As Lauren looked around the cathedral, she realized that it was decorated more lavishly than for most weddings, with candles everywhere, garlands of flowers even in the rafters, not to mention an abundance of not-inexpensive flower wreaths, an Argentinean tradition. All that money that could have been spent on rehab was now wasted on flowers and candles that would end up in the trash. She glanced over to the Callejas. Rocio Calleja was wearing more jewelry than Lauren had ever seen anyone wear at a memorial service: rubies, diamonds, gold. She had greeted Lauren when she had entered, embracing her as if she were a family member.
In death, it seemed that Lauren’s position as Alejandro’s girlfriend was more secure than ever.
Lauren knew one thing: she was done with bad boys. In fact, she might be done with dating altogether, at least for a while.
As the service ended, she got up with Thad and ducked away toward the exits in an attempt to avoid the crush of people. Thad had been amazing over the past few days, taking her out to lunch and for coffee dates, anything to keep her mind off things. He even took her shopping, an activity he admitted that he hated. He was such a sweet guy, and she was especially glad that Thad was gay-it removed any awkwardness from their friendship. She may have been sleepwalking through the past week, but at least she had someone who cared about her to do it with.
As everyone started to leave the cathedral, there was a commotion near the front. Palmer Bell, Nick’s grandfather, was halfway up the aisle when his cane gave way and he tumbled to the floor. Panicked voices rang through the cathedral, echoing over the organ music as everyone, but particularly members of the Society, crowded around him, calling 911 and shouting words of advice to try to revive him.
I hope he dies, Lauren thought. I hope he dies right here in this church, fifty feet from Alejandro’s casket. That would serve him right.
The paramedics rushed in, heralded by the sirens of their ambulance. Palmer Bell was coming to, but he clearly needed serious medical attention. In all the commotion, it was as if the reason people were here-to mourn Alejandro’s death-had been completely forgotten.
Once again, Lauren thought bitterly, it was all about the Bells.
Chapter Three
After his grandfather’s collapse, Nick slipped awkwardly out of the cathedral, following his family into the black limousine that was waiting for them. An ambulance that would take Palmer Bell to New York-Presbyterian Hospital had just pulled away from the curb. Nick agreed that he would meet up with Phoebe after he learned more about what was going on. According to what the paramedics had told his father, Palmer had suffered a stroke, indicated by his collapse, complaints of numbness in his legs, and general disorientation. The car pulled away and drove south, turning east on a side street and then uptown. The driver followed the ambulance, taking advantage of the path that had been cleared for them.
Nick loosened his tie and scratched his neck behind his collar, realizing that he had been sweating. The panic of a crisis was almost a welcome relief from the charade they had all been playing. It had been devastating to sit through Alejandro’s memorial service when he and his friends knew the truth about what had happened to him. And now his family was sitting in this warm cocoon of luxury while the rest of the horrible world went on. It was the first time in a week that Nick had been in such close proximity to both his parents-he had been avoiding them ever since returning from Isis Island on New Year’s Day. His mother, with her fiery red hair; his father, though graying, lean and fit on a regimen of running and stress.
Nick’s two older brothers, Henry and Benjamin, home from Yale for the funeral, were both idly texting and shooting worried glances at their parents and each other. They had proven to be nothing more than drones when Nick had asked them about the Society back in December. Nick wouldn’t have been surprised if someone told him that his brothers had been lobotomized. He had always thought Ben might have rebelled against the group, as he had been more of a free spirit, a member of the Yale Pundits, the type of guy who would bring home The Anarchist Cookbook and leave it in the living room over Christmas break. Henry, conversely, was notoriously uptight and headed directly to law school. Nick sensed that Henry, as a senior, was already being groomed to become more involved with the group. Perhaps Ben was as well.
Nick’s mother, Gigi, was on the phone and fussing with arrangements, calling Palmer’s doctor, making sure that the hospital would be ready to see him. Nick’s father was bickering with her, arguing that any doctor would do-whoever was on duty in the emergency room was fine. Just because Palmer had made a large bequest to the hospital several years back, he shouldn’t expect to be treated any differently.
Yeah, right, Nick thought. The rich are always treated differently.
The limousine pulled up behind the ambulance, and Nick could see his grandfather being loaded out and wheeled to the emergency room.
As Nick stood in the hospital lobby with his mother and father and his two brothers, assorted hangers-on started trickling in: Family lawyers. Advisers. Friends. Society members who were concerned. How is he? What room will he be in? Does he have the best doctor? My father had a stroke and…
To Nick, it was like vultures gathering around a half-dead carcass, waiting for their share of the spoils.
He walked out of the hospital’s revolving doors and headed home without saying a word to anyone.
Chapter Four
When Phoebe joined Lauren outside the cathedral after the memorial service, Thad gave her a knowing look. He had been waiting patiently with Lauren, but now that Phoebe had arrived, he seemed to know instinctively that the girls needed some time together. He parted ways with Lauren and Phoebe, giving them both hugs.
Phoebe walked with Lauren back to Lauren’s apartment on Park Avenue. There was to be a catered reception at the Calleja apartment at the St. Regis, but Lauren hadn’t wanted to go, and Phoebe agreed with her that they should skip it. Both of them knew that it didn’t make any difference to Alejandro, and that in the swarm of travel-weary mourners, his family wouldn’t even notice their absence.
Phoebe also knew that her friend needed her more.
Lauren was horribly depressed, as anyone would be about her boyfriend’s disappearance and death-it had only been two weeks since it had happened, and the pain was still fresh. Even worse, though, was the knowledge that Alejandro had never needed to die. Sure, he may have played fast and loose with the rules, but no one deserved his fate: to be kidnapped from a nightclub, taken to a flophouse on the Lower East Side, and forced to take all the drugs he could? Alejandro may have had a drug problem, but he hadn’t been out to kill himself.
Phoebe, Lauren, Nick, Patch, and Thad were the only ones who knew about any of this. Parker Bell had told all the other Society members that Alejandro had overdosed of his own free will, that it was a terrible tragedy that could have been prevented.
Only the five of them knew the truth-that the Society killed Alejandro because he was in danger of revealing its motives to the world. Alejandro had had a series of bad nights in the fall, one during which he was quoted as saying that he knew important people, and everyone would be sorry.
A simple comment like that was enough to make the Society concerned-it put the Society’s secret existence, not to mention the assets in the Trust, at risk. More than anything, though, Alejandro’s death fulfilled the Society’s goal of creating a class of fourteen. A class that would be stronger. A class that was bound by a secret.
For what? Amidst all the commotion and the threats, it was hard to understand what the Society was so worried about. During the retreat, Parker Bell had made repeated references to a way of life that the Society had to uphold. Phoebe understood that its secrecy was its power. The Society, she had learned, was a network of wealthy, educated people who recruited their sons and daughters, as well as other talented, educated young people. Phoebe had fallen into the latter category, while Nick, with his family’s involvement, was in the former.