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I hold up my cocktail. “I’ll let you know when I’m dry.”
“Smart girl,” Celeste says in French. My gaze whips to her and she shrugs and looks away. “He’s a controlling prick.”
“Then why are you here with him? As his date?”
Her eyes slice back to me. “There’s a little more to it than that.” She inclines her head to James. “You of all people should realize that. Friends, eh? Does that word mean something different in English? Because this man can’t take his eyes off you.”
Michael nudges James jocularly. “Why do I get the feeling they’re talking about us?”
Celeste offers him a sugary smile and then leans over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Because we were, mon amour, but don’t worry, it’s all sweet things.”
That’s enough to placate Michael, but I can feel James studying me. It’s like the heat of a thousand suns burning into the side of my face, but I refuse to glance over. He brought me here, stuck me in this room with these people for one purpose, and she’s standing right in front of me.
“Come freshen up with me?” I ask Celeste.
She steps away from Michael.
He reaches out for her hand, holding her back for a moment. “Don’t be gone too long. It drives me crazy when you disappear at these parties.”
There’s an edge to his tone, and I suspect that’s the controlling side Celeste was talking about.
…
The bathroom is as exquisitely decorated as the rest of the club and includes a powder room as big as my bedroom back at the co-op. That’s where I find Celeste after I wash my hands. She’s in front of the mirror, applying another layer of dark red lipstick. It’s intoxicating, the color of spilled blood.
“There’s a drink for you there,” she says, pointing to a small side table beside a love seat in the center of the room.
I stroll over to pick up the pink cocktail. “How’d you get these?”
She inclines her head toward the antechamber, where an attendant is standing with her arms by her sides and her gaze laser-focused on the wall in front of her. Clearly, she’s been trained to blend into the landscape.
“Thank you,” I say in English, just in case she is listening.
Like the first drink I had, this one tastes like it has enough alcohol in it to strip the varnish off a boat.
“Jeez. How is everyone still standing out there?” I ask, setting it back down. “If I drink all of this, I’ll hit the floor in five minutes.”
She meets my eyes in the mirror and laughs. “You get used to them. Trust me.”
I don’t think I believe her.
“Here. Come put some of this on.”
She’s holding out the dark red lipstick for me to take.
Yeah right.
“It would look too dark on me. Garish.”
She smirks. “It’ll look completely different on you. Besides, it’s Chanel. It wouldn’t look ‘garish’ on a clown.”
Earlier at the spa, my makeup artist applied a pale pink lipstick, but it’s long gone now. Besides, this isn’t a night for pale pink. She hands over the tube and I step closer to the mirror, taking my time as I meticulously swipe it across my lips. With a color like this, it has to be perfect. She hands me a tissue for blotting and when I step back and take in the look, I realize she was right. On me, the color looks more like deep pomegranate.
“See?” she asks, retrieving the tube out of my hand, capping it and dropping it back in her small black clutch. “I’ve been wearing this color for years, since back when I was still modeling.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“No. I used to travel all over the world, but then I met Michael.”
Interesting.
“Do you love him?”
She thinks over the question for a moment before replying. “I love him more than I hate him,” she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Does that make sense?”
It sounds very French. Still…
“It would give me a headache.”
She laughs. “Oh, it does. But the sex?” She waggles her brows. “I’ve never had anything like it, you know?”
I don’t know, not really, but I nod anyway.
She steps back and takes a seat on the tufted velvet love seat in the center of the powder room.
“You don’t want any more of your drink?” she asks as she picks hers up. “I don’t want it to go to waste.”
I should say no. I already feel a little lightheaded, but I don’t want to offend her. She went to the trouble to order it, so I pick it back up and vow to take tiny baby sips in hopes that it’ll last me the rest of the night.
That seems to appease her, because she leans back and assesses me coolly.
“How long have you been with James?”
I take a sip.
“Not long.” Her eyes narrow, and I feel like a sitting duck. “Shouldn’t we be getting back? Michael said he doesn’t like it when you disappear.”
