There was a jolt, and we were moving briskly down in what felt like a prehistoric elevator, the kind with accordion doors. I had no idea how quickly we were going, but the temperature was dropping fast.

When the door opened, cold, wet air hit my face. He led me forward. The ground suddenly felt rough and uneven.

"Stay to your left," he said. "In fact, keep one hand on the wall if you don't mind." He walked directly behind me and kept a hand on my shoulder.

We walked in silence. The air smelled clean and crisp, like limestone and salt. I couldn't tell if we were in a small tunnel or a large chamber, but somehow--I have no idea why--I believed that to my right was an abrupt drop.

My fingers ran over something slimy and warm.

Five hours ago, I was in the library briefing cases like a good law student. Now I was blindfolded underground with a man who collects acid.

As if he sensed my thoughts, the man--call him Mr. Bones--whispered, "Please, just humor me a little longer. You have nothing to fear."

"You don't hear that all the time," I whispered. I was starting to feel a little crazy in the dark.

"I'm sorry?"

" 'You have nothing to fear.' You don't hear that much. The guy at Starbucks doesn't say 'You have nothing to fear.' Someone says that, it's usually a bad sign."

He slapped me on the back like we were old college buddies.

"There's that sense of humor I heard about. Relax. I wouldn't bring you here if you didn't deserve it."

Deserve what, exactly--the Ivy League version of Deliverance?

We finally came to a stop. I realized they did their job well. If I happened to be the unlucky reject who didn't make the cut, I'd have no idea how to get back here--whatever here was.

I heard a heavy grinding sound, and then a door opening.

My blindfold was yanked away and my eyes were overwhelmed by a blast of golden light. It was too bright, too fast. I couldn't see a thing. Rough hands shoved me forward. I reached out, trying to keep my balance. That's when I heard the door behind me slam shut and lock.

8.

The world came into focus and I found myself in a ballroom, lined on all sides with elegant mirrored walls that made the room seem infinite. Golden chandeliers flooded the room with a warm radiance. I heard music.

The room was filled with men in tuxedos and women in black dresses. I was in a far corner, away from the crowd. I scanned the hall and didn't see Nigel, Daphne, or John anywhere. In fact, I didn't see a single person I recognized. I turned around and there was no door behind me, only a tall panel between two long mirrors. I pressed on it, and of course it didn't budge.

Did I mention I hate parties? Luckily, I had a flash of a memory, something from middle school that gave me hope. I'd taken my friend Vivek to my church's end-of-summer roller skating party. Vivek was the only Indian kid in our town. His house had statues of human elephants and four-armed women who appeared regularly in my dreams. About halfway through the party, the youth pastor asked us to sit at the far end of the rink. He skated up. "Is everyone having a good time?" he asked. We all said yes. "Let me ask you a question," he said. "Does everyone here know for sure that they're going to Heaven?" Again, we all nodded. But the pastor looked puzzled. "Well, my question for you is, how do you know? Let's try something else," he said. "Raise your hand if you've accepted Jesus Christ into your heart."

We all put our hands up. Everyone except Vivek. For a second, I watched him look blankly from person to person. Everyone was staring at him. His hand wavered, and then it went up too.

I'm not a particularly brave person. My school was small, and you were either in or you were out. And when you were out, you were really out.

But something about the whole situation rubbed me the wrong way. So, I put my hand down. I looked at Vivek, and after a moment, his hand came back down too.

I figured if G.o.d wanted to know what was in my heart, he could just look.

Now I was Vivek, in this vast room of strangers of a very different religion. I just hoped some of the karma from that day might swing back around tonight.

I was filled with a sudden sense of liberation. I started thinking of all the things I would do when tonight was over. I thought about that girl I met in the middle of the night and walked home, the one who spilled her oranges everywhere. I figured I might just march right up to her door, ring the doorbell, and ask her out. So what if she'd already turned me down? She was distraught. She thought I was judging her. She was judging herself. I wanted to tell her to lighten up, let it go, come have a slice of pizza and be a normal twenty-five-year-old for once. I mean, does everyone here have to take themselves so d.a.m.n seriously? Is that what we get out of this school--the belief that everything we do is a matter of national importance? If that's the case, I thought, it's going to be hard to ever have fun again.

I looked at myself in the mirror, straightened my tie, checked my teeth, and marched into the crowd.

Halfway through my second drink, I b.u.mped into a walrus of a man, complete with a comically curled mustache. His tuxedo shirt strained at the b.u.t.tons, and his woolly hair was parted on the left and traveled away from his cowlick in two heavily gelled waves. I don't know if I walked into him or he walked into me; more likely, the crowd surged us together, until there was no choice but to say something. I would've been okay with "Excuse me," but he raised a plate and showed me a half-devoured piece of cake.

"I shouldn't be eating this," he confided.

"Why not?"

"Just had a quadro six months ago. Know what a quadro is?"

"Not really."

"Quadruple bypa.s.s. f.u.c.king doctors cracked my chest wide open. Got a scar from here to here. Nasty. Wife says I look like Frankenstein."

Frankenstein on an all-brownie diet, maybe.

"Know the old saying 'Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse'?"

"Sure. Like James Dean."

"Right-o. My motto is, 'Live fast, see your cardiologist, and leave a fat old corpse!'"

He gave a wheezy, disturbing laugh that involved his hands and shoulders. He mopped the walrus mustache with a handkerchief.

"Beautiful ceremony, no?" he asked, mouth full of cake.

Ceremony? What was he talking about?

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Good grief, man, the wedding."

What wedding?

I decided to play along, for lack of a better plan.

"Yeah," I said. "It was great." I held out my hand. "Jeremy Davis."

"Ah. Gordon Perry." He crushed my hand in his meaty palm. "Bride's side or groom's side?"

I gave him a chummy smile.

"Guess," I said.

He scrunched his face up and scrutinized me. "Young. Handsome. Employable. Must be bride's side."

"Right-o," I said.

"Ha! Maybe you can inform my wife I'm not a complete f.u.c.king idiot."

Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

"And what do you do for a living, Jeremy?" he asked, placing another forkful of cake into his crowded mouth.

"I'm a law student," I said.

"Oh, great. That's what this country needs. Another lawyer."

Okay, wait a second. Lawyer-bashing? Walrus men? Was I even at the right party?

"Say," he said, pointing his fork at me. "Know what you call ten thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start!"

He poked my chest with the back of his fork-holding hand and gave the wheezy laugh again, louder this time, his head and shoulders bobbing up and down until his face started to flush.

Suddenly, behind the man I spotted Daphne, across the room in a black dress that dipped just slightly between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I felt a shock of excitement. Her hair was twisted up over her head, showing off the long, creamy curve of her neck. She was surrounded by a crowd of attentive men and unhappy-looking wives. Her eyes caught mine, and I felt a jolt shoot down my stomach.

Without thinking, I took a step in her direction. It was a bit unsteady--how fast had I polished off those drinks?

A thick walrus hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Wait, wait. A lawyer and a snake get run over in the middle of the road. How do you tell the difference?"

I pinched my eyes closed for a second, took a deep breath, let it out.

"How?"

"The snake's the one with tire marks in front of him!"

The man got even redder this time. Little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He dabbed at them with the handkerchief. I started to worry he was going to have another heart attack right here.

I looked back to where Daphne had been, but she was gone. I felt an intense longing for that tan neck, the bright red lips, the blue eyes framed by black hair.

"Myself, I'm in the life insurance game," the walrus was saying. His eyes lit up, like a great idea had just occurred to him. "Say . . ." he said, poking my chest again.

I pointed to my drink.

"Looks like I could use a refill. Very nice meeting you."

I pressed deep into the room, trying to put as much crowd between me and my new friend as possible. Near the bar, I heard a familiar voice. I saw the tall, handsome figure of John Anderson, standing a full head above the crowd. He had his quarterback arms spread, each one around the shoulder of an older, distinguished-looking man.

"Judge Hermann, I found a Raiders fan for you to argue with," he said.

Everyone in their circle laughed, and I felt a surge of envy. Great, I thought--he's chatting with a judge, and I'm trading lawyer jokes with Archie Bunker.

I decided not to pa.s.s through John's view. I set out toward the opposite bar instead. I saw a table where a bride and groom were chatting with guests. Behind them was a band on a small dais, bronze horns and a c.o.c.ktail singer in full swing. What the h.e.l.l were we doing at someone's wedding reception?

A wave of relief spread over me as I spotted Nigel, chatting with a serious-looking older woman in an expensive suit.

"Nigel," I said, a little louder than I meant to. "Hey, Nigel!"

He cast a quick glance at me and said something to the woman. They shook hands, and she handed him a business card from her fancy purse.

He stepped over to me.

"Jeremy," he said brightly, giving me the once-over. "How are you, old chap?" He shook my hand like we hadn't seen each other in years.

"I don't know, Nigel. This party. These people. It's not what I expected."

"I see." He stole a glance around me. A quick one, but long enough for me to catch him.

"These are definitely not the people I expected to be a.s.sociated with"--I lowered my voice to a pseudo-whisper--"you-know-what."

Was I somewhat drunk? All my words seemed a little harsher than I meant them.

Nigel put his arm around me and led me toward the middle of the room. He said quietly, "I doubt very much that these people have anything to do with the V&D."

He looked at me, waiting.

"So what are we doing here?"

I was starting to feel angry, like everyone knew something I didn't.

"They're watching us, Jeremy," he whispered, his lips moving so slightly I could barely make out the words. "On the other side of the mirrors." His gaze held me, keeping me from swinging my head around to the long, graceful mirrors that paneled the walls on all sides of us. "They want to see how we socialize. If we can blend in, find the important people in the room." Nigel came in close. "They're watching us, and you need to get your s.h.i.t together." Suddenly, his voice was full volume and cheery. "I think you will love soccer, once you get over your Texan football obsession." He gave a hearty laugh and clasped my shoulder. "My father has a wonderful box. We'll get you over there soon, eh?" He smiled without a care in the world and walked away.

I had a momentary flashback of checking my teeth in the mirror earlier tonight. I cringed. I pictured John Anderson cracking up the judges and politicians, reflected on every wall of the room. I decided to get drunk, under the delusion that I wasn't already.

At the bar, the man next to me smirked, like we were in on the same joke.

"Can you believe this f.u.c.kin' party?"

He was one of those short, tense, beefed-up men who exude violence, the kind of guy who would wear a Texas hat into an Oklahoma bar. He was strapped with muscles and his tuxedo strained against them. I decided to give him a What can you do? shrug and then look away politely.

"You seen Derrick?"

The hairs on the back of my neck were up now. I should've just said no. I'm not sure why I didn't.

"Who's Derrick?" I asked.