by Nicole Fox
“Mind setting the table?” I asked. “Food’s just about ready.”
“Sure,” he said.
I finished up the meal and Russell set the table. Once everything was ready, he put on some mellow jazz and dimmed the lights, the dark blue of the ocean beautiful outside of our windows. I took my seat, and Russell poured a glass of wine for the both of us.
“We should absolutely toasts to something,” he said, his hand on the base of his wine glass.
“I think you’re right,” I said, lifting my glass.
After a moment of thinking, I spoke.
“To all this,” I said, gesturing to everything around me.
“And to much more,” said Russell.
The table was too long to touch our glasses, so we both raised our wine a bit more in the air before setting into our food.
“This is … really good,” said Russell, not wasting any time starting on his steak.
“Really?” I asked, pleased. “It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked anything. My last … living situation was more of a takeout-every-night kind of affair.”
“In that case, you were really letting some talent go to waste. Meat’s perfectly cooked.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m just finding out all sorts of things about you,” said Russell, washing down his steak with a sip of wine. “I can’t help but wonder about the next thing you’ll show a talent for.”
My face reddened. He was right, in a sense—being with Russell was giving me the opportunity to learn more about myself in a way that I hadn’t before. Who would’ve guessed that I could charm a party full of international arms dealers and then make a delicious steak?
We ate in silence for a time.
“Good day with the girls?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said truthfully. “I was a little nervous at first; loaded LA socialites aren’t really the type of people who I normally spend time with. But they went out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
“You sound surprised,” said Russell.
“Maybe I am,” I said. “I guess I was expecting them to be a little …”
“Cattier?” finished Russell.
I hated to admit it, but he was right.
“That’s the word,” I said.
“You’ll find that this little business we’re in is pretty tight-knit. If you’ve gotten up to this level in the game then you’ve dealt with enough criminal scum to last you a lifetime. It’s like we’ve all fought the same war together. And the women are the same; once you’ve gotten immersed in this world, you realize that you and the other women in your same situation need to stick together.”
“Are those women, um, also someone’s property?”
I realized as soon as the last word left my mouth that I’d had less trouble saying it than before. It was almost comforting, as strange as that might sound.
A sly little smile formed on Russell’s lips.
“It depends. Some are girls who just got caught up in the scene; some are girls who just want men with money and power and don’t care how they got it; and, yes, some are like you. Property of a man in the business.”
It was strange to be talking about this so casually. But that was the life that I now lived.
His words hung in the air for a time as we ate and drank, the music drifting softly around us.
“We’ve got another party coming up,” he said. “One of the big players in the scene just bought a new beachside estate and wants to show it off to everyone he can.”
“Then that means you’ll need my, um, hostess skills again?”
“I’m going to need them more and more as time goes on,” he said. “If these deals here in the city go off the way I hope they will, then we’re going to be spending a lot of time here. And that’s on top of our New York obligations.”
I had a flash of the life that I was going to be leading, that of a cross-country international arms dealing hostess. It was all too strange to consider.
“But you’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about anything. I’m taking care of all the dirty work and bringing in the money. All you need to do is keep making nice with the girls and doing what you do so well at those parties of ours. It’s all a run-up to the big event, you know.”
My eyes went wide. What was he talking about?”
“Sorry,” I said. “The big event?”
Russell nodded slowly.
“I don’t want to be too premature, but if everything goes well this month, then we’re going to cap our little entry into this scene off by throwing a party here. It’ll be just like what you’ve already done, except you’ll be the hostess of the evening.”
My heart began to race at the mere thought of this. Me, in charge of my own party? That meant that everything came down to me. All of the details, from the food to the music to the invitations, all down to making sure each guest was happy. I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle the pressure.
Russell must’ve picked up on this.
“You’re worrying again,” he said.
“I can’t help it,” I said. “It’s just all a lot to take in. I’ve never organized a fancy party.”
“You won’t be doing it all on your own,” he said. “You’ll be able to hire some of the best party planners in the city. I’m sure that you’ll be fine, and we’re not going to leave anything up to chance. I only mention it now so you can start getting some ideas about what sort of little fête you might like to have. It’ll all be your call.”
I turned my attention back to my food. Part of me was nervous beyond belief, but another part of me kept in mind that Russell wouldn’t be asking me to do this if he didn’t think I could pull it off.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You might be my property, but we’re also a team.”
As corny as it sounds, hearing Russell say this warmed my heart.
After a time, the two of us finished our meals. I cleared the table and poured the two of us the last bit of wine in the bottle. Together, we drank our wine on the balcony, the music and the hushed waves of the ocean blending together.
“I feel like dancing,” he said, standing up. “Come here.”
He extended his hand, and I couldn’t help smile as I took it. Russell pulled me close and I rested my head on his chest as the two of us danced slowly to the music. For a time, it seemed like there was nothing in the world but the two of us.
Chapter Fifteen
Alyssa
The next few weeks flew by in a blur. Russell and I developed a nice little routine: he spent his time taking care of his business, and I spent mine making nice with Annie, Emma, Martina, and the rest of the girls who I eventually met in the LA wives’ scene. It was strange to be shopping and lunching while Russell was out possibly risking his neck—not to mention his freedom—but he was quick to set me straight when I expressed my doubts.
“Your work is just as important as mine,” he said. “When you’re out there with the girls you’re networking, making connections, and ensuring that we blend well into the scene here.”
“Still,” I said. “I just feel like I’m, I don’t know, being lazy.”
“You’re not,” he said. “Other people need to see that I’ve got a beautiful woman like you taken care of. And if it helps, you’re still my property; you don’t need to feel good about the orders that I give you.”
He said this with a little flash of a smile, and I took it in the spirit it was intended.
Thought I felt a little too much like a pampered princess at times, he was right that I was doing some difficult work. Not all of the girls I met were as accommodating as Annie, Emma, and Martina—some, especially the ones getting a little up there in years, viewed a girl like me as a threat, possibly even competition for their men’s attention. There was a lot of personality managing, not to mention keeping track of the ever-shifting landscape of rivalries that some of these girls maintained with one other. It seemed like every outing I found out
about some new little spat a pair of the girls was having, usually over some perceived slight about one stupid thing or another.
The four of us stuck together, doing our best to stay out the drama. And, for the most part, it worked. I was happy to have a handful of women that I could call friends, and they proved to be beyond helpful in planning the party that Russell and I were throwing at the end of our month here, which was quickly arriving.
And the party …
Once Russell confirmed a couple weeks into our time in LA that everything on his end was going well, he gave me the go-ahead to start getting the party set up. I had no idea what I was doing, having never done anything like this before, but Russell did his part by handing me that heavy metal black card of his and telling me that price wasn’t an issue.
So, I went headlong into it. With the help of the girls, I organized the catering, the music, the booze, and the décor. LA was quite the party scene, so there was no shortage of companies who were more than happy to get me taken care of, especially when I ever-so-obviously let them lay eyes on Russell’s black card. The first few days of planning were a whirlwind, but eventually, everything started to come together. This thing was starting to look like it was really going to happen. Sure, I still had hosting duties to worry about, but I decided not to worry about that until the day of.
And things between Russell and I took an interesting turn. After that first little dinner of ours, I began making it a routine that I’d make a little something for the two of us just about every night. He’d send me a text letting me know that he’d be home in an hour or so, and I’d pick out a recipe for something good on the Internet that used whatever ingredients I had on hand or could run out and pick up. Then he’d come back to a home-cooked meal and when we were done eating we’d enjoy a little wine on the balcony before heading inside to do … other things.
It was strange; despite the circumstances of my living situation, I was starting to develop something of a wifely routine. I was spending my days with my girlfriends, doing a little shopping after, then coming home to tend to the house and prepare dinner. I might have been the property of an international criminal, but our home was starting to approach something close to domestic bliss.
As odd as it sounds, I couldn’t help but wonder how Cory was doing. Sure, he was a drug-addict low-life, but he was the brother of the man who I was starting to care for. Every now and then I’d get the urge to ask Russell if he’d heard anything from him, or if he’d checked up on Cory, but I knew better than to meddle in his affairs like that. Every so often, however, I’d witness him receive a text which, upon reading, would result in a narrow-eyed, frustrated expression forming on Russell’s face before he shoved his phone back into his pocket. I didn’t know if it was Cory, but something told me it was.
Eventually, the day of the party arrived. My phone alarm went off, and when I sat up to check it, a strange feeling came over me. It was an instant, overwhelming feeling of nausea that forced me out of bed and rushing to the toilet. Russell had already gotten up, so I didn’t worry about making too much noise as I knelt in front of the bowl and yakked up whatever was giving me trouble. The nausea went as quickly as it came, and I found myself wondering what I could’ve eaten that had disagreed with me so much.
Then I had a thought. Was I … pregnant?
Russell and I had been having our fun on a pretty regular basis, and we didn’t use protection every time. My mind raced for a moment before I calmed myself down.
Worry about this later, I told myself. You’ve got the evening of your life coming up—no room for distractions.
This served to calm me down a bit. And it was true that I didn’t have any mental space to worry about anything but the day ahead.
I showered and dressed, checking my phone on the way downstairs to see that my screen was full of text messages and email alerts from the girls and the various services that I’d hired for the night. The girls wanted to know what time to start coming by to help, and the services all wanted final confirmation. My fingers were a flurry as I responded to everyone while pacing around the kitchen. Once everything was settled, I allowed myself a few moments of calm.
You can do this, I told myself. Easy peasy.
Over the course of the day the house became a flurry of activity. The party planners decorated the first floor, the caterers set up the food, and the jazz band that I’d booked showed up to begin preparing. And the girls helped me out when they could, reminding me of odds and ends that I’d forgotten. Once all of the services had arrived, the four of us went out to have our hair and makeup done. By the time we were all done up, I was feeling a little better about the whole thing. We headed back to the house and started putting on our evening party clothes. My dress on, my hair done, and my makeup applied, I took a deep breath while looking in the mirror.
It was time to start.
The four of us headed down the stairs, where Russell was waiting. He was dressed in an impossibly stylish dark blue suit and a pair of sleek black dress shoes. His thick, dark hair was slicked backward, and his beautiful face was shaved clean. A glass of whiskey in his hand, he looked so gorgeous that I could barely think.
“Evening, ladies,” he said to the four of us.
Annie, Emma, and Martina all started tittering and giggling at the sight of Russell, their faces turning the same shade of deep red.
“Um, good to see you, Russell,” said Annie, her typically boisterous tone now a little hushed.
The other girls said their hellos in similar bashful ways, and I couldn’t help but feel a little pride at the fact that they were obviously having a hard time dealing with just how stunning Russell was. And to tell the truth, so was I.
“Now’s not the time for standing around,” he said in a stern voice. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
I nodded, and the four of us went to work taking care of the last few details, the house now abuzz with all of the service staff. Eventually, the hour arrived, and so did the first guests. I watched nervously through one of the front windows as the first handfuls of luxury cars and limos arrived, the valets hurrying to take the cars off of their wealthy owner’s hands.
I positioned myself by the front door to greet the first few guests. With a warm smile and gracious words, I welcomed them to the house.
For a time, only a dozen or so partygoers were there, and part of me was worried that the whole thing would be a bust. But that fear was quickly dashed when as the next hour went on and car after car arrived, the house filling with guests. Soon, the place was nearly packed.
Music played, drinks were served, and the party was on.
“You did good,” said Russell, standing at my side as we watched the bustle of activity. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves so far.”
“Hopefully the night finishes as well as it started,” I said.
“Oh,” said Russell, that sly smile of his appearing on his face. “I have a feeling it will.”
I couldn’t help but blush.
“Now,” he said. “Grab a glass of wine and do the rounds. Be as good as a hostess as I know you can be.”
“Go team,” I said, lifting a glass off of a passing tray and raising it to Russell.
We clinked our drinks and headed off to do our thing. I began walking through the party to make my rounds, raising my drink to my lips as I did. But before I could take a sip, a thought occurred to me, one of the nausea that had gripped me this morning. The same invasive thought came into mind.
Was I pregnant?
I stared down into the glass of ruby red wine, wondering if I should take a sip. I knew it was foolishness—after all, a sip wouldn’t do anything—but I couldn’t help but feel as though I were doing something wrong.
I’ll think about this later, I told myself. For now, I’ll just keep this as a prop.
Wine in hand, I wove my way through the party, chatting with the various guests. I did my routine, charming the men and wrapping them around my little f
inger, flirting as I needed to and making them feel special in the way that I knew they wanted to feel. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the girls watching me carefully. I didn’t know what to think—did they now consider me competition? This in mind, I made sure to keep away from the men who they were attached to; I didn’t need to be turning friends into enemies tonight.
Eventually, I made my way to them.
“Quite the little hostess, you are,” said Emma. “You’re leaving a trail of very powerful men in your wake with one thing on their minds.”