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At the door is a well dressed older gentleman. “I’m looking for Olivia Barrett,” he announces. I walk over toward the door.
“I’m Olivia,” I say.
“My name is Charles. I’ll be your driver this evening.” He extends a hand, which I shake.
“Thank you.” Wow. I turn toward my mom. “I’ll see you later Mom, don’t wait up.” She still looks disconcerted but gives me a small wave. I grab my keys and my purse and stroll out the door to the waiting limousine. The driver rushes in front of me so he can open the door. I get inside, holding my dress making sure I don’t catch it on anything. Inside the car is a note. It’s attached to a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
Enjoy.
The drive takes longer than I thought it would, although I have no idea where we’re going. I take a sip of champagne. Yes, this is the way to travel. We are on the Long Island Expressway heading toward Manhattan. The traffic is light. Charles gets off on Queens Boulevard so I have a feeling we’re going over the 59th Street Bridge. As he maneuvers through the traffic and makes his way onto the bridge, I sit back and enjoy my champagne.
Once over the bridge, he turns onto 61st Street and heads toward Central Park. Makes a left onto Fifth Avenue, continues for another three blocks, and stops on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 59th Street.
I am not too familiar with the city. I come here maybe once a year in December to see the Rockefeller Center tree, so I know that we are somewhere near FAO Schwartz. He gets out, comes around, and opens my door. He extends his hand to help me out of the car, which I appreciate. Maneuvering in these heels is going to be tricky. Once on the sidewalk, he leads me to my final destination.
We arrive at a beautiful old French Gothic building that must have been here since the early nineteen hundreds. It’s located directly across the park near the Grand Army Plaza where the Sherman Monument stands. There are huge bronze lanterns suspended from the mouths of large whimsical griffins attached to the building. There is a tall iron clock that stands in front of an awning that leads into the building. On the clock face, it says Shelly Netherlands.
There is a doorman standing at the entrance to welcome me. Upon entering the building, I catch a glimpse of the fantastic marble walls and bronze mounted fixtures with carved figures. It is stunning. There are French chairs flanking a marble top console table with a gilt mirror hanging above it. Just breathtaking.
In the lobby is a young impeccably dressed woman directing traffic. “Can I help you?” she asks with a smile.
“Yes, I’m looking for a black tie event,” I say.
“Ah, yes. The Remington affair. Please follow me.” She brings me through the lobby back toward the entrance where the revolving doors are located. On the right is a small brass plaque on a well-concealed door. The plaque has a double D on it. “You are looking for Doubles which is right behind this door,” she says with a smile. She opens the door. “Enjoy your evening.”
I take a deep breath so I don’t freak out. The nicest hotel I have ever been to is the Holid
ay Inn, and it pales in comparison. I am frozen to the floor, my feet refusing to move. Maybe this was a bad idea. No. Chase is down there, and I want to see him, feel him. I close my eyes and will my limbs to obey and make my way toward the awaiting door.
The door leads down a steep red fabric-lined stairway. The top half of the walls are red on red stripes with the bottom half being dark mahogany. The pattern of the rug going down toward the bottom makes me dizzy. I make my way down the stairs, gripping the banister for dear life for fear of breaking my neck. Damn these shoes!
At the end of the stairs are two women in matching long black dresses handing out fine crystal topped with champagne on a fancy silver tray. I graciously pick up a glass and take a welcoming sip.
Once in the club, everything is red. The rug has a red and white square pattern flowing into dark red walls. The ceiling has a chic design in different shades of red. There are red leather couches and chairs. The entrance and exit doors to the kitchen are red leather.
The bar has high back stools in red satin stripes. The back of the bar has multiple mirrors separated with stripes of white. The bottom of the bar is red leather with squares and rectangles designed from brass tacks. What a difference from upstairs to here. Aside from it being dark, it’s tres chic and much more modern than the hotel.
I wander into the dining area where the dance floor is. There is an orchestra set up on the other side playing a tune I actually know. It’s an orchestral cover of INXS!
Gilded dining chairs surround large round numbered tables. The tablecloths are a fancy embroidered green fabric with elaborate place settings, silver cutlery, and so many different crystal glasses I can’t count. Huge centerpieces tower over the tables with orchids and other white flowers cascading down and around the vase.
I look around the room at the hundreds of people sitting and standing. The men are all dapper in their tuxedoes and the women are decked, each dress more beautiful than the next, and all of them look like they could be models. I stand in the middle of the room immobile. I am so overwhelmed and way out of my league. I decide I need a drink if I’m going to be able to deal with this evening with any sanity.
At the bar, I place my empty glass of champagne down, which is replaced with a full one. So far, I haven’t been able to locate Chase. I scan the room, still dazzled by all of this extravagance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chase walk toward the bar from the main dining room. He is glancing nervously around the room. Looking toward the bar, his eyes lock on mine. His concerned look now gone, his mouth lifts into a slow sexy smile that makes my breath hitch. My mouth dries. He looks stunning in a black dinner jacket with a black bow tie. Again, my limbs betray me; I am cemented to the floor. That electric charge is back, I can feel it running through me.
Moving through the crowded club, he makes his way toward me. “You look stunning,” he whispers, veneration in his voice. “That dress is perfect on you.”
“Yes, about the dress,” I start to say. He cuts me off as he leans in and kisses me. I am lost for a moment in his kiss. After what seems like an eternity, he breaks free. “How did you know my size?” I ask breathless.
“I spent enough time with you to be able to judge your size,” he says.
“And the shoes?” I take a large sip of champagne.
“That night on the beach, you took your shoes off. I saw what size you were then,” he says, his head cocked to one side.
Clever bastard.
