Chapter Fourteen: They Sold Me Out

Matt drove his Porsche like he did everything else. Recklessly and fast, with a smile on his face. I envied him. He didn’t care about consequences, or rules, he just found life enjoyable. I wondered what it was like to feel so unconstrained.

“You’re a sociopath,” I told him with a grin.

“What, like Silence of the Lambs?”

“No, I think that’s a psychopath. Sociopaths don’t necessarily kill people. They just don’t really have an interest in their feelings, or society’s rules.”

“Why would I follow anyone else’s rules? I’m rich.”

He took us through the country club gates, and along the private road. A valet parked our car. Given the marvellous architecture, and the wealth of the place’s patrons, I could see why Matt felt above the normal world. We had been born to privilege.

We entered the elegant dining room of the country club, and, like dutiful sons, kissed our mothers on their cheeks and gave them their roses.

“What nice boys,” some other dowager enthused. Our mothers smiled for their little crowd, oohing and aahhing over the flowers.

“Thank you, Matthew.”

“Why, Diggory, thank you darling!”

My father gave me a nod, and I sat down. I had done as I was told.

Wine glasses were filled, waiters handed out menus. Sunlight streamed in through the big windows. Outside, you could see the green grass and trees of the manicured golf course. All I could smell was the perfume of old ladies. Our mothers wore fancy dresses and pearls. Our fathers showed up in well-tailored suits.

There was mild chitchat while the meal was served. Gourmet salads, tasty soups, dishes of chicken, lamb and veal. I imagined that the bill would be as much as some families spent on groceries in a month, maybe more.

The “grown-ups” discussed news and politics. My father mentioned his business trip. Matt’s dad told us about his latest feats of cardio-thoracic genius, as the head of the hospital’s surgery department. We sat there, eternal children who were merely props in their successful lives. Our role was to make them look good, and to only speak when spoken too.

“So, Matthew, are you seeing anyone special?” Mrs. Pinard asked. “I’m still waiting to hear you’ve found the love of your life.”

“I haven’t found her yet, Mom. Though I have been seeing a couple of nice girls.” Matt the Pimp winked at me. I realized he meant Petra and Daphne from the other night, and was trying to get a rise out of me.

“And you, Diggory?” My mother asked.

“Uh, no, not really…”

“Oh, come on, Digger. Tell them about that young lady at the gallery.” Matt grinned. I glared at him.

“Oh? Who’s this?” Mrs. Pinard asked, her interest piqued. She loved gossip. “Anyone we know?”

“I don’t think so… She’s just a young lady from the university…” I stammered, shooting laser beams out of my eyes towards Matt.

“Oh, don’t be so modest! She’s a graduate student in physics, studying with the top minds in her field,” Matt the Traitor started to charm the crowd. “I imagine you’ll be hearing about her in a few years, for Nobels and the like. She’s brilliant. Tell them, Digger.”

“I really don’t… She’s… Well, I don’t know her that well yet.” I shrugged, hating being on the spot like this. I promised myself some bloody revenge. “We met earlier this week, and she invited me to her friend’s gallery showing.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Matt said enthusiastically. “I almost forgot. Sheila’s gallery, Mom, you know the one. They did a student art show, and Sheila tells me that this young lady was a model for some of the artists.”

“Just her room-mate, Bianca.” I finally had something I could state for certain. “She’s very talented.”

“What’s this young lady’s name?” My mother had to ask.

“Calla. Calla Wiley.”

I could see my mother processing this. I almost laughed, it reminded me of Matt searching his mental Rolodex. She put a hand on my father’s arm, leaning in closely.

“Do we know the Wileys?” She turned to my father in a stage whisper. Which meant that she strongly questioned Calla’s upbringing, background and wealth, and wanted everyone to know it, but was pretending to be discreet.

“No, dear.” My father looked at me with his appraising stare. He stroked his steel-grey, well-trimmed beard. “Perhaps they’re West Coast people.”

“I really don’t know,” I said, “We just met this past week. It’s not the big deal that Matt is making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Matt said. “You should have seen his excitement when she called.”

I kicked Matt under the table. He grinned at me through gritted teeth. What are you doing? I tried to mentally scream at him.

“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Franklin, your Diggory is far more likely to settle down than I am. I’m sure there will be little Diggorys running around in no time, making you a happy grandmother. Sorry, Mom, I just haven’t found a young lady that impresses me as much as Diggory’s new romance.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Matthew, you’re such a good friend.” Mrs. Pinard cooed over her son.

Somehow, Matt had impressed my parents as well. My mother in particular looked very pleased. The slimy snake had scored himself points with the parents, impressed my mother with Calla before having met her, and got everyone to leave us both alone about the marriage thing. Not to mention making me unbelievably uncomfortable and about three inches tall in the process. Sneaky.

I wondered what it was like to have Matt as an enemy instead of a friend.

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