by L. A. Zoe
Father had a tailor adjust it to Rhinegold’s current size. The jacket’s shoulders needed widening to make room for Rhinegold’s bigger muscles. The pants waist actually needed to be taken in. In the two years he was homeless, he lost flab around his waist.
Father’s personal barber also trimmed Rhinegold’s Mohawk, and shaped the hairs so they swerved to the side like a parenthesis on top of his head. And shaved the sides to make them smooth again.
In a style several years out of date, with no jewelry and no elegance, Rhinegold wouldn’t be the most handsome and sought-after man there, but he’d be spiffy. He was a knight, a fighter, not a dandy putting on a show. He wouldn’t quite embarrass SeeJai or Father, and that was dressed up enough for him.
When Rhinegold picked SeeJai up at her mother and Georgie’s apartment, she stood with Areetha just inside the lobby doors, wearing an ankle-length brown wool coat. She looked like a medieval monk, especially because she kept her hood over her head, so he couldn’t even see her face.
“Is this really you?” Rhinegold asked as SeeJai sat in front beside him.
Areetha climbed in the back so he could take her home before they headed west to the party. “It’s the real SeeJai, like you ain’t never seen before.”
“Shut up,” SeeJai said in a nervous voice.
That’s when the smell hit him. A meadow full of many different kinds of flowers on a warm spring day. “You smell beautiful,” Rhinegold said.
“Oh God,” SeeJai said, as though insulted.
“Shut up, SeeJai,” Areetha said. “It’s not as expensive as the designer label scents the other women’ll have on, but you’ll love it.”
“I do,” he said, impressed.
The bottom of the coat shifted, revealing SeeJai wore high heels—silvery glitter.
SeeJai!
Once on their way out west to Father and Sybille’s mansion, SeeJai didn’t seem to want to talk, and Rhinegold couldn’t think of anything to say, so they both remained quiet.
Although the main roads were clear and dry, snow and ice continued to cover the ground between the divided highway and the surrounding fields and lots. In the clear sky, a trillion stars glittered like snowflakes frozen on black velvet.
Rhinegold cleared his throat. “Um, I know you really wanted to go to this party, so I’m taking you even though … I’m surprised Father and Sybille invited us and, um, I normally wouldn’t go. I mean, they haven’t invited me for two years, and now here I’m going back again right away.”
“I’m sorry I’m dragging you along, but they wouldn’t want me without you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Rhinegold said.
“I’m your guest, remember. The invitation had your name on it, not mine. And your stepmother made a big point of Helena going to be there.”
The fan blew heat right into his face. One good thing about only renting a car when you needed it, they always worked well. And if they didn’t, you could get it replaced without worrying about how much the repair would cost.
“Sorry about that,” Rhinegold said. “I’m sure she … well, she knows I enjoy Helena’s violin playing.”
“That’s all?”
Rhinegold decided to ignore that. “So what I mean is, you’re my guest, but we’re just friends, so … I won’t get in the way of whatever you plan to do.”
“And just what is it you think I plan to do?”
“I don’t know. I mean, you’re hiding yourself in that coat like you don’t want me to see you even though you and Areetha obviously spent a lot of time and money on fixing you up.”
“I’m not hiding. I just want—I don’t know what I want.”
“Anyway, I’ll introduce you around, and when guys are interested, if that’s what you want, just send me away. I won’t hang around.”
“You think I’m going like this so I can meet other rich dudes?”
“Well, it crossed my mind.”
“Thanks, thanks a lot.”
Rhinegold could hear anger and sadness in her voice. Somehow he just hurt her, and he didn’t know how.
If she did ever decide she loved and wanted him, all she had to do was reach down to the floor one night, take his hand, pull him up, and …
Except she wouldn’t because the one time she offered him her body, he refused. Because she didn’t love him then. So that was right.
And over a month ago. Had anything changed? Could she possibly have fallen in love with him by now?
Would could he say to ask her that wouldn’t sound either ridiculous or sophomoric? Like a stupid kid.
Why was everything so difficult, so complicated?
A valet stopped Rhinegold at the beginning of the block. “Move over, dude,” he said. “I’ll let you and the lady off in front of the front door, then park it. Here’s your number.”
The sides of all the streets and the driveway were already full of parked cars.
“At least we’re not the first ones here,” Rhinegold said, hoping to get a little laugh from SeeJai. “I hate to arrive early at parties.” No such luck.
At the front door, to Rhinegold’s surprise, SeeJai waited for the valet to come around, and open the door for her.
Once he crawled out, feeling like a spider emerging from a hole, she took his arm as they went up the glowing white limestone steps to the front door.
The night’s doorman, in a heavy winter coat over his wine-colored uniform, smiled broadly and said, “Good evening,” as he held the door open for them.
Just inside the foyer, two smiling young ladies dressed in matching long green gowns took their coats, giving them numbered receipts.
Without her coat, SeeJai tripled the bright lights at the entrance.
As though the elves partied under the dark of the moon, until the elf queen arrived with the full moon directly over her head.
SeeJai wore a silver dress that glimmered and shimmered. Somehow, not reflecting, but emitting its own bright white light, illuminating her beauty.
Two thin straps held it in place, but left her arms, shoulders, and most of her back bare. The dress ended just past the middle of her thighs. Low enough to claim modesty, but high enough to entice with a glimpse of sleek curves. Skin bare except for a light brown tan.
Somehow the dress made the most of her small figure. Walking as straight as any model, she looked seven-feet tall. It accented her body’s slightest shape to enflame a man’s imagination about the pleasures it concealed.
Areetha made SeeJai up to accent her pixie beauty, heightening the exotic effect of her cheekbones, eyes, and ears.
Some kind of gel gleamed from her hair without looking sleazy or greasy. The top of her head and back of her neck sparkled with some kind of glitter, like a spider’s web of diamonds. Polished grained of ice.
Appalled, stomach roiling with a bitter taste, Rhinegold wanted to turn and run, jump in the car, and jam it back to the city at a hundred miles per hour. Anything to get away from this beautiful, glowing, demonic SeeJai.
A devil succubus masquerading as the elf queen he worshipped.
A faery princess exposed to the world as a wanton.
Beauty advertising itself with all the subtlety of a McDonald’s TV commercial.
Horrid lack of good taste and breeding. Tactlessly embarrassing him, but that wasn’t important.
Magic such as hers wasn’t for broadcasting to the masses, even the wealthy elites at this party. Yet there she was baring more skin than he’d seen in over a month of sleeping near her. In a cheap trashy party dress meant to dazzle rubes.
SeeJai held her hand out for him to take to escort her into the party.
His arm trembled, and his fingers squeezed hers harder than he intended.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice out of the corner of her mouth.
“You … look—”
“That bad?”
He heard the tears in her voice, but couldn’t hide the truth. “Like Lady Galadriel dressing as a Las
Vegas show girl.”
“You hate me. You’re ashamed of me.”
Rhinegold gulped, said, “I am still your golden knight and protector.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Meeting Helena Again
I must admit, after I swallowed Rhinegold’s contempt, I enjoyed the attention.
So, before I even stepped into the party, I knew Areetha’s plan was a total failure. Worse, now Rhinegold not only didn’t love me, he despised me. Areetha made me conventionally beautiful, but he wanted the fantasy lover in his dreams.
I nearly fled out into the cold without my coat. Let everybody think what they wanted. None of those people cared about me. Only Rhinegold, and now he hated me forever.
So, screw them. I’d go in and enjoy myself and if Rhinegold wanted to move out tomorrow, let him go, and good riddance.
I wanted to feel beautiful and sexy. And, for the first time in my life, I did. And I bet I wasn’t the only one who thought so, Rhinegold be damned.
Before Rhinegold and I entered, however, the hostesses insisted on pinning red helium balloons to each of us. Everybody at the party got one. They displayed a picture of Cupid about to shoot an arrow, and read, “Happy St. Valentine’s Day!”
They pinned the string of my balloon to the beginning of my dress’s strap, on the left, and having that string running up close to my ear, fastened to a balloon bobbing around above my head, seemed silly.
Yet, looking around, I saw everybody, men and women, with the same crazy balloons fastened somewhere around their shoulders. The party seemed to have two layers of guests. The humans having conversations, eating, and drinking—and the balloons jumping around, bumping into each other.
My pendent felt exposed, vulnerable. I fingered it, covering it, then forced my hand away. Silly. Nobody was going to grab and open it.
As he promised, despite hating my dress, Rhinegold took me around and introduced me to large numbers of his old friends. We attracted lots of attention. Rhinegold’s old buddies who hadn’t seen him for centuries who wondered what happened to him. Who he came to the party with.
Men’s heads turned as I circulated. I never had that effect on a room before, so I tried to just smile and accept the spotlight as my due. As I kept hoping after they examined me closely they wouldn’t be too disappointed.
The same thing I felt as I shook hands with so many guys. Their eyes flashed wide open, and I wanted to tell them they wouldn’t look at me twice in real life when I was just a skinny gal in blue jeans. Or a short waitress at the Sunshine Garden Restaurant.
I wanted to reassure the other women I wasn’t competition for their guys, even if I wanted to be. But their eyes narrowed like tigresses preparing to fight.
The party decorators Rhinegold’s folks hired did a terrific job. Pink and sparkly red hearts and streamers hung from wires stretched overhead. Banners read: Happy Valentine’s Day.
A small band occupied a low stage taking up half the living room. A young woman with flaming red hair sang “You are the Wind Beneath My Wings” although nobody danced or seemed to be listening.
The furnace worked overtime, heating the building like a sauna. We could have shucked all our clothes and gone comfortably naked. Some of the young women looked to me as though it wouldn’t be their first orgy, wearing revealing dresses, piercings, and chokers that made me feel hidden in a nun’s habit. Some of the guys wore enough tattoos and chains to equipment a BDSM dungeon. I began to realize Rhinegold didn’t want people to think I was one of the tramps.
I couldn’t remember them all, I didn’t try. A whirl of names and faces. Women my age in makeup that made them look thirty. Forty plus year old women in dresses more suitable for my age. Young guys, buddies of Rhinegold’s since grade school. Men with streaks of silver in their hair, lawyer friends of Rhinegold’s father. I saw more gold and diamond jewelry than in the display cases of Cromwell Jewelers.
By Rhinegold’s side, I joined the little circles and the shared conversations. Perfumes and men’s colognes formed sweet smelling auras of mixed aromas.
The wide smiles and open stares gratified me, and would have validated Areetha’s plan, except Rhinegold was the only target. And he … I tried not to think of the ugly way he looked at me right after I took off the coat.
A credit to his self-control, Rhinegold treated me much the same. With careful deference. Like a wild bird perched on his palm, blessing him with song but soon to fly away, never to be caged.
I didn’t want to be caged—just taken. Ravished. Appreciated with more than fancy words however gallant.
I embarrassed him in front of his rich friends. Inevitable, really, no matter what clothes I wore. Bluejeans or formal gown. They could tell I wasn’t one of them, wasn’t brought up with money, wasn’t upper class. I never played tennis or golf. I never rode in a Mercedes Benz. I never wintered in Maui or skied in Switzerland.
Helena … but her father bought her entree into high society. He went from middle class to earning the big bucks, and Helena apparently learned how to fit in. She adapted, and now was one of them. Not me. I was the dirty whore Rhinegold picked up walking the Red Line when he went slumming.
Not that anyone said anything rude. Or acted unkind. Or displayed any sign of contempt for me.
It just had to be in their thoughts. They knew how to hide their true feelings. And if they didn’t think those things when they met me, they would when they learned the truth.
We ate like kings and queens.
Everyone carried a plate full of appetizers. Cheese dips and crackers. Cantaloupe clumps. Deviled eggs. Filo triangles. Sliced carrots, celery stalks, and clumps of broccoli. Tropical fruit salad of pineapples, bananas, and mangoes with whipped cream. Miniature sandwiches—lettuce and chicken or ham salad. Meat balls. Pink and red M&Ms with hearts. Shrimp cocktail. Baked brie. Stuffed mushroom. Crab dip.
The dishes sat on a large, centrally located table, and also hostesses circulated, serving the appetizers and drinks to the guests as they stood throughout the entire first floor.
The band continued to play. They seemed to have a special Valentine’s Day repertoire—the top one hundred love songs, and went through the list one by one.
Rhinegold’s stepmother Sybille sought us out right away. I studied her face, the tiny muscles twisting the corners of her mouth, and especially her eyes, as though my life depended on what she thought of me. As maybe it did.
“It’s so good to see you again, SeeJai,” she trilled in a too-high, excited party-time voice.
“Thank you for inviting us,” I said, remembering only Rhinegold’s name appeared on the invitation. I was still only his guest.
“And thank you for dragging my wicked stepson along,” Sybille said, smiling. “I know he wouldn’t have come without you.”
“How could I miss it?” Rhinegold said.
“Your father’s in the rear den with all the most distinguished gentlemen. Make sure you speak to him. He’ll want to see you and SeeJai.”
She spoke the last sentence with a sort of dark hush. She didn’t want Rhinegold’s father to see me. As though I kept him from going to college.
“Lots of people are dying to see you again, Rhinegold. Please don’t disappoint them.”
“We’ll mix with everybody,” he said.
She shot me a Meaningful Look, then grinned. “And don’t forget what holiday we’re celebrating tonight.”
We made our way back to the rear den, and Rhinegold’s father broke off a conversation with several elderly men in expensive black evening suits to shake Rhinegold’s hand. He presented me.
“And this is Rhinegold’s guest, SeeJai.” He squeezed my hand and pulled me into a hug against his stomach he held several beats longer than I expected, and so tightly I could barely breathe. While his hand rubbed up and down my back. Areetha’s plan worked better on Rhinegold’s father than Rhinegold.
As we passed a clump of younger guests laughing and bumping each other, Keara broke away
and jumped in front of us.
She shouted our names, and gave us each quick hugs.
She wore a light blue and silver dress. Gold pins held back her gleaming blonde hair. She looked so much like Helena in high school I wanted to cry and puke.
If she remembered how we argued, she gave no sign of it. A smile spread across her face, flushed red, and fire lit her blue eyes. How many glasses of wine had she drunk already?
In his dignified male way, Rhinegold pretended to ignore our conversation.
“You look so darling!” she gushed to me.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said.
“Lets dump all these ugly guys and run away together,” she said.
I stiffened, the taunt lashing my heart with fire, and pulled away.
She laughed, and ran back to her friends.
Rhinegold gave no sign he heard or understood.
Areetha, no matter how femininely beautiful I dress, some people refuse to believe I’m not a basketball center in drag.
That bitterness, too, I swallowed.
So far then, thank goodness, no sign of Helena. Maybe she caught the flu. Maybe she got an offer to play her violin somewhere else for a string quartet. Maybe a man swept her off her feet and she forgot about Rhinegold.
Or maybe she just enjoyed being fashionably late.
Between Rhinegold’s contempt for my outfit, his stepmother’s too-polite welcome, his father’s too-enthusiastic welcome, and his stepsister’s hateful insult … how could I handle Helena?
Especially if she went off on me? As she had every right to do.
These people did not know our past. To them, I was the rude one. I was the waitress who dumped stir-fried vegetable curry in a restaurant over their friend.
For no apparent reason.
Neither Helena nor I wanted to tell anybody why I hated her. Or why she hated me first.
I resolved, if she wanted to dump food on me, to take it calmly. Maybe even offer to hold still for her. Fill the plate for her. Turn the other cheek. Take my medicine.