The Vultures

SIX

"The Foundation does noble work, it's our obligation to support it anyway we can."

Lucia Ludlow speaks with the serenity of a woman who's in complete control of the situation. Her voice is low and soft, and she looks like she's never shouted in her entire life, because she's never had to. Her demeanor is cold and distant, as if her being there, speaking to me, was a profound waste of time, a never-ending litany that goes on and on and on, and the only thing that changes is the man asking the questions, but never the questions themselves. Despite all of that, her words would never give you that impression. Her mask is near-perfect, thick and fool-proof, fine porcelain resistant to stupidity and idle chit-chat.

In spite of being right in front of her, she seems so far away, unreachable even, and though she's looking at my eyes and speaking directly to me, I can't shake the feeling that my face is nothing but a shadow to her, a shadow she'll forget once she's turned around and the next guy with a pen and paper comes along.

"Would it be terribly inappropriate if I asked you some questions?" I ask, raising my notebook with fake shyness.

"I'd expect nothing less from the press. Ask away," she replies, her smile more obvious and therefore, more dishonest.

"Well, I believe my work here is done," interrupts Anabella, and I turn around to see her. I admit I'd forgotten about her. "Good luck, Alec. You'll need it."

And with those words she says goodbye, turning around and walking away, stumbling all the way to the bar.

"An interesting girl," I say, turning my gaze to Lucia, again.

"Energetic, I would say," she says, hardly hiding the contempt in her words.

"Who isn't at her age?" I ask, wondering if I'll be able to get something out of this woman. Maybe if I push the right buttons.

"Yes, well there's a time and a place for everything. Today's youth considers these events outdated and unnecessary, but old habits die hard and who doesn't enjoy a good, old-fashioned fundraiser? There will always be noble causes to support, and if there aren't any, then we'll find them."

"It's funny you say that. just a couple of minutes ago, I had a similar conversation with Anabella Sullyvan. You see, she asked me if I thought newspapers were on the verge of extinction. "The last remnant of a time that refuses to die", those were her exact words."

"I'm not surprised at all she thinks that way," she laughs, scathingly. "What did you say?"

"I said this world will always be in need of a little traditionalism."

"Well said. Cheers to that."

Our glasses find each other and I wonder what my next words will be. The conversation will be over in just a couple of minutes, when somebody more interesting comes along and demands Lucia's attention, so I have to be very careful. I need to make her remember me.

"Just a week ago, an online fundraiser was celebrated, to restore the ceiling of the Opera de Milan, in Italy. The necessary amount was raised in under an hour," I say, once our drinks have been drunk. "Tell me, do you think events like this will be superseded by less costly alternatives, like online options?"

"No," she answers simply, before taking another drink. "Nights like this are a necessity for our community. It's not just about the money, it's about friendships and families. Look around: we're all friends, not just guests. If there wasn't some sort of official or important reason, then I'm afraid we'd still have parties, we just wouldn't have a anything to disguise our own frivolities with. If anything, the parties would be bigger and grander. Nights such as this humanize us and puts our guilty consciences at ease."