He had enjoyed the first half of the night. The
formal suit forced him to feel smart. Boys don’t
wear suits; men do. Walk into any room in a formal suit and
your first emotion is pride. It can’t help be. You
look fantastic: you know it and they know it. The alcohol had
dulled every self-hate and Peter threw himself into
happiness. He had pulled himself back now though.
The alcohol was over; the tables were growing quiet; there were more
important things than the suit. He dismissed earlier as
hysteria. He sat back and thought about more important
things. The central question was whether Camus ever married.
It is crazy to say it, but that’s what really bothered
him. Camus was an existentialist. He lived morally without
God. Pete loved his ideas. Camus did not try to
fill the void God had left – he told Peter to stop
looking. But now Peter wondered if such serious people were
ever happy. Happiness shouldn’t matter, but it
does. Doing the right thing is a hell of a lot easier if you
enjoy it.
Jane interrupted
this. She was wearing a dark red dress. It had
probably cost her a fortune; she looked perfect in it. Her
cheeks were flushed from one glass of wine. She was alone for
a minute as her boyfriend got more drinks.
“You’re
very quiet tonight - ”
Peter knew he had been. He hated himself for
it. He had fucked up again. These people were his
friends. It was disgusting that he couldn’t even
spend a day-
“… But, I
forget, you are always quiet.”
Peter smiled. He sat forward in the chair and started chatting
at ease.