Chapter Eighteen
Identities
“Hello!” A vibrant woman, with hair so fire red I swore the sprinklers in the room would be set off by it, entered the room. “I’m Mona.” She grabbed my hand. “You’re Celaine, right?”
“I am,” I answered, uncertain whether I should make a break for it through the open door.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, caressing my hand. “My, you have such a pretty complexion and soft skin,” she said, her fingers running over my cheeks. “I’m going to be doing your makeup tonight for the President’s ball.”
At least it’s not my hair, I thought while envisioning myself with neon orange locks at the hands of Mona. “Swell,” I said through pursed lips of my own.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” a voice at the door startled me, but only served to invigorate Mona even more, a feat which I would have thought impossible.
“Maurice!” Mona squealed. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, Mona,” he said, a tad more nonchalantly than the cosmetologist next to me. “Celaine, I take it?” He held out his hand, allowing me to take it at my own pace.
“Yes,” I said, “that’s me.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” He had a smile that would make even the hardest of hearts soften just a little. It was a smile that made you feel comfortable, as though you were nestled on your couch at home in front of the fireplace. In other words, Maurice was the perfect complement to Mona.
“Nice meeting you too, Maurice.” I glanced at his bald head suspiciously, but quickly decided that even if he shaved my head bald, I was still in better hands with him than I was with Mona.
“Yes,” he answered my awkward stare, “male pattern baldness is something that not even modern medicine has complete control of; but don’t you worry, I still know how to do hair. Now, let me take a look at what we have to work with here.” Taking my hair in his hands, he ran his fingers through each strand, inspecting my tresses thoughtfully. I hadn’t had a haircut since before I came to The Epicenter, nearly one year ago, and my already lengthy brown hair had grown like a weed considerably during that time, extending down to my elbows in unkempt waves. “I can work with this,” he said.
“Fabulous,” Mona declared. “We should get started now, because we haven’t much time.” She eagerly led me to the bathroom. I looked back at Maurice, who rolled his eyes and shot me a sympathetic expression as I was dragged into my own rouge-infused living hell.
*****
“You need to take it easy,” Dr. Martin said, his eyes glancing at his wristwatch. “Your pulse has steadied to a more normal level, but I’m not satisfied that there’s not anything else going on. With the amount of blood you’ve been coughing up, you may have damage to an artery, a clot, or a mass in one of your lungs. Why don’t you let me examine you back at my lab, run some tests, and…”
“No. Absolutely not. I won’t be out of commission for that long, Marty,” Victor said. He adjusted himself in his leather recliner that faced out a window, overlooking Washington, D.C. “I can’t be out of commission for that long. Brooks is already having fits over my absence.”
“If your absence causes him fits, then your death would surely make him committable.” Dr. Martin fell silent, contemplating whether to ask the question that had been on his mind for months. “Have you ever thought about a replacement?” he asked, an eagerness infiltrating his voice.
“What are you talking about, Marty? Have you gone mad?” Victor laughed, promptly removing the wind from Dr. Martin’s sails. “And you say I’m the sick one.”
“It’s something worth thinking about, at least. You aren’t going to be around forever. I can and have performed a lot of miracles with you, but immortality isn’t part of my repertoire.”
“Then I suggest you change that, because I’m not going to just fade away from the face of this planet. Look at me, Marty, you’ve made me nearly unstoppable already.”
“With a partner, you could remove ‘nearly’ from that sentence, Victor. Don’t you see, with my help, you would be a force to be reckoned with…”
“I am a force to be reckoned with,” Victor growled. “Besides,” he raised his eyebrow, “when did your delusions of grandeur lead you to believe that you could be my partner?”
“I’ve been with you since day one. I know what you know. All I need is the physical strength to back up my knowledge.” Victor stared out at the evening city skyline, which only served to irritate Dr. Martin. “And let’s face it, Stevens’ callous disregard for following orders is dangerous. She has the capability of derailing everything we’ve worked to build, and in your weakened state, she could bring you down as well.”
“Marty, we’ve worked together for over two decades, and this is what you think of me? Don’t you think I can handle Stevens?”
“I’m not suggesting that she can’t be handled. You’ve done an excellent job of handling similar situations in the past. All I’m suggesting is that perhaps she was made a tad too strong. She hasn’t been broken like the rest of them were.”
“Every chain has a weak link,” Victor said, closing his eyes, “one that threatens to rip it apart, ensuring that it’s never put back together properly again. All I have to do is locate Stevens’ one link, pull it slowly until it begins to distort, and then…just as it’s clinging on to dear life to the rest of the chain, tear it away, and watch the remainder of the links crumble.” Victor lifted his arm to stretch, instantly becoming mesmerized by the glint of the setting sun’s rays off the metal that had so long ago replaced flesh and bone. “No, Marty, there will be no partner. There will only ever be one Man In Black, and he’ll be making his presence known again soon.”
*****
“Keep your eyes closed,” Mona ordered as she applied the eyelash curler to my curl-resistant lashes. “We wouldn’t want you losing any more eyelashes like we did from the other eye.” I winced at the thought of my delicate lashes being ripped away from my eyelid from a simple sneeze and an overeager Mona. “There,” she pronounced, “we’re almost finished on my end.”
Thank God. I adjusted myself in my chair, still keeping my eyes closed in case Mona decided to torture me some more. Maurice stood behind me, spraying his creation in place. A heap of hair littered the floor. After two hours of having my hair washed, dried, cut, and styled, and my face scrubbed, toned, primed, made-up, and every unnecessary hair follicle ripped out to its roots, my beauty transformation was close to complete.
“Okay,” Mona said. I opened my eyes to see her holding a charcoal eye pencil between her fingers and abruptly shut them again. “I’m just going to line your eyelids and you’re good to go, unless Maurice has anything further for you.”
“No,” Maurice said, taking a step back to admire his handiwork, “you can’t improve upon perfection.”
“Did Brooks pay you to lay it on thick?” I asked, a recognizable heat returning to my face.
“We don’t embellish here,” Mona said with a wink while she gathered her brushes, powders, and other glittery substances that I hoped hadn’t made their way onto my face, and put them back into her makeup bag. “I’ll let Maurice finish with you.” She checked her fire engine red hair in the mirror again before heading for the door. “It was nice meeting you, Celaine,” she said. “You look absolutely amazing; Ian’s jaw is going to hit the floor.”
“He’s not my boy—” I attempted to make out before the door closed loudly behind her, “—friend.”
Maurice laughed. “Mona just likes stirring the pot a bit. She’s really very harmless.” He lightly twisted stray strands of my hair that had fought their way out of the updo he’d spent the better part of the last hour creating. “There,” his perfect teeth peeked out from behind a small grin. “Go ahead and check yourself out.”
When I turned around, I expected to see a heavily made-up caricature of myself, more powder than skin, an artificial human. But when I turned to face the mirror, my breath hitched in my
throat. Practically unrecognizable as myself, I looked like a younger version of Carol. A beauty queen back in her youth, my mother had caught the eyes of many men in her day before she met George, and now, for the first time in my life, her genes were shining through. I stared at my high cheek bones, accentuated by soft peach rouge, my porcelain-like skin, made pore-less by foundation, and my eyes. Mona went with the smoky look, making my brown eyes pop like I’d never seen before, which brought out some subtle flecks of green I’d never known were there. From my face, my eyes traveled to my hair, elegant but understated. It was perfect. French braids on both sides of my head joined an organized chaos of tendrils gathered together around a hidden hair band. The more I looked at myself, the more I saw Carol, so much so that I could feel tears forming in my eyes.
“There will be none of that,” Maurice said, scrambling to find a tissue to blot my eyes. “Mona would have a heart attack if she saw her creation smudged before its big debut.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. “I just look so much like my mother right now, it’s uncanny.”
Maurice looked at me thoughtfully, “She passed away…your mother?”
“Yes,” I answered him, “when I was seventeen.”
“Though painful, sometimes death has a way of bringing out the best in us…our own hidden superhero,” he whispered near my ear. I stiffened, stealing a glance at his knowing expression in the mirror, unsure of what to say. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” His eyes met mine in the mirror. “I have a feeling about you, Celaine. Since you appeared on the scene, it’s like the country’s eyes have been opened ever so slightly. You have a defiance in you, one with the capability of waking everyone up from the spell they’ve been under for the last few years.”
I maintained my unwavering stance in front of the mirror for what seemed like several minutes before I finally spoke. “I’ll try not to let you down, Maurice.”
“I know you won’t.” He nodded, stealing one more glimpse at my deer-in-the-headlights expression before quietly leaving me alone.
Throughout my life, I never really knew what it meant to be brave. Sure, there was the generic version that involved facing imminent death head-on. But to me, that never truly defined the essence of bravery. Since the death of my parents and my days at The Epicenter, bravery now meant facing adversity. It meant being insubordinate when subordination failed. Following that definition, I knew the woman looking back at me in the mirror was everything they said she was. She was rebellious, incorrigible, and defiant to the core. She was Celaine Stevens, and no one would strip her of her true identity.
Chapter Nineteen
The Ball
I cautiously unzipped the suitcase Kara had packed for me, afraid of what I would find. Needless to say, I wasn’t disappointed. Folded neatly and perfectly organized inside were some of the laciest silk bras and underwear I’d ever seen. Oh, Kara, just wait until I get back to The Epicenter, I thought, holding up a red thong, my face turning a matching hue. Setting the offensive undergarment aside, I found a matching strapless bra, a clue to the style of the dress I’d be wearing tonight. The dress. I hadn’t even bothered to look at the dress yet, knowing full well I was going to be uncomfortable in it no matter what it looked like.
I hadn’t worn a formal dress since Carol forced me to go to prom during my junior year of high school with Mark, a sweet but ultra-quirky boy in my neighborhood, whose mother happened to be a good friend of hers. Ever since donning the cotton candy pink, iron maiden-like dress that Carol had picked out for me that night, I vowed ‘never again’ and had stayed true to that vow ever since. Now, as I readied myself for my first bonafide ball, I couldn’t help but think of Carol looking down upon me from some heavenly shoe store, laughing her ass off.
Further inspection of the suitcase revealed even more feminine garments, including a teddy-like number consisting of hot pink chiffon. What does she have against sweatpants? I thought. And then the realization hit me, ‘Let go’. Kara knew about Ian’s and my sleeping arrangement as of late. Perhaps this was her way of ensuring that something less than platonic transpired between us, that we truly would ‘let go’ tonight. “Joke’s on you, Kara,” I said, looking down at my less-than-sexy tank top and shorts, “I came equipped with my own wardrobe.” Letting out a sigh, I settled on the red bra and “underwear”, swearing retribution against Kara. Unhooking the garment bag from where it remained hanging on a hook affixed just inside the foyer, I went into the bathroom to change.
A patch of deep red fabric, in the same shade as the undergarments I’d pulled from the suitcase, greeted me. Leave it to Kara to coordinate literally everything. I chuckled, removing the dress from the bag. It was strapless, just as I expected, and although I also fully expected to hate it, in reality, the dress I held in my hands was absolutely gorgeous. Light and airy, the duchess silk satin gown was as simple and as understatedly elegant as an expensive dress could get. No frills, no gimmicks, all me. Maybe Kara would be spared, after all.
Carefully, I slid my tank top over my perfectly coiffed head, taking care not to disturb Maurice’s creation. I then slid the gown on from the ground upwards, until the top of the dress was securely nestled around my bust, a downright perfect fit. My eyes traveled to the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The woman in the mirror was regal without being overbearing; sophisticated without being too presumptuous, and…late for the ball, if she didn’t hurry it up. After doing some last minute primping, I grabbed the crystal-encrusted dress shoes that Kara had also picked out and rushed to the door that connected my suite with Ian’s.
When I reached Ian’s door, I knocked on its wooden exterior and waited for him to answer. Soon, when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to answer me, I tried turning the doorknob, only to be met by resistance. Locked. Apparently, he was already enjoying the party without me.
“Hello, Miss,” a voice from behind me beckoned as I stepped into the hall outside my suite. I turned around to see a man of middle age, sharply dressed in a tuxedo, approaching me. “You must be Celaine?”
“Yes,” I answered, extending my hand out to his. His eyes scanned my body from head to toe. If his goal was to make me feel uncomfortable, he was doing a fine job of it.
“I must say, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, revealing teeth too white to be natural. “I’m Chad; I was sent up to bring you down to the ball.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary, Chad,” I responded. “If you would just tell me how to get there, I’m sure I can find it for myself.”
“No, no, both President Brooks and I insist.” He bent his arm, and motioned for me to lock my arm around his.
Play nice, Celaine. “Thank you,” I sighed, “that would be delightful.”
“My pleasure. Mr. Grant has already been escorted downstairs and is waiting for you.”
“Well, that explains why he didn’t answer his door.” Arm in arm with Chad, we walked to the set of public elevators at the opposite end of the building from whence Ian and I had arrived earlier. Chad swiped his badge through the elevator’s card reader and pressed the button to call the car to take us downstairs.
“So, how long have you been an employee of President Brooks?” he asked while we waited.
“Pardon me?” I asked.
“You work for Carver Brooks, right? I’m sorry if I was mistaken, that’s what I was told downstairs.”
“Um…yeah…I guess I do, in a way. For about a year now, I suppose.”
Chad nodded, seemingly satisfied by that answer. The elevator beeped, and its car door opened. Still uncomfortably arm-in-arm, Chad and I entered the car, where he pressed the button to take us down to the first floor. “Have you ever been to The Park View before?” he asked, resuming our small talk.
“No, but I’ve always wanted to visit, ever since I was a child and saw a photo spread in Modern Society magazine.”
“It’s a beautiful building,” he mused. “I have the privilege of bein
g here every night.”
“Do they make you wear tuxedos every night?”
“No,” he answered. “Only when we host special guests.”
“Ah, like presidents, kings, queens, and dignitaries.” This seemed to be the longest elevator ride in history.
“Actually,” he stated, “we were advised to wear them in honor of both yourself and Mr. Grant.”
My eyes widened and my mouth fell agape just as the elevator door opened to reveal the grand lobby on the first floor. Chad walked forward, taking me with him into the grand lobby. In awe, I looked up at its cathedral ceiling and the intricate Michelangelo-esque artwork that adorned it. From one end of the lobby to the other, cherubs soared through the clouds across a sky blue backdrop, and I found myself mesmerized by them.
“This is where we part ways, Miss Stevens,” he announced, emphasizing the ‘Miss’ part. He held out his hand toward a set of stairs that led down into a crowded ballroom where violins and a piano joined forces to create a hauntingly beautiful melody. “I’ll be here all night, if you need any assistance,” he said with a wink.
“Thanks…Chet,” I replied, purposefully misstating his name, suppressing my urge to knee him where the sun doesn’t shine.
I balanced precariously in the stiletto heels, which forced me to grab tightly onto the banister to avoid the embarrassment of tumbling down the stairs. If Kara hadn’t already been on my shit list, these stilts masquerading as shoes most certainly would have put her there. Taking each step slowly, I couldn’t help but stare in amazement at the beauty that surrounded me. The cathedral ceilings of the lobby extended above the dance floor, accommodating massive crystal chandeliers. Orchids, the color of a late evening sky, adorned the ballroom, romanticizing its overall ambiance. Then as I descended the stairs, taking it all in, I spotted him.
Vendetta Nation (Enigma Black Trilogy #2) Page 14