plan, after all. He wants us to know he’s in control.

“We should’ve brought the book,” Camille says, pursing her lips. “Have a little trot down memory lane and get it all out in the open.”

“We don’t need the book,” Hayes says. “We have Kiera.”

I look at her, and she’s looking at me. “I don’t want to continue the conversation over dinner,” Kiera responds. “We can pick it up later.”

“No,” Hayes says. “We don’t have time. We need to come up with a plan and to do that we need to know what happened. How about I start?”

“Hayes,” Kiera says.

But he puts up a hand to stop her. “Relax, Kiera. There’s no judgement here. Right, Connor?”

Something is happening, I’m just not sure what. Something between the two of them.

“Yeah, let’s hear it, Kiera,” Sofia says. “What happened when Hayes and Louise came up to the tower?”

Kiera repositions the napkin in her lap, looking down at her empty place setting.

“Of course,” Hayes says. “We have all been reminded that Emily took herself out of the game, but of course our… what did they call themselves in that first communication?”

“Associates,” Camille whispers.

“That’s right,” Hayes laughs. “Associates.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly pissed.

“Whatever do you mean?” Hayes replies.

“This fucking act you’re doing. What is this? Did you plan this shit? Was it you?”

“Are you afraid of something?”

“No, asshole. I’m wondering why the five of us feel sick inside and you’re sitting at the head of the goddamned table acting like you’re one of them. Like this was all your doing. Are you like… getting off on this?”

“You’re the only one getting off tonight,” Hayes says, deadpan. “Oh, not true. Kiera and Sofia both got off with you.”

Camille snort-laughs into her glass of ice water.

I look across the table at Kiera. “Is there a reason he’s acting this way?”

“Why are you asking me? He’s sitting six inches away from you, ask him.”

“Yes,” Hayes says. “There is a reason. And if you’d let me finish, I’d get to the point a lot quicker than if you keep trying to put off hearing the inevitable.”

“Which is?”

But just as Hayes opens his mouth to speak, we look up to see six servers walking down the long dining room holding covered plates. Kiera, as the guest of honor on Hayes’ right, is served first. If she’s aware that her position at the table has meaning, it doesn’t appear to bother her. The silver dome is lifted off to reveal a bowl of consommé.

“Would you like a bit of shaved white truffle, madam?” the server politely asks Kiera.

And for some reason I imagine her declining the fine delicacy. But she surprises me and says, “Yes, thank you,” in an equally quiet voice.

This night is full of surprises.

I watch her as the server shaves off three slices, gently dropping them on to the top of her soup.

Kiera smiles and politely says, “Thank you,” when the server backs away to stand behind her.

My dish is placed in front of me, and that’s when Camille says, “Hey, where are my truffles?”

It’s only then I notice Kiera was singled out for this privilege.

I look at Hayes, who nods to the server behind Kiera, and she dutifully slices off three small shavings of the aromatic fungus for Camille.

No one else asks. Bennett is already lifting his spoon of broth to his mouth. Sofia is still looking down at her place setting, ignoring everyone. And Hayes is motioning for Kiera’s server to pour her a glass of wine.

“I hope I get wine,” Camille says.

“Would you just shut up, Camille?” I say. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Fuck off, Connor. I want wine. Why is Kiera the guest of honor here, anyway? I don’t get it.”

“Someone has to sit there,” Bennett says, matter-of-factly. “Should we just leave the chair empty to make you feel better about yourself?”

I can’t see Bennett because he’s on the other side of Sofia, but just what the fuck? I mean, yeah, we all know Camille is difficult, but he’s supposed to be in her corner tonight. That’s how this works.

I catch myself in that archaic assumption leftover from college and take a deep breath.

Amazing how easily we slip back into buddy system mode.

“Fuck you too, Bennett,” Camille retorts, holding her wine glass up to be filled. Hayes must OK this, because she gets her wish. But she’s lost her shine, if she ever had it today. And I know Bennett’s curt response to her objection hurts her more than she’ll ever admit.

“Shall we toast?” Hayes says, lifting up his wine glass.

“To what?” I ask.

“To us, of course,” Hayes says. “It’s nice to be back together, don’t you think?”