Desperate Hearts, Weary Souls

James met Vincent at a party his mother was throwing.

He could not remember what date it had been or the exact purpose of the event, even. He only knew that it was one of many such occasions his mother was fond of organizing, to prove to the whole city how sophisticated she was. For the most part, it worked; the newspapers hailed her as one of the distinguished ladies of Chicago’s society, much to her delight, and if anyone knew she had grown up in a tiny apartment with seven older siblings no one said anything about it.

In all honesty, however, her success as a hostess was most likely due to James’s father’s reputation. James Edward Wright Jr., after all, was one of the city’s most prominent engineers, if not one of the most prominent in the nation. His notoriety bathed his family in sometimes-unwanted social attention. Unwanted, at least, for James – his mother was in love with the fame her marriage afforded her, with the life her marriage had afforded her, and with the man she had married himself.

He knew that the romance his parents had was legitimate, if not somewhat trite – poor peasant girl captures the attention of rich businessman as she waitresses at a restaurant, rich businessman sweeps her off her feet, peasant girl and rich businessman fall madly in love and spend the rest of their lives together and consumed with passion. Yes, the story of Katherine Reed and James Wright Jr. might have been commonplace, but the city had been overtaken with scandal when it was revealed that a man of Wright’s status had married a woman ten years his junior. Of course, Chicago had seen worse, but the press was hard-pressed to let go of opportunities when presented with them.

All that besides, most afternoons found James preparing himself for his mother’s parties and balls and dinners, whatever she was planning for the evening. Of course, he always found these events exhausting and unbearable. And really, there was no purpose for his attendance except for the fact that his mother absolutely insisted. All he did, usually, was wander aimlessly through the guests; none of them were ever remotely interested in the conversation an eleven-year old had to offer. If he had the choice, he would have stayed in his room and read a book or something of similar nature.

He did not have the choice.

There was nothing particularly special he expected about this evening. It promised to be as tedious as any other night, if not more so; there was to be twice the usual number of guests, a fact that his mother was simply ecstatic about. He could not care less.

As usual, right at seven the first guests arrived, and he descended the staircase to greet them. Or at least, that’s what his mother expected him to do, and because his father was working at his office as usual he was the only other member of the family available to provide hospitality for the guests. Honestly, he just sulked in the dining room and hoped no one would notice him.

When dinner started, Mrs. Wright ushered her guests into the dining room, fussed over everyone and everything, and called for the hors d’oeuvres. Much to his relief, his mother had finally complied with his requests and arranged for him to sit at the end of the table, meaning he would be sitting next to one person rather than two. However, he was prepared for the person next to him to be some old, overweight man who reeked of tobacco and unpleasantness.

When he turned his head to see who the man he would be treating with silence for the entire night was, he was stunned to find that the old gentleman he expected to find was, in fact, an adolescent boy who appeared to be around his own age. His dark hair was pushed back to reveal a smooth, white forehead and dark, thick eyebrows over wide green eyes. Even in that early encounter, James was rendered nearly speechless by his appearance – at a young age, he was already striking, if not handsome in his own right.