Patron Saint
Jon's father Gerhard was born in Lausanne, Switzerland. He made his living as an engineer for a company that manufactured turbines for power plants. By the time he was twenty-five, he already had a family, but the messiness and repression of domestic life bred a grievance in him that infected his wife and children. He tried to find comfort for that at the local pub and between the legs of secretaries at the plant, but the bitterness remained. Gerhard left his young wife before the kids were out of grade school. His boss offered him a transfer to their plant in Ann Arbor and the divorcee never looked back.
He met his second wife in a diner. She was a waitress and, like him, an immigrant to America. Sofia had been brought by her parents from Columbia when she was nine. She was much younger than Gerhard and had received her education from the streets, but she loved to read books and talk about them with her patrons, many of whom were far too distracted by her beauty to listen. Gerhard, the born-again playboy, thought he would bed this waitress the one time and move on, but she did something to him that night and he found himself coming back to the diner for more.
They married and had a son, and for a time they were happy. They taught Jonathan Spanish and German and French and argued about whether it was best to raise their child according to Swiss or Columbian values. Either way, Gerhard promised himself he would make up for where he had failed his first two kids.
When Jon was in the tenth grade, however, doctors found a mass in Sofia's right kidney. Inoperable, they said, and very aggressive. Sofia spent as much of her remaining time with her son as she could, sharing her favorite books with him, encouraging him to follow his bliss. She was gone within the year.
Jon's relationship with his father changed after that. Gerhard became morose and went back to his drink. Without Sofia's calming influence, he managed his son with a heavy hand, constantly berating him for his youthful missteps. Jonathan did all he could to avoid his father, but his flagging grades failed to earn him a place in any of the out-of-state colleges to which he had hoped to escape.
He wound up taking English lit courses at a community college and waiting tables as his mother had done before him. Though his engineer father belittled him for his choice of studies, Jon worked hard both as a student and as a waiter, saving up his money, so that when a teacher recommended him to a writing program at NYU, he could afford the move. The day he arrived under the arch at Washington Square Park was perhaps the happiest of his life. But the writing program ran its course and Jon had little to show for it. He knew how to write, his professors had said as much, but no one would pay him to do it. He tried living the life of an aspiring novelist and it was a life that suited him, until his money ran out. Returning to Ann Arbor was out of the question. He turned to online job sites instead and applied to the first job he thought he could do.
"I am assigning you to the Davies party," Richard said, still looking at his paperwork. "Normally, I would not give such a project to someone so new, but Barbara seems to think you are ready." He glanced up at Jon with a suspicious eye. "Now, the party is in two weeks. That may seem like a long time, but there is a lot to prepare for. The servers will have their role to play in this affair, some more than others."
Jon shifted on the couch. He could tell from the way Richard was talking that he would be one of the servers with a heavier lift. He wanted to ask what his role would be, but Jon had now been around the old chap long enough to know that he would only hear the particulars when he needed to know them. He tried a different tack.
"I take it this party has a little more 'choreography' than the last one?"
Richard dropped his pen on the papers and leaned back in his chair. "Very much so," he replied. "In fact, you could say this event is nothing but. The Davies love a good show and that is what we are going to give them." He picked up his pen again and took to scribbling in a ledger. "So I will need to see you in Wardrobe at ten."
Jon got up to leave.
"Oh. Mr. Strauss?" Richard grimaced, as if he were trying to solve a complex equation. "I am told some of the servers may have to shave their heads for this production. Would you have any objections?"
Jonathan shrugged.
The Davies family was old money. They had made their fortune in the days of robber barons from Pennsylvania coal and put all that profit into Manhattan real estate. During the Roaring Twenties, one of the more eccentric members of the family branched out onto Broadway, producing shows and even opening a theater that to this day hosts some of the city's most notable plays and musicals. The drama bug was passed to each succeeding generation, and that eccentricity along with it. Each generation produced at least one member of the family who punctured the aristocratic mores of their day. The Davies, it was said, had practically invented cross-dressing; their homoerotic escapades were legend when such behavior could land you in prison. They made high society reach for its smelling salts, but the art world loved them. Throughout the decades, the most notorious writers and painters, dancers and actors made pilgrimages to the Davies court to soak up their creative energy, sometimes offering their hosts private performances in return for a raucous sex party.
Two such pilgrims were Sean and Barbara Hamilton, a couple of Yale School of Management grads with a string of successful ventures already under their belts. In the course of running their catering company, they saw a demand for more discrete events from their high-end clientele. They drew up a business plan and took it to the one funder they knew would have no hesitation backing something so risqué. The Davies gave them the money they needed to start Urban Select, but not before subjecting the couple to more than a few sessions of carnal depravity.
At least, that's the story Jon was told. The Davies were well-known among the employees of Select, as members of the family occasionally stopped by the warehouse to check on their investment or plan their next gathering. The plans for this upcoming party had been drawn up months ago, and the creative types had long been at work pulling together the sets and costumes.
Jon stood in the open space of the warehouse's main floor, staring serenely at the busywork of others. A team of builders was erecting what looked to him like the octagonal cage of an extreme fighting match. Nearby, a group of men and women were huddled around a laptop, gesturing across the screen and shouting an occasional order to the crew. Jon was sure he had been introduced to most of these people on his first day, but for the life of him he could not remember their names or what they did.
Gary sidled up to him and nodded his good morning. They watched as the rigging got its last few bolts tightened.
"Is this for the Davies party?" Jon asked.
