“You’re joking right?” I blow out.
“It will be worth it when we get inside.”
Every muscle in my body contracts. I can’t get out of this limo dressed like this. And I certainly don’t want my picture taken and splashed across the media. Not with my quite ordinary hair, and wearing a twenty dollar dress from the boutique in the mall.
“It won’t be worth it,” I say in panic.
He laughs as Henry rolls down the glass screen. My eyes gape at him, surly he will agree with me on this one. But all he does is nod sympathetically.
“Jen, come on.”
Grayson gets out and walks around to the red carpet. The photographers yell for his attention and he handles it so well, with a formal smile and wave.
Gasping for air, I slide down the seat into the middle. I really do not want to get out. Grayson opens my door to let the blinding flashes inside, like strobe lights trying to take a snap of me. He arches his back with his wide eyes set on mine, and stretches out his hand.
“Jen, I promise it will be worth it,” he says.
I close my eyes, swallow, and reluctantly take hold of his fingers. As soon as I hoist my head, the clicking sound becomes deafening. I already know these images are going to be dreadful: gawping, shocking, expressions of my face.
“Grayson… Grayson,” voices frantically yell.
He bends to my ear. “Just smile, and try not to trip over your own feet.” He waves to the crowd.
Oh god, this is crazy.
I smile slight as I step in-line carefully with Grayson. Thankfully, now the media’s attention has moved onto the poor souls behind us.
We arrive the grand glass entrance of a building called: The Revenue. I see many people inside, all completely out of my league. The high and mighty of society dressed in their finest attire. This isn’t a date, it’s a nightmare.
“See, over now,” he says, handing a colossal security guard two passes.
Grayson enters first as I lumber nervously behind. He walks with poise, meeting and greeting. My eyes wander high to see the great glass slanted ceiling. There are huge ornate silver chandeliers, which hang level with a balcony to the second floor. I’m awestruck. It’s a very intimidating place. It’s too big, posh, and now my suede heels are stuck to the speckled black floor tiles.
“Jen.” Grayson gestures his head, while helping himself to two flutes of bubbly from a waitress’s tray.
I exhale and slowly approach, taking the glass flute with my sweaty fingers.
“Come on, there’s much to see.” He squeezes my arm, grinning.
“Is that a normal thing for you?” I ask, referring to the frenzy outside.
“Occasionally I have to run away from paps. Seems people like to know what the son of Winston Crane is doing.” I hum, drinking my fizz as he guides me deeper into the busy reception area.
We move by a crowd of people looking down at a large billboard. I place my glass on a shelf next to a rubber plant, and elevate on my toes to look over a woman’s shoulder. I still don’t know what the hell this place is yet.
Grayson pokes my arm, wanting me to follow, but I don’t. I turn back to the board to see a name I’ve heard of before: Jasper Grace Donnelly. He’s an artist, famous for his contemporary contradiction of the human body. A tiny wave of excitement buzzes through me, as I tail Grayson eagerly through a black door.
The Usual Faces
For a moment I thought I screwed this date up. I guess throwing her into the jaws of the media wasn’t such a good idea. But now she’s by my side, and realizes why we’re here, I’m enjoying the anticipation I see in her wandering eyes.
I’ve been here before. Not under these circumstances. It was for a meeting my father organized with architects and several construction companies, to go over the plans for another oilrig erection out in the Atlantic. It was then I picked up a pamphlet on this exhibition. And when I learned of Jen’s love of art, I called in a favor with the owner to get passes for this prestigious event.
I watch as she rushes across to the first piece. I grab two more flutes from a roaming waiter and stand at her back.
“Here,” I hover the glass over her shoulder. She takes it with a smile, then turns back to the first painting displayed in the gray felt booth.
I haven’t even noticed the artwork on show. Her standing only a foot away with her back to me, and her hair only inches from my nose is somewhat distracting. I can smell her shampoo and perfume. It’s like inhaling some intoxicating drug that’s messing with my senses. To me, she is the most perfect piece of art in this building.
“This is pretty amazing, Grayson,” she peers up over her shoulder.
Dammit. She’s seen me burning up, and seems amused with the probable dumb expression on my face.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I breathe out, giving myself a mental kick up the rear.
I study the picture. It’s a mashup of age and youth exposed on a woman’s face. One blue eye wide, bright, and carefree. And the other, thin, gray, and wise. Both stunning in their own right.
“Look at how nothing is set, it just flows randomly,” she sighs.
Where the hell did she come from? She is one of the most unique people I have ever had the privilege to know. She’s cultured. Au fait for her age. And she’ll do anything for others, but accept nothing in return. In my life, I have only ever known greedy braggarts and money grabbing sluts. Before I met Jen, and before the big C, I had a book of names, A to Z, filled with women who would gladly see me serviced. All of my perspectives have changed now. All because of her.
She frowns, catching me staring at her. “Are you going to look at these paintings?”
“Yes,” I say, as she drags me to the next work.
The one person I didn’t want to see, and if I’d have known he was going to be here, I would have never come, is my father’s golden boy, kiss-ass Riley. A greedy narcissist. I grumble and polish off my wine, watching his smug face grinning at me.
“Grayson,” he holds out his hand. “Good to see you buddy.” What a patronizing asshole. “How are you now… had some tests done didn’t you?”
Jen pouts as I prepare my dishonest reply, silently. Basically, I’m going to lie through my teeth. It’s wrong, sure it is. But none of my work associates need to know my business, or have the right to discuss my life within the Crane Empire.
“Everything is all good.” Jen nudges my arm. “Right on track,” I add, confident.
He opens his arms and pulls me into his chest, then begins to pat on my damn back. “That’s marvelous news,” he roars. “Your dad has been meaning to ask. Just busy, busy, busy,” he animates. “You know how it is.”
“Sure I do.”
“How’s the work on the hotel?”
“Real good,” I say. “I’d say another week, and we’ll have hit completion before schedule.”
“Fantastic,” he claps his hands. “Anyway, who is this lovely lady?” His black brows rise at Jen.
“This is Jenifer… Jenifer this is, Riley.”
“Nice to meet you… Jen for short?” he flirts.
“Yes,” she says, politely.
“Well, I have no idea where my date is,” he laughs, garish. “She’s a hard one to keep hold of that one… Oh here she is,” he waves behind me.
I look over my shoulder to see a leggy blonde flaunting over. I grit my teeth, wanting this encounter over… like yesterday. I can foresee this dialogue going downhill, fast.
Jen utters under her breath. I watch as her body deflates with a deep uncomfortable sigh. She clearly knows this girl, and doesn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity of her.
“Oh my god… Jen,” she squeals.
“You two know each other?” I question, when really I shouldn’t. But I’m far too curious not to.
“Sure we do,” she giggles. “Jen was the best dancer in the academy.”
“Well Grayson, seems we have very similar tastes you and I,” Riley winks. �
��Grayson, this is Fiona Harris.”
Jen smiles weakly while twiddling a strand of her hair around her finger.
“Fiona,” I nod.
“So Jen… what have you been up to?” Fiona asks in an irritating tone.
The dreaded question was bound to come up, and now I feel awful for her. She’s on the spot, in a room full of pompous fat-cats such as myself. She hums in reluctance to answer.
“You do know Grayson, Jen here was one of the best dancers I’ve ever seen.” She links up to Riley. “There wasn’t a thing she couldn’t do. And her freestyle, well… wow!”
“You should both come to see Fiona… she’s dancing in Valdis Lost Love,” Riley boasts.
“So, what are you doing now, Jen?” Fiona asks again.
I subtly run my fingers down her arm and around her hand, to let her know I’m still here.
“You know… the usual,” she utters.
“Yes, and you’d be blown away by her talent,” I add, only to have her fingernails dig into my hand. “One word- phenomenal.” Perhaps I should shut up; I may lose my hand if I continue.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you’re still in the game. If you’re ever wanting a change, you should totally come to auditions next week,” Fiona chirps. “We’re looking for a new leading lady.”
Jen grins and shies away, nodding her head. I think it’s a damn good idea, and she should jump at the opportunity. I grip her hand in encouragement.
“I know you would make a wonderful, Maria,” Fiona adds.
“I’ll think about it,” Jen smiles. “Got a lot to consider. You know… commitments.” She flushes and her palm begins to feel clammy.
Riley tilts sideward fast to lift drinks from a passing tray. He hands a glass to each of us.
“Anyhow guys… been good catching up with you.” Riley clinks his glass on mine. “Fiona, let’s leave these lovers to enjoy their night.”
I shake hands with Riley as Jen half-heartedly hugs Fiona. We say our goodbyes, and thankfully part ways.
Jen exhales a long releasing breath, then completely devours the entire glass of wine.
“Can we get out of here,” she asks.
I have absolutely no problem agreeing, and gladly stride to the doors with her. I had two parts lined up for this evening, and thought both would be enjoyable. The first part has unfortunately, turned into date night hell. I’m just hoping the second will make up for it.
My Starry Night
I can see him glancing over at me every now and then, as we travel out of the city. He’s waiting for me to tell him how awful the night has been. But it’s not his fault. He wasn’t to know my number one fan would be at, The Revenue. I’m the reason we left early and ruined it all. I was so set on leaving, all because I didn’t want to have to think about my life failures, that we didn’t get to see all Jasper Grace Donnelly’s work. And now I feel guilty. Especially when he’s gone to so much trouble.
“I’m really sorry about running out like that,” I say.
“It’s fine… pity we had to share the experience with people,” he smiles, sliding closer so his arm is pressed against mine. “People are so annoying,” he nudges me, playfully.
“Riley seems nice,” I add, sarcastic.
“He’s a jerk… distant relative who has more respect from my father than I,” he grumbles.
“And none of them know about?” I dip my head, not wanting to say the word.
“I don’t need to tell them. I won’t let them use my problems to feed their own self-regard.”
“So you would rather keep secrets?” I peer into his eyes.
He grabs hold of my hand. “I’m living more now than I did when I was sick, and I don’t want it to change. You however, need to be told what to do. Not auditioning for that show would be stupid.”
I nod, closing my eyes. “Mr. Crane, I will follow your example and tell you that I will make my own choices, thank you very much.”
“The most adamant untrusting girl in the world.” He sweeps my hair behind my ear. “And the guy who is full of life because of her, in the face of elimination. What are we going to do with each other?”
His jaw constricts as I fill with emotions I strain to keep inside. He leans across and tenderly kisses my lips. I pull away from him, slowly, with my hand resting on his chest.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk,” I sigh. “That way we won’t depress each other with reality,” I smile.
He angles down and places his forehead against mine. “The here and now.” His breath warms my cheek.
“Yes.” I inhale and turn back to the window.
I notice we’re travelling in a completely different direction than I expected. I see my confused reflection in the glass, then turn to Grayson.
“I have one more thing I want to show you,” he beams. “And we’re nearly there,” he points outside.
I look through the window to see the Bellview Hotel at the top of a winding path. There are beautiful rockeries, and colorful flowers to each side. The enormous white building with nation-state flags waving in the wind before the entrance, looks spectacular. It’s been so long since I’ve been in there, and the nerves begin to stir up my memories. My father, the dance, and now Grayson. Thing is, I want to see; to be in that happy frame of mind again.
“You’re going to give me the guided tour?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
Henry rolls his window down and peers over the headrest. He’s decided to take off his hat, and has an impassive expression across his face.
“Right, I’ll give you a moment,” he mumbles, then gets out of the car.
I bite my cheek as Grayson gazes anxiously. He’s acting really odd all of a sudden, and he’s making me uneasy.
“What’s up?”
“Henry wants to go home…” he hesitates. “So would you like to spend the night with me?”
“Here?”
“Yes… I have something I’d like you to see.”
“Well, maybe you should show me first.”
“Okay.”
He gets out of the car and has a word in Henry’s ear. I know something has gone on between them both. There’s a really thin atmosphere between them, and Grayson seems to be trying too hard to lighten Henry’s mood.
“Jen,” Grayson opens the door for me.
I place my heels on the smooth tarmac. Henry leans against the hood of the limo with his arms folded. Grayson takes my hand as I turn away from Henry, and he leads me up the white stone steps, between two towering columns.
He opens the great tinted glass doors and I step by him. The place looks amazing; all completely different from what I remember. The old busy patterned red carpet has been replaced with a high gloss black tiled floor. Where the old pine reception desk stood, now stands a long gray granite desk. The furnishing are covered with cream and black damask fabric. And the epic staircase now has shiny silver ornate handrails, with gray marble stairs.
I remain on the spot and twirl slow, looking high to the elaborate ceilings and huge crystal chandeliers, which cast prisms of light upon the cream walls. The hotel has gone from retro to chic. Grayson has done a marvelous job on it.
“Jen,” he calls, standing before a set of oak doors.
My heels gradually clops across the floor toward him.
“Close your eyes,” he orders, wrapping his hands around two big brass door handles. “Don’t look until I tell you.”
He waits for me to follow his command as I crease my eyes, dubiously. I fill my lungs and reluctantly close myself into the darkness. I listen to the vast doors open, and feel a slight breeze float over me. I really want to be naughty and look. I’m dying to see why he’s being all cagy.
Suddenly, I feel his soft warm hands move over my face to cover my eyes, preventing me seeing a thing at all. I breathe in deep, sensitively provoked by his gentle touch.
“Okay,” he laughs. “Move forward.”
I giggle because I feel so ridiculous, stumbling as his
body pushes me forward. “Grayson, let me see.”
“Pick up your feet,” he laughs. “Right… nearly there.”
He stops moving and takes his hands away. I bite my lip, anticipating, as his feet shuffle around me on the hard floor.
“Okay… you can open,” he sighs, loud.
Oh god. Now I’m not sure I can. I exhale and peel open one eyelid at a time. My jaw opens in awe. I’m in the ballroom. The same room I danced in for my dad. Like the foyer, it’s all been revitalized to a high standard.
Slowly, my eyes drift around the dancefloor to see lit candles flickering all around us. I gulp, feeling overexposed as he stands before a cloth covered stand, observing me. I used to perform tricks for guys for money, and now before the nicest guy I know, I’m liquefying, fast.
“You did all this for me?”
“I thought you could maybe give me some dance lessons.” He peers sideward with a cute smile. “But there is something else first.”
“Really.” What could possibly top all this?
Slowly, he tugs the corners of the cloth from the stand. First I see blue, then yellow, and now my heart feels as though it might just shoot through my ribcage. He pulls the cloth away fully, wafting the fabric like a bullfighter to reveal: The Starry Night.
Wow, this cannot be real can it? I gasp as I take baby steps toward the artwork. My eyes glaze over as I become blinded by perfection, and emotional by this gesture.
“This is only a duplicate.” He hovers behind me. “Van Gogh painted two versions,” he explains. “Both owned by my father. One hangs in the museum of modern art, and this one lives in my father’s safe.”
“I… I never knew two existed.”
“If you look at the star on the right side.” He runs his hands down my arms to bring my pores to life. “You’ll see the paint has a slightly different color, and the shape is all wrong. “Apparently, he swapped this one for a pitcher of wine.”
They’ve been in me for a while now, tears I’ve been storing just for him. Now, I can’t hold them inside any longer. I’m falling fast and hard for someone who is doing too damn well at hiding how ill he really is.
The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer Page 9