Peter Hamilton - Misspent Youth

“I don’t know about anyone else,” Rob Lacey said cheerfully. “But I’m confident that having Jeff here on our team will give us in Europe a hell of an advantage. And as prime minister I’m proud that it is one of our citizens, a man whose fame is based on his notorious generosity, who will be providing our premier technological project the impetus it needs for success. We are at the core of Europe, and I hope we can now become its powerhouse.” He looked round contentedly at the reporters, searching out their approval, while somehow managing to avoid the eye of the president, whose tight smile was frozen on his face.

THE AVTXT WAS CLEVER, with green devil icons performing a mildly obscene cheerleader act, spelling out the words to the invitation. Annabelle had laughed when she received it, sending back a swarm of saucy angels to chant an RSVP. It wasn’t quite what she would have chosen to go to, a cocktail party to welcome Jeff Baker home. But Tim had been sure to invite several of their friends, so she wouldn’t feel left out. As usual, she thought. Tim was always very careful in his approach, always making sure that everything they went to was a just-good-friends outing. So careful, in fact, she wouldn’t even say they qualified as a couple yet. A small part of her was quite irked by that. How obvious did she have to be?

She had to admit, though, the party wasn’t as awful as she had expected. It was ninety percent adults, and most of them over fifty. But the manor’s large reception rooms were wonderfully elegant, and Sue Baker had hired a very upmarket catering team for the event. Waiters and waitresses circled with glasses of champagne on silver trays, and mounds of delectable canapés. The men were mostly in suits, while the women wore expensive dresses. Shame so many of them lacked any sort of elementary fashion sense, Annabelle thought.

She’d given a lot of consideration to what she ought to be wearing herself. In an ideal world she’d be wearing something from Stephanie Romane’s designer line, but she didn’t have that kind of money. Instead she’d spent an age trawling through sites that offered reproductions of varying quality, finally settling for a simple orange summer dress with quite a short skirt that was indistinguishable from the real thing. It earned her a lot of looks from the men, of all ages.

Annabelle had arrived quite early on in the evening, calmly tolerating Tim’s puppyish enthusiasm. His eyes kept switching between her legs and her chest, with a rest between so he could blush, hoping she didn’t notice. At least that aspect of their relationship was predictable. Boys always acted as if they’d had a lobotomy around her. He’d introduced her to his aunt Alison, who clearly didn’t give a damn about appearance judging by the dress she wore, and was actually a lot of fun. Annabelle chatted with her for a while before the other girls arrived. After that Tim got dragged away by his mother, so she stayed with Rachel, Lorraine, and Danielle; the three of them clustered in a corner, warding off wishful glances from the older men.

“Colin’s asked me to the ball,” Danielle gushed. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “God, I’m just so much relieved somebody has. Finally! I was worried I’d have to go with Philip.”

“I thought Colin was going with Vanessa,” Rachel said.

“No. Me!”

“Does Vanessa know?” Lorraine murmured.

Annabelle took a sip of her Bacardi and lime to cover the fact she couldn’t summon up any zeal for Danielle’s success. Tim still hadn’t asked her. There was such a thing as playing it too cool, as he was about to find out if he didn’t ask pretty damn soon. She listened to Danielle bubbling on about what she was going to wear.

“I’ve heard Martin and Sophie are going together,” Lorraine said.

“Heavens, you have got to be joking,” Rachel said.

The girls all giggled. Annabelle managed a weak smile; Sophie was a good friend; she didn’t feel quite right joining in with the innuendo.

“By the way, hope you don’t mind,” Rachel said slyly. “But Simon’s asked me to go.”

“Why should I mind?” Annabelle asked. “We finished weeks ago.” That vibrant party had been so different from this one. At the end of the night she and Simon had wound up in an upstairs bedroom with Derek and Louise. They turned the lights down low, and Derek handed around an intube. He’d been passing the stuff around liberally all evening, which is why they’d all had such a wild raucous ride through the party. When it was her turn Annabelle took a dose just as hefty as the others. Then Derek suggested a game of strip Chinese sticks.

It was a deliciously wicked way to end the evening. Every time she tried to remove another stick, it would send the rest clattering down. When that happened, both brothers watched with silent lecherous grins as she removed another piece of clothing. She was the one they admired and desired, the center of attention. It made her indecently hot. And the sticks kept on tumbling down.

Simon never complained. The game swept him on as fiercely as it did her. It was afterward when it all fell apart between them. Now she tried to think of something to say that would imply strength of character in finishing with him. “If you want him, have him.” A line she was sure she’d heard on a pre10 movie.

“Oh, I will.”

“Always keep them dangling,” Danielle warned.

“I’ll do more than that to him.”

“What are you going to wear?” Lorraine asked.

“Oh, I got my dress weeks ago,” Rachel said. “Haven’t you seen it?”

“No!”

Must be the only one, Annabelle thought sharply. There were bluesoaps that had fewer viewers than that dress.

“It’s purple satin. Classic strapless from Demoné. With so much gorgeous lace edging. That’s antique, you know. Daddy had a fit when he found out how much it was, but I had to have it. It’s just me .”

“Wow,” Lorraine breathed.

“I’ve seen it,” Danielle said brightly. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said. “What about you, Annabelle? Have you bought a dress yet?”

Annabelle finished her Bacardi in a single long swallow. The evening gowns on Stephanie’s site cost an absolute fortune, and she hadn’t found any reproductions that were any good, not in her price range. She knew she’d wind up hiring one for the night. “I haven’t decided what I’m wearing,” she told them, even though they were being evil. Rachel knew damn well she hadn’t got anyone to go with. That one and Simon were going to be well suited, she decided. “I’m going to get another drink.” She walked away, her empty glass held casually low, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

God damn Tim for not asking her yet!

IT MUST BE A SIGN of true age to think parties were a pain to be avoided at all costs. Long before this one started, Jeff had decided there was no way he was going to spend more than an hour pasting on a false smile and saying: “Really, how interesting,” to people he didn’t like, didn’t know, and considered utterly boring. And this was a party in his honor. Age, or grumpiness? he wondered.

However, once it got started he found himself mellowing. For one thing, he could actually enjoy the champagne. Drinking too much in the early evening before he had the regeneration treatment used to mean getting up to pee all bloody night long. No damn genoprotein cure for that! And back then he was sure his taste buds had decayed, while now he found the vintage Veuve Clicquot to be perfectly crisp and light. He’d also gotten the most awful headaches, which neurofen could never cushion. Well…he’d just take his chances on the hangover front tomorrow morning.