Like wildfire, the electric tension spread from one resident to another. It didn’t take long before everyone gravitated toward the plastic table that served as a makeshift bar, hoping to find some kind of remedy. Viktoria was the only one who had taken care of her mood before even leaving the house. Despite her diet and the guaranteed misery of tomorrow’s hangover, she had come prepared. She approached the group in swaying dance steps, enjoying how effortlessly she seemed to float through the air. Thanks to the two deciliters of whisky, her body felt almost weightless. Her lips were pleasantly numb, and the world around her seemed distant and unreal.
Rob watched her strange movements with curiosity—he’d never seen the stern German schoolteacher move like that before. Then again, with every shrug of her shoulders, her breasts—usually the object of many a lingering glance—bounced sensually from side to side. If you could call anything sensual when it came to a drunk, underdressed woman. The American man, however, quickly shrugged off the context. Who cared if she was a mother, whose kids were dangling their feet in the pool, and she was dancing like there was no tomorrow? Why shouldn’t she let loose—at least once a year? Rob put down his drink, picked up the samba-like rhythm, and joined his fellow resident on the dance floor.
Pauline nearly spat out her apple juice when she saw her husband and Viktoria gyrating beside the “bar,” mimicking mating rituals without the slightest concern for decency. Her face turned crimson in an instant, and before her hands could clench into fists, she snatched the champagne bottle from the giggling Dajana, took a long swig, then tossed it unceremoniously onto the grass.
“Oh, darling,” said the Slovak woman, stepping in front of her. “Don’t tell me you’re about to cause a scene? What’s the point?” she added, trying to calm her. “You’ll only scare the kids. Come on, let’s wash your face,” she said, gently steering her away.
“Should I put on some music?” Noud asked.
“What for?” Bernard shrugged. “They’re having a great time without it.”
“Wouldn’t it take the edge off the awkwardness?”
“I, for one, would love to see more of this show,” Bernard said with a mocking grin.
“Don’t be cruel,” Noud warned. “You know bad vibes always come back around.”
“On New Year’s Eve, even Karma’s probably on vacation. But fine—do whatever you think is best.”
Adrian fumed at the sight of the American clown. Who did this idiot think he was? He was barely ever at the complex, always away on business trips, and now here he was, grinding on Viktoria like they were old friends. On the other hand, Adrian was slightly grateful for the scene—it gave him a chance to play the role of hero rescuing the teacher. At least he didn’t have to explain why he was suddenly putting his arm around the curvy blonde. Just to be safe, he avoided looking at Dajana as he gallantly guided Viktoria to a chair. Any accidental touches to her chest or thigh were, of course, just that—accidental. Not that the tipsy German woman seemed to notice.
“You can’t fool me. You’re not a fag,” Pauline whispered into Noud’s ear, emboldened by the champagne.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not a fag, are you?”
“Fag?”
“Well, I’m French. I don’t speak English that well.”
“You speak it well enough not to be throwing around slurs. ‘Gay’ would’ve been perfectly clear, or even ‘homosexual’—that works in most languages.”
Pauline waved dismissively.
“They’re just words. No need to nitpick.”
Her silly giggle made Noud even more annoyed.
“Bitches like you,” he began with mock seriousness, “or, what’s the polite word for someone who has kids? You know, I’m not exactly fluent either…”
“Oh, ha-ha, you’re hilarious,” Pauline said, grabbing his shirt like she was about to kiss him. “Once you get over your little moral tantrum, come into the shed with me. I’ll show you what drives men wild.”
“Pauline,” Noud said, clearing his throat as he gently pried her fingers off his shirt. “I really hope you remember that guy you just saw dancing wildly by the pool? That’s your husband. The father of your children.”
“So? What am I supposed to do with that? We haven’t slept together in over two years. Why do you think I’m so hot-tempered?”
“I’m sorry, truly. But I’m not your guy.”
“Think about it,” she murmured into his ear.
Desperate, Noud scanned the area for Bernard. But his partner was clutching the meat-laden table next to the grill, pale as a ghost. Ludmilla swayed her hips beside him, flashing a devilish grin. Noud could’ve sworn the old lady winked at him when their eyes met.
“What happened? For God’s sake, just tell me,” Noud said, gripping Bernard’s wrist after dragging him away from the grill.
Bernard just shook his head hopelessly, for the third time.
Noud ran a trembling hand through his hair. He felt like he was about to hear something devastating—maybe something he’d never recover from.
“Ludmilla,” Bernard finally whispered.
“What did that witch do? Did something happen to you?”
Bernard stared blankly at the tip of his shoe, slowly shaking his head.
“No. She just… complimented my outfit.”
Noud burst into relieved laughter.
“She hit on you?” he chuckled. “Oh God, I thought something serious had happened.”
“No,” Bernard breathed, “not just that. She said I had a nice ass in that tight coverall… the one I wore while installing the camera in Adrian and Dajana’s house. In the dead of night.”