VIP Area
Based on the way he and Wren had left things the last time they spoke, Luke had his doubts about whether or not attending Simon's party was such a good idea after all. In the end he decided to go for the principle of the matter, since he'd made a huge deal about living life and not letting Alex dictate what they did or didn't do. At the very least, he thought, it would be a distraction, a way to forget, even if he didn't end up enjoying himself. He had the night off work and Roger was watching Gus, which was, admittedly, a huge relief. There was no one he trusted more to look after his son, and while the little boy was initially reluctant to let him leave (understandable, considering what he'd been through) Luke managed to reassure him by telling him that he could use the phone to call at any time if he wanted. Gus, who thought he was going to "play with some friends", seemed pleased by that, even if he did cling a little too tightly when he hugged the boy good-bye. In addition to Roger acting as babysitter, Luke had his own security measures in place; if anything went wrong, thanks to Bruce's high-tech phone, he'd know about it.
Staying sober, however, was not part of his plans. Maybe it should have been, considering Alexander's threats and the fact that he had a son at home, but there was no point in even going if that were the case. Bruce would disapprove all he wanted, but as Luke pointed out, he wasn't exactly father of the fucking year himself, and that shut him up pretty quickly. Besides, Simon had security crawling all over the place. If Alex dared show his face, he'd get thrown out on his ass before he could take more than two steps towards the entrance. He took a cab, since he didn't plan on being in any state to drive himself home afterward, and his name being on the guest list meant that he got to skip right past the ever-growing line outside and onward to the roof, where the party was being held. Regardless of how he usually tended to avoid large social gatherings, Luke was determined not to be the buzzkill sulking in a corner while glaring at everyone around him. Hell, he'd pretend if he had to, and sooner or later it might actually become real.
Once he'd been granted entrance to the party itself, having done a remarkable job of choosing an outfit that made him look like he belonged amidst the rich and the famous, Luke's first stop was to the bar. Two glasses of scotch (no ice, thank you) in and he was chatting with the bartender, and after another two he couldn't remember why he'd ever wanted to sulk in a corner all night to begin with, nor could he recall why he hadn't wanted to come. This was good. The booze meant that Bruce was practically a speck in the back of his mind, and he'd only had to field one phone call from Gus, during which he'd managed to hide the slur in his voice remarkably well and feign sobriety until he hung up-- a woman with a fruity sort of drink cooed that his son (which he'd let slip, oops) surely wouldn't have been the wiser.
At some point Luke wandered away from the bar, somehow managing to take an entire bottle of amber liquid along with him, and commandeered himself a table in the coveted VIP section. He'd forgotten his exaggerated promises of screaming her name, and the only reason he stood on the table itself was to get a better view of the crowd, because hell if he could see from the same level as everyone else, and he told those in sight to keep an eye out for a gorgeous blonde who was "totally" out of his league-- just in case.