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Iquickly move the cool glass from my lips, narrowly avoiding wearing half the bottle as the bubbles slosh up. The motion of the speed bump jostles me and I steady myself against the limo’s leather seat. My hands run across the supple leather before smoothing my red flowing sundress back down.
The limo travels further down the crowded street, slowly making its way into the harborfront area. The atmosphere completely changes from the bustling traffic and skyscrapers of the city, to the laughing groups of people shopping and bar hopping down the shoreline.
“Pass the champs, babes.” Penelope giggles, motioning towards the bottle with an impatient “gimme” gesture. Smirking, I raise the bottle to my lips once more, taking a generous pull. The cold bubbles slide over my tongue.
“Patience Nelle. There’s plenty of bubbly to go around,” I drawl in a false haughty tone. “I am the birthday girl, after all.”
Penelope just glares, wordlessly motioning again to pass the bottle.
“I thought we were supposed to have mimosas anyway.” I relent, finally passing the bottle into her greedy outstretched hands. She eagerly grasps the neck, not wasting any time bringing it to her lips. She sighs in contentment before staring lovingly at the bottle. I cock my eyebrow in amusement as her gaze drifts to mine once more, finally registering what I just said.
“We are!” she gasps in mock outrage, clutching the bottle to her chest. “Didn’t you see? I wafted the orange juice smell towards the bottle, perfect orange to champagne ratio!”
I throw my head back, barking a laugh, my dark brown loose curls flowing around me in a wave. “Bitch, who are you kidding?” I laugh, clapping my hands. “You didn’t even bring orange juice.”
“Semantics,” Penelope scoffs, waving off my logic before bringing the bottle to her lips once more.
I glance out the window, watching the water slowly rock against the harbor. The sun glints off the water, the sparkling blue capturing my attention as the limo continues slowly down the road. Boats line the port as groups start heading in for lunch and drinks.
“Ms. Rothchild, we are just pulling up,” our driver, Phil, announces over the intercom.
Snatching the bottle, much to Nelle’s dismay, I take one last drink before the limo comes to a stop. Her full pink lips still hang open, brown eyes wide in shock as I polish off the last sip. I stick out my tongue. The glowing picture of maturity, and her scowl only deepens.
“You need to work on those reflexes,” I tease.
Before she can retort, Phil quickly shuffles out to open our door. There’s no doubt my father unjustly lectured him. He isn’t known for his kindness toward others, especially his staff.
“Thanks, Phil.” I smile up at him before shimmying across the bench seat.
“Of course, Ms. Rothchild. Please let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll pull back around to the front.” He smiles back as we exit.
“Ah, ya big softy. You don’t need to do that, we can take a cab back. Go have some fun, get some lunch or something,” I insist, chewing my lip in guilt. Today was supposed to be his day off, but my father insisted Phil escort us for some reason.
“I can’t do that, Ms. Rothchild. Please, go, enjoy your birthday.” His eyes crinkle in amusement, giving me a placating smile with a shake of his head. It was worth a try. I wouldn’t want him to get in trouble with my father anyway. He seems to be all-knowing at times. Sighing in defeat, I give him a quick wave before I catch up with Nelle, waiting a few paces away.
The blistering heat of the afternoon sun beats down on us as we make our way up to the pool bar entrance, the skirt of my red sundress billowing around me, buffeted by the wind. The sound of my gold strappy heels clacking against the pavement is barely audible over the muffled conversations around us.
Waiting patrons line the entrance, and a glass wall spans the other side, giving the patrons a perfect view of the lake. We weave our way towards the VIP entrance. The bouncer, another one of my father’s staff, notices us right away.
“Olivia Rothchild. Right this way.” He motions us over to the waiting hostess.
“We have your booth all set up for you, Ms. Rothchild.” She beams, leading us through the busy crowd.
The entrance is teeming with twenty-somethings waiting at the bar for their drinks. A few make their way over to the private pool area to work on their tans. Music plays softly from the speakers, the DJ waiting for the crowds to fill in before pumping the beats.
Our hostess leads us past everyone to the VIP section. The main booth waits for us, central to everything—the pool on one side and the dance floor on the other. Each side is separated by a waist-high glass railing and a security guard.
I push aside the white gauzy curtains at the entrance and lead Nelle towards the back of the booth, where our private dressing room waits. “Let’s work on our tans, boo,” I tease as the door shuts behind us.
I pull off my dress, revealing my swimsuit underneath. “Dang girl, are you trying to get lucky tonight?” Nelle waggles her eyebrows as she takes me in.
“Well, I mean, it is my birthday after all.” I shrug. “Besides, any guy would be lucky to get a piece of this.” Laughing, I strike a pose and walk over to the mirror. My light sea-green eyes sparkle back at me, and I do a lazy inspection of my body. I adjust the straps, perking the girls up a bit. My red bikini shows off my curves, each piece connected by a gold chain, running down my tan, lean stomach and encircling my waist.
“Yeah, only if he can handle your dramatic ass. You’re way too extra sometimes.”
I gasp in mock outrage and swat her on the ass of her teal bikini. Penelope and I have been best friends since kindergarten. She’s the only person I would allow to say something like that without completely roasting them. She giggles and sticks her tongue out at me, brushing her long black beach waves out of her face. Leaving our bags and clothes in the wardrobe, we make our way back out to the booth.
The hostess is almost finished setting out the last of the necessary mixers and glasses. A bottle of vodka and champagne already sit in ice buckets. “Mr. Rothchild left this note for you.” She smiles kindly, handing me an envelope with the beach club’s logo emblazoned on the front. Rolling my eyes, I toss it on the table. I really shouldn’t even be surprised. Leave it to my father to not even bother to get his only daughter an actual birthday card.
