Lyrical Lights

by Maria La Serra

  “Mother hen?” His smiled broadened.

  “You have no idea. I need to get a place of my own because these days it feels like I’m living in a shoe,” I said, watching him wave a taxi down.

  “At least text me when you get home?” When the cab pulled up, Simon opened the door.

  “Well, have a safe trip. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” I lingered for a moment. I didn’t know what came over me; maybe it was the wine, or the crisp, cold air that made me feel so alive. Or was it those eyes, intensely staring back at me, like something extraordinary should happen. I yanked him closer.

  Contact.

  I was worried when he took a step back, pulling away from me, but then he quickly recovered, pushing me backward. Soon I was leaning against the frame of the taxi door. His arm wrapped tight around me; he was kissing me feverishly. And there it was, as clear as day. Words couldn’t convey what a kiss could. There was no hiding from it now.

  “Hey, lady, I haven’t got all night. Are you getting in or what?” the driver called out from inside. Simon pulled back and looked at me, half in shock, half not wanting to stop.

  “I like you too, Simon, in a figurative way.” I winked just before sliding into the seat. As the taxi drove away, I looked back at Simon, who was standing there, thinking to himself what the hell just happened?

  I thought we might never scale that wall—not because we were cowards, not because we were afraid, but because things between us would always be sensitive … like a fragile object, it needed to be held with both hands. This relationship meant a lot, and so delicate it would have to stay.

  A black town car drove us to the Elite cover party that was being held at the Plaza Hotel. The who’s who of the fashion world was to be there, including a few Hollywood stars. I felt sick to my stomach, and maybe I should have had something more than a salad for lunch, but I had to fit in a Vigi dress. I was fortunate to have been able to borrow it from the designer, a beautiful metallic purple dress with a plunging neckline. Gloria thought I needed to wear something extravagant to make an entrance, to stand out from the other models who might be there. I wasn’t crazy for attention, but I cared about my career evolving to something more. So I had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with.

  “Stop stressing, you’ll be okay,” Tracy told me when I kept asking questions. “Trust me, these events are such a bore.” Her wavy cinnamon hair cascaded down her black jacquard blazer, stopping an inch from a jeweled flower pin on her lapel. Tracy was a district attorney, and I think the only reason she had an interest in fashion was Gloria. They’d been dating for a while, and I was not sure what was next for them, but I had never seen Gloria so happy. Somehow her past relationships with men had always seemed forced and unnatural. Then, two years ago at a New Year’s party, she pulled me aside and confessed she was in love with a woman she had met on a plane bound for London. She had wanted to tell me sooner, but was afraid that my view of her would change. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It’s easy to think we know it all when we don’t. This was about love. Did it matter who reciprocated on the other end? Not for me. I was only disappointed that she had thought otherwise. I knew it took courage for someone to bare their soul; it took fearlessness to face the world and be who you were. She was finally just being Gloria.

  “That’s not true. They’re so much fun, and it’s great for networking.” Gloria smiled, and Tracy half rolled her eyes, then put her hand on her mouth, pretending to yawn.

  “Whatever you do, just don’t get stuck with Matthew Norville. That man is such a flat tire, he’ll talk your ear off the whole night.”

  “Don’t tell her that. He’s the one that signs our paychecks. Elite is part of Norville magazine publishing,” Gloria said. Her diamond teardrop earrings dangled back and forth, a flicker of light bouncing from them. She checked her makeup one more time before snapping the compact mirror shut as the vehicle slowed down.

  “I think we’re here.” Gloria placed everything inside her small silk purse as the car eased its way to a halt.

  When I stepped out of the black town car, there was a row of photographers snapping away at anything that moved. Paparazzi—now I realized why no one seemed happy when they’re on the red carpet. Why on earth would anyone smile at the torments of their demands and rudeness?

  The arriving guests gathered quickly at the front door of the Plaza, and the surrounding security got tighter. I moved over onto the sidewalk and waited for Tracy—she was the last one to get out of the car.

  “Ladies together,” a man yelled out from the group of people snapping away. Gloria always said if the paparazzi wished to take your picture—let them. You never knew; it might land on a cover of some magazine, and any publicity was good publicity. The three of us gathered up and posed right there on the sidewalk, next to the crowd of people who were getting out of the black limo.

  Flash, flash, flash.

  Every single reflecting light made me think of him. I imagined someone like Simon would have to be here tonight. Part of me had hoped, and the remaining half felt uneasy to cross paths with him. I hadn’t spoken to or seen Simon in weeks. That night of the kiss had left me wanting more, and I thought Simon had felt the same, because when I texted him I had arrived home safely, his response was, We need to talk when I get back from Vegas, but I don’t think I can wait that long. That kiss … Can’t stop thinking about it. Troublemaker, what did you start?

  But it had never transpired. When he came back to New York, I flew out to L.A … When I got back home, he had gone to Japan. Then it had come to a sudden halt, all our daily texts. Some were flirty … some were just shooting the shit until we went out of focus.

  It was not like Simon not to reply to my text, but I wasn’t going to chase him around. If he wanted me, then he would make it happen.

  We walked into the beautiful hotel lobby, adorned with marble floors. Just under a big crystal chandelier, I found Amanie and her husband Mac. We spoke until a woman dressed in black with a walkie-talkie in her hand whisked me away, taking me into a large room. There I was asked to get in line behind other people waiting to walk the black carpet, getting their pictures taken behind a black screen with names of sponsors printed in white. I lowered the volume of my earpiece, which was covered underneath my hair. The extraneous sound of the background noise had caused me more anxiety, and it was only elevating. I watched a couple go before me, and I knew I had to follow their lead, since I had never done this before. You were supposed to walk the carpet, stop, pose, a hand on the hip, and continue until you made it all the way down the runner.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Down here to the right!” someone yelled behind the velvet rope as I began my stroll towards the end of the runner. The crowd of men were more tamed than they had been minutes before. When Crystal Z, the biggest pop star of the moment, had walked the carpet, it was total mayhem.

  “Here please!” another shouted. Millions of lights going off by the second, blinding everything in front of me. I focused on not tripping on my train, because that would have been embarrassing.

  “Hey, Mable, over here!” someone howled, and the paparazzi got more aggressive.

  “Mable, Mable, come back!” As I approached the end of the runner, a woman in black ran up and asked me to go back again.

  “Guys, get back, please,” the security guard yelled out to the crowd of photographers, trying his best to hold the line. I couldn’t understand the excitement.

  “Look over the shoulder. Yes, that’s it, babe.”

  “This way, please … Mable, to the left,” another one yelled.

  “Mable, at the top!” I moved my face, taking their directions. You couldn’t understand the feeling until you were up here. There was this moment, right before the light caught you, this exhilarating feeling that anything could happen. At that moment, you were bigger than your dreams, larger than life, and with every flicking light, I knew I would be a slave to it, all in the name of fame. Th
e final time I walked off the carpet, they still called me by name, but I had given enough of myself. Only now I had gotten a taste of what it was, and I wanted more.

  “Welcome to the circus,” someone behind me said.

  “Careful,” he said, fluidly, like we knew each other.

  “Hmm …”

  “Your glass of sparkling wine … is leaning dangerously. It would be a pity to get it all over your dress.” He held my gaze. At first glance, I noticed he wasn’t wearing a necktie; his silk light green pocket square was tucked inside like a flower. His velvety brown hair parted to one side. He was pleasant on the eyes.

  “Oh, I …” I shook my head. “Thank you.” I had focused on the crowd, unaware of how I was holding my champagne glass.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a heavy French accent.

  “About what?”

  “You having troubles with the boyfriend?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “So now I’m curious to know what’s distracting you. We crossed paths back there in the entrance, but you didn’t find my smile contagious.” He looked me over and frowned. “I really deserve your attention, but it’s difficult to prove.” He slid his hands into his pockets and walked closer.

  There’s nothing I would have enjoyed more than to brush off this brash young man, but a glimpse of Simon through the crowd, had left my heart deflated. I wished it were Simon instead of this stranger that was seeking my attention.

  “I’m sorry … if I’m making it difficult for you.” I thinned my eyes, inhaling a breath before I continued. “But what is it exactly that you want?”

  “I think you already know,” he answered seductively. He looked at my eyes, then trailed to my lips. I could have walked away if I wanted, but now curiosity got the best of me.

  “You want to write my autobiography?” This made him laugh.

  “Ah, not only are you beautiful, but you’re very witty. Sure, if it means accepting an invitation to dinner.”

  “So you are a writer?” I said playfully, knowing well that wasn’t the case.

  “You’re adorable.” He smiled, looking at me in disbelief.

  “Should I know who you are? Wait, let me guess … You’re the French prime minister’s son?” I mused.

  “Not quite, but close.”

  “Close? Who are you, then?”

  “I’m an executive …” He reached for a champagne glass off a silver tray.

  “An executive?”

  “Let’s just say my family owns a famous French brand.”

  “Oh … which one?”

  “Paris Star.” He paused for a moment. “You never heard of it?” he said, not satisfied with my reaction.

  “Sure, I have.” Paris Star was a major player in the luxury brand arena. What I knew now was that Mr. Debonair’s father was Bernard Gaspard, who had gained the company when it was on the verge of bankruptcy with no experience in the fashion business, and who had somehow managed to turn it around, making it the most successful luxury goods company in the world. The Gaspard family had a net worth of fifteen billion reported in Forbes magazine. I wouldn’t have known this if Gloria hadn’t mentioned it once. Maybe all this information should have been impressive, but money and privilege never persuaded my opinion of someone. It was all irrelevant. The authenticity of a person had me going … but what about Mr. Debonair?

  “I’m Julian.” He held out his hand.

  “Mable.”

  “Enchanté, the pleasure is all mine. This is your first time, no?”

  “Yes.” I smiled, discreetly wiping my damp palms against the fabric of my dress. “Can’t you sense my unease?” I didn’t know why I was transparent with him.

  “Why?”

  “All these executives can make someone feel overwhelmed.” I brought the glass of champagne to my lips; it might loosen me up.

  He laughed. “I hope I’m making you feel more comfortable?”

  “Yes.” I smiled, trying to be polite, but I diverted my eyes around the room and back to Julian, who was still looking at me.

  “Ah, that’s more like it … You’re stunning when you smile.” He cocked his head to the side. “And the most beautiful language is the one your eyes are speaking now.” To some, he would be considered irresistibly sexy, but trying too hard was a total turnoff.

  “And what are my eyes saying?” I asked, amused.

  “They’re saying they want me to show you around Paris.” His eyes grew darker. I didn’t know what it was about his stare that made me feel uncomfortable. I was hoping Gloria would come to my rescue, because I didn’t know how to keep up this conversation with a man of his caliber.

  “I saw your book, and I’d love for you to represent our brand one day.”

  “Yeah … Okay.” I deflected my eyes back to the crowd. One thing I’d learned was to beware of people who promise big things. They usually wanted something in return.

  “I mean it. You have it—that magic. I knew when I saw your portfolio.” He took a step forward, trying to get back in my view. “You seem like a sensible woman, and it’s necessary to trust your instinct. It’s a misfortune for me in this case; in your mind, you already decided about me. We are not in reality where we take a person for something they’re not, and most people can invent virtues … But I promise you, I’m the one who will take you places.” If I were more naïve, I would have believed him.

  “Have you ever been to Paris?” He offered a subtle smile.

  “No, but I will be there for fashion week,” I said.

  “Ah, fantastique! We should plan to meet up.”

  “Perhaps.” I was vague for a reason, but I knew in this business it’s who you know, and I shouldn’t be closing any doors. But this was where it could get tricky. Fashion is an industry that’s run by mostly men, and where there are men, somewhere there’s also an abuse of power … it’s almost a given. Yes, it would be a dream come true to work with Paris Star, but it didn’t mean I would sleep with Julian to work for him. I redirected my eyes again, only this time I caught someone recognizable in the crowd. It was Vanessa, who seemed to be out of hand and in the arms of a man.

  Simon.

  “If I were him, I would have chosen you,” he said after a short moment. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mable. We’ll be in touch?”

  I was relieved that he’d given up, but not before he gently touched my arm and leaned close to my ear.

  “I’m worthy of your time, mesmerizing Bella. I hope you’ll figure that out.” He stepped away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving me speechless … but not in a good way.

  I picked up the bottom of my dress and zigzagged through the cluster of people, making my way to the brass doors. Outside, the crowd and the photographers had all but vanished from the spot which hours before had been total havoc. I took off my hearing aids, and life felt still for a while. My shoulders relaxed, and I stood there, feeling the cool spring breeze on my shoulders. It was my way of shutting out the world, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I remembered when I was younger that I had never wanted to miss anything. I had wanted to hear every audible sound the world made, every beat, every murmur. Without my hearing aids, I wasn’t a part of anything. Silence … but tonight I welcomed it.

  Sure, I felt hurt, not only seeing Simon with Vanessa but because of the fact that he knew I had been there the entire time and never sought me out. Weren’t we friends? Maybe I was fooling myself, to think he cared for me as much as I did for him. After the kiss, he had deliberately ignored me. We were adults; couldn’t we talk things out? It felt like I had just lost my best friend. Then another thought crossed my mind. Maybe Simon and Vanessa had reconciled; that’s why he had never responded to my last text. She despises me, so it would make sense. I wouldn’t lie. It wasn’t easy to watch her throw herself at him—and she knew I would be watching.

  I lifted my eyes only when I saw a shadow on the ground, and there he was. My heart throbbed in my chest; no need to hear s
omething you feel. His eyes hadn’t found me in the shadows because his focus was on Vanessa, who was half passed out, draped between Simon and some girl. He said something to the cab driver once Vanessa and the other girl were safely inside. Then he closed the door and watch the car drive off. I stood there, hoping I might go unnoticed, but something made him turn, and when he did, his eyes found mine.

  “Mable.” He made his way towards me.

  “Is Vanessa okay?” I didn’t care, but I asked anyway. The air seemed offbeat between us, like we didn’t know how to act around each other. I placed my aids back in, and for a moment my eyes focused on the concrete floor.

  “Yeah, nah … She’ll be all right, I guess.” I wished I could understand exactly what was going on between them. Better yet, what was going on between us?

  “Howya been?” He had no right to ask. Simon took his time to look me over, like he was searching for clues. Maybe he wanted to know things were good with us.

  “I’ve been … great.” I kept my tone fresh, like nothing had transpired between us. After all, it had only been one impulsive kiss. I had never expected it to be more than what it was, but my heart had other ideas. I came to believe my vital organ was a beggar reeling from the privation of love. It had searched for love high and low and had hoped to have found it in Simon. I had been wrong, just like those other times—love was a gutted game, and I played it so well I’d been made the captain of the team.

  “Look, I meant to call you … I wanted to speak to you about that night—”

  “Oh, that’s great. I appreciate that, but after you avoided me for over three weeks, I can only imagine your intentions fell, hmm … a little short.” My voice was steady, not even rising a notch. Few people looked at us as they walked by.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere private?” he said.

  “No, here’s fine.” I frowned. I had been waiting long enough for his bullshit.

  “I’m an arse.” Simon gave an involuntary shudder.

  “Yes, you are.”