After a few minutes, Lizbeth reappears with one garment bag swung over her shoulder.
“Are we in the wrong place?” I ask.
“I’m terribly sorry. But Mr. Black wants you to wear this.”
I stare at her for a moment. Before it hits me that she’s talking to me.
“What?”
Lizbeth repeats the statement verbatim, without offering a single additional word of explanation.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask. A flash of heat pounces through my body. I turn to Caroline for some backup. But instead of offering her support, she grabs my arm and takes me back to our stateroom.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I demand.
She looks me up and down and shakes her head. “I don’t know. That’s actually a very nice outfit.”
I know she’s telling the truth because Caroline would never lie about something as important as fashion. She opens the garment bag. A part of me is still expecting it to contain two outfits. But no, it just has one. A short, sheer, red dress. Strapless.
“I’m not wearing this.”
There’s a loud knock on the door.
“Is everything alright in there?” Lizbeth asks through the door.
“I’m not wearing this!” I say loud enough for her to hear.
“Yes, she is,” Caroline says. “We’re fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”
I stare at Caroline with a perplexed look on my face.
“This is a beautiful dress. Numi. Her stuff is basically impossible to get. Really high end.”
I cross my arms. “I don’t care,” I say.
Caroline takes the dress and presses it to her body. She looks into the mirror with a forlorn look on her face.
“Seriously, Ellie. This dress is major!”
“I don’t care. Who the hell is he to tell me what to wear? I mean what kind of manners is that? And who the hell is Mr. Black anyway?”
“I don’t know. And that’s what I can’t wait to find out. And for us to find out, you have to put on this dress.”
I shake my head no. She continues to pester me. Minutes tick away and neither of us give in.
“If you insist on being such a baby, I’m going to go out there by myself,” Caroline finally says.
“Seriously? Who the hell does he think he is telling me what to wear?”
We go back and forth for a few more minutes. Eventually, I let up. I don’t want to stay in this room all by myself all evening. And clearly, I can’t go out without putting this on.
I go into the bathroom for some privacy.
Caroline has seen me naked on occasion but something about this dress is extra uncomfortable. It’s not like I’m putting on my own clothes.
I pull off my leggings and blouse. I hold the dress out in front of me and realize that I’m going to have to remove my bra as well. Damn. Slipping the dress over my head, I pray that it fits. My prayers are answered. It does!
After zipping it on the side, I look in the mirror. It’s short, but incredibly flattering. It hugs me in all the right places, accentuating only my best features.
“You’re gorgeous!” Caroline’s jaw drops open when I come out of the bathroom.
I nod. I hate to admit it, but it is quite pretty.
“I can’t believe they didn’t give me something like this to wear,” Caroline says as we walk back out into the living room. “That’s it, next time I’m showing up in a brown paper bag so they’ll have no choice.”
6
When you meet a brooding stranger…
This time the living room is filled with people. Really attractive people. Men in their twenties and early thirties are crowding around the bar. Others are sitting in leather chairs and on the couch. Beautiful women walk around with cocktails in their hands as if they own the place. Many are already coupled up – sitting close to each other with their legs pointing toward their partners.
Caroline heads straight to the bar and orders us two martinis. I’m happy to have a drink to relax me. Liquid courage, so to speak.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot one man sitting all by himself. He’s one of the most attractive guys here. But it’s the serious, brooding look on his face that really makes him stand out. I wonder if maybe one of his friends dragged him here as well. I take two big sips of my martini.
Following Caroline’s lead, I take a seat at one of the bar stools. She has a way of positioning herself in such a way that she’s half facing the room. This way, she can talk to me and still let any any interested parties out there know that it’s okay to approach. Two guys quickly take the bait.
No cheesy pickup lines here. Just straight out introductions. Ben is the taller one with honey blonde hair and grey eyes. He’s the one who seems more interested in me. Alex’s deep blue eyes are glued to Caroline.
Within a few minutes, we find out that they are both finance bros – investment bankers who work on Wall Street. Ben went to Brown and Alex to Dartmouth. They found out about the party pretty much the same way that Caroline did. Someone in a secret society talked who shouldn’t have. I don’t know whether the person was from the Cicada 17 or not.
“At first, we didn’t know if this was a girl-only party,” Alex says. “But as we found out more and more about it, we realized that it was just an awesome party.”
“Our boss, Logan, has been to one of these events, but no matter how much we pushed, he would not tell us a thing about it,” Ben boasted. “Except that there’s a masquerade ball.”
“Masquerade ball?” I ask.
“Yes, apparently only some of us from today will be invited to stay for the main attraction. But, honestly, I heard so many rumors about this place, who the hell knows which ones are true, right?” Ben says and we all laugh.
Caroline laughs the loudest, tossing her hair from one side to the other. Neither Ben nor Alex can seem to pull their eyes off her.
And then, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I’m facing the bar, away from the rest of the room. But I can’t help but feel someone look at me. From behind. Slowly, I turn on the barstool and look around.
His dark piercing eyes stare at me from across the room. He’s dressed in an elegant expensive suit. It’s exquisitely tailored for his long lean body. His hair is thick, the color of dark chocolate.
The man sits back in his plush chair at the far end of the room. He’s the only one not mingling or laughing. Not even smiling.
His eyes meet mine and don’t let go. After a few moments, I get so uncomfortable, I can’t bear to hold his gaze anymore. And yet, he maintains his with grace and ease.
“Who’s that?” I ask, turning away from him. “Don’t look now,” I add, but it’s too late.
Ben, Alex, and Caroline all look over at the stranger at the same time. My cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“I don’ know,” they all shrug and say almost simultaneously.
The three of them don’t seem to be very concerned with the serious look on the stranger’s face and quickly go back to chatting among themselves. But I can’t look away. There’s something that’s pulling me toward him.
His eyes – are brilliant and deep – the color of the ocean – and they mesmerize me. I look over again, watch him watching me, and then look away. His gaze is disarming, it makes me feel naked and exposed, and I cannot hold it for long. And yet, I yearn to look at him again.
“If you’re so interested in that guy, why don’t you just go over and talk to him,” Caroline says, finishing her drink.
The thought of that sends shivers down my body.
“I can’t just go over there…And say what?”
“Tell him your name and ask him how he got here,” she says with a casual shrug. “This isn’t like in a bar. You have the perfect pickup line all ready and set to go.”
“No, I can’t,” I shake my head and order another martini. More liquid courage is in order.
“Hi ther
e,” a deep voice startles me.
Before I have the chance to turn around, I see a big wide smile sweep over Caroline’s face.
“Well, hello there, stranger. I’m Caroline,” she says extending her hand. “This is Ben, Alex, and Ellie.”
How can she do that? Be so casual and confident. Does nothing faze her? I take a deep breath and look up. It’s him. The guy from the plush chair. The lonely stranger. I know that it’s him before even turning around.
When I finally do turn, my gaze lands on his broad shoulders and the thick weave of his pristine suit. My eyes slowly pan up to his face.
Strong square jaw.
Confident nose.
Tan skin.
Hair so thick and gorgeous that it’s begging to be stroked.
And those eyes….ahhh!
“I’m Blake Garrison,” he says quietly. My heart skips a beat. The top of his lips curl up into half a smile. They are lush and shiny. When he licks his lips, my heart skips another beat.
“So, what brings you to the party Blake?” Ben asks.
“Same as you, I gather,” Blake says and turns his eyes toward me.
“I was wondering if I could have a word with you,” he says. “In private.”
Caroline’s eyes get wide.
Aren’t we a little unacquainted for private words? I wonder.
“Um, sure,” I shrug and follow him to the other end of the bar. It’s not exactly private, but we are outside of earshot from the rest of the guests.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Blake says.
Carefully.
Meticulously.
Each word comes out with great difficulty.
“What?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats himself. This time, the words come out almost robotically.
“I don’t understand. Why?”
My eyes search his face for an answer. What could he possibly mean? Suddenly, I notice that his eyes are inspecting my face just as feverishly.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly. “You just shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?” I ask. And suddenly, my moment of fear morphs into anger. Who the hell does he think he is telling me where I should and shouldn’t be?
“Because you don’t belong here,” he says. His eyes suddenly become overcome with sadness.
But I’ve had enough of his cryptic games.
“And you would know that, how exactly?” I ask. The question is rhetorical. I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I walk away.
“Ellie!” he hisses. But I don’t turn around. Instead, I walk over to Caroline and take her arm.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I nod.
“Let’s have another round of drinks,” I announce. “They’re on me.”
“The drinks are free, miss,” the bartender reminds me.
Another version of me would feel bad over the social faux pas, but I just let it go. The martini that I did have is already having an effect and I feel braver and stronger than I had before. Plus, walking away from that rude asshole was a statement. A moment of empowerment.
“Are you okay?” Caroline asks again. I can tell that she’s sensing that something’s wrong.
“What did he say to you?”
“He’s a weirdo,” I announce. “He said that I shouldn’t be here.”
Caroline shakes her head.
“Yeah, he just came out and said that out loud. I mean, is it just me, or is that a really rude thing to say?” I add. Caroline shrugs.
7
When another stranger intrigues you…
The rest of the cocktail hour proceeds without incident. Thanks to Caroline, we meet almost everyone in the room and get the basic info about them. 95% of them are Ivy League grads and the other 5% went to prestigious liberal arts schools like Swarthmore and Wellesley. Many work in finance and tech, some head non-profits and the rest are entrepreneurs. They all heard about the party one way or another through friends of friends and no one really knows what to expect. And none of them know the identity of the mysterious Mr. Black.
After mingling for what seems like forever, I decide to get some fresh air and get away from the stuffiness of all those pleasantries. Caroline is totally in her element – smiling, nodding, laughing at just the right times. Putting everyone at ease. Becoming everyone’s best friend. But I find that kind of stuff exhausting. Even after a half an hour of it, I'm ready to tear my hair out,
“I’m sorry, but I have to go to the ladies room,” I extricate myself from the tall, redheaded guy from Princeton who is on his second story about squash (the game, not the vegetable). I didn’t know it was possible for one person to have more than one story about squash, but apparently it is.
“Okay, hurry back,” he says flashing me a smile. Though his self-confidence and sense of his own importance are quite staggering, he is quite mesmerizing. For a second, I get lost in his eyes and almost forget to walk away.
“Ellie? You okay?” he takes my arm, bringing me back to reality.
“Oh right, sorry,” I mumble. “I’ll be right back.”
What was his name again? Dax? Wyatt? Delacorte? I’ve never been great with names, and my memory for matching faces with names is particularly bad at this party. They’re all so good looking and their names just seem to all blur together.
As I make my way away from him, I feel the Princeton guy’s eyes on me burning into the back of my head. So, instead of walking straight onto the deck from the main room, I head toward the hallway with the bathroom and then outside.
When I finally get outside, I inhale a deep breath of fresh salty air. That one breath is quickly followed up by another and another. Suddenly, all the boredom that had infected me during the cocktail hour vanishes and the chill of the outside air infuses me with new found energy.
“Well, hello there,” a deep voice says. It belongs to a man and it’s coming from somewhere behind me.
Great, another boring conversation coming up. I roll my eyes before turning to face him.
“Sometimes you just have to get out of there, right?” the man says.
That piques my interest. Intrigued, I turn around.
“Are you not having a good time?” I ask.
“Eh,” the man shrugs casually, looking far into the blueness. The sun is hovering just over the horizon, dipping in and out of the sea, as if it isn't sure if it wants to take the plunge.
“Isn’t the sunset beautiful?” the man asks without taking his eyes off it.
I turn to face him. He’s dressed in an impeccable black suit. His starched collar is unbuttoned and the sleeves of his suit are rolled up. He isn't wearing a tie. It suddenly hits me. He must be the only guy here without a tie!
“Yes,” I agree unable to pull my gaze away from him.
Casually, the man leans over the railing, staring into the distance. The wind casually tosses around his short, honey blonde hair without bothering him one bit.
“So, where did you go to school?” I ask.
This has been the go-to conversation starter throughout the cocktail party and bad habits die hard. I’m not really interested, but frankly I can’t think of anything else to ask.
“Oh c’mon,” he says turning to face me. “We can do better than that.”
Before I have the chance to figure out how to respond, the man effortlessly pulls himself up to the railing and sits on top of it.
“Oh my God, what are you doing?” I gasp. “You’re going to fall off.”
The railing is made of thick wood, reinforced by thin pieces of metal laid out in horizontal slats. Just over it, are the whites of the waves that crash into the ship.
“No, I’m not,” he says with a coy smile, wrapping his feet around one of the horizontal slats.
He puts his hand on mine. Suddenly, I realize that my hand is on his thigh and I quickly remove it.
“You can keep it there,” he says. “It feels nice.”
“You’re going to fal
l,” I say with exasperation. He’s toying with me. I can feel it. Making me mad. And he’s doing it on purpose.
“So, you’re not having a good time at the party?” he asks, brushing the windswept hair out of my face. I take a step back as soon as I feel his warm hand on my face.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say.
“So, is that what you are doing here, on the deck, all by your lonesome? Getting away from everyone?”
Is this guy for real? Ever since my mom married Mitch, I’ve become quite acquainted with the kind of confidence that runs through the blood of those who summer in the Hamptons. But this guy, he’s taking it to a whole new level.
After a moment of silence, he jumps off the railing and positions himself right in front of me.
“I’m Harrison. Harrison Brooks. But people just call me Brooks.”
“Hi,” I say unamused. I’m getting quite sick of how casually he infringes on my personal space– both vertical and horizontal.
“And you are?” he asks, taking a step closer. I can feel his breath on my face. Even though I’m angry and annoyed, I find it intoxicating.
“Ellie,” I say, reluctantly extending my hand.
“Do you have a last name Ellie?” he asks shaking my hand.
“Yes,” I say and turn to walk away from him. Not that you're getting it.
“You have spunk, Ellie,” Brooks yells after me. “I like that.”
As I make my way around the empty deck, my mind wanders back to Brooks. Maybe I should’ve stayed. Perhaps I was a bit rude. No, he was the one who was rude. Sitting up on the railing. Coming too close to me. Breaking all rules of social conduct and politeness. Who the hell does he think he is?
And yet despite all of these things – or perhaps because of them – I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him. His deep blue eyes. His soft lips. His arrogant demeanor. His shiny hair. Agh, someone stop me! I walk back into the main room where the cocktail party was still supposed to be in full bloom. But much to my surprise, it isn’t.
“Where is everyone?” I ask one of the servants who is wiping down the tables. How long was I out there? I wonder to myself.
The Auction, #1 Page 3
