Lattes & Lace

by Annora Green

  “I’ll be in shock if you’re able to stay in budget,” Sophia said. “I expected you to ask me sooner than this if you could go over.”

  Rachel smiled. “Hey, I am actually well under budget, believe it or not. I am nothing if not thrifty.”

  A high pitched squeal interrupted their chat, which was followed by excited conversation and laughter.

  “Looks like the blushing bride has arrived,” Sophia observed, watching her sister strut into the airport lounge like she was the star of a runway show. “With five suitcases. And people always assume I am the clotheshorse.”

  “Could I board now?” Rachel asked, watching as a porter started to carry some of the bags onto the plane. “I should get the champagne ready.”

  Sophia nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

  They climbed the steps of the aircraft, their hair waving wildly as the pilot tested the engines.

  “Rachel?” Sophia asked as soon as they were on board.

  “Yeah?”

  Sophia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I know we didn’t get off to a great start a few months ago. I appreciate you doing this. It’s a little outside of my comfort zone and I don’t know where I’d be without your help. Probably just throwing Sabrina another lackluster party.”

  Rachel gave her a half-smile.

  “And I really appreciate the check you wrote me and the huge budget. This is one hell of a way for me to kickstart my business,” Rachel said. “And if I do a decent job, maybe you’ll be a reference?”

  “Sure. That is, assuming I survive the weekend,” Sophia said darkly.

  Rachel busied herself with the champagne glasses, and Sophia inspected the bottle of fine champagne in an ice bucket that was ready and waiting.

  Then, Sophia neatly placed her carry-on bag on a seat towards the back of the plane.

  “I’m going to try to get some work done on this flight,” she announced to Rachel.

  “Good luck with that,” Rachel said, arranging several champagne flutes on a tray as Sabrina and her friends began to climb the steps to board the plane.

  “It’s you who needs the luck,” Sophia said, settling into the seat and taking out her laptop.

  “Everything ok in here?” Ari asked, boarding the plane, holding a box in one hand and two bags in the other.

  Rachel nodded. “It’s show time.”

  Sabrina’s odd mishmash of friends began to settle in. Some of the women were minor celebrities, including a meteorologist who was mildly famous (at least for fans of 24-hour cable weather networks) for her work chasing tornadoes. There was also a well-known architect, Cassandra, who was one of the few women in Sabrina’s squad that Sophia felt was reasonably level-headed when she talked to her earlier in the terminal.

  In the less-than-reasonable group, there were two “actresses,” a celebrity gossip reporter with a podcast, and a midwife who handed out crystals to everyone, which supposedly were to give them the power of clarity and relaxation (Sabrina had never been pregnant, at least not to Sophia’s knowledge, so how her sister knew a midwife, she had no clue). Out of obligation, Sophia had invited their mother, but Callista had politely (and to Sophia’s great relief,) declined. Along with it, however, Callista had offered to match Sophia’s budget she’d set for the weekend, which was now, at Sophia’s estimate, probably the largest bachelorette party budget a woman who had been married not once, but twice before, had ever been given.

  Once the ladies - who had all boarded the plane in a cloud of perfume, laughter, and chatter - were seated and had been handed a glass of champagne, Rachel began to explain their first game, an icebreaker activity with a dirty twist. Sophia heard exactly three euphemisms for male genitalia before putting on her noise-cancelling headphones.

  “Mind if I sit next to you?”

  Sophia looked up to see Ari standing next to her.

  “Ms. Little,” Sophia said, pushing her headphones back off one of her ears.

  In the chaos of the boarding process and Rachel starting the game, she had not realized Ari was still on board. “You’d better leave, the plane is taking off in a moment.”

  “Oh, I’m coming too. Didn’t Rachel tell you?” Ari asked.

  “No. Why would you want to come along on this trip?”

  Ari shrugged. “I haven’t been away from the café in weeks, for one, but mainly because Rachel said she could use a hand. I wanted to be supportive.”

  “What on earth would possess you to want to spend a free weekend away from work with my sister and her lunatic squad of friends?”

  Ari shrugged again. “The more lunatics, the merrier.”

  And with that, Ari sank back into the leather seat and put her own headphones on. She smiled smugly.

  Sophia raised her eyebrows, but quietly opened her laptop and began to type out some emails, and before she knew it, was engrossed with her work. She barely noticed as the plane took off.

  7. What Happens in Vegas

  An hour and a half later, they touched down in what Sophia had always considered the hottest, tackiest, and least pleasant city in the world. She wanted to get to her hotel room quickly, change, finish up another hour or two (or three) of work, and try to avoid as many of the activities Rachel had planned as possible. Maybe she would even be able to sneak in a visit to a spa for a manicure, or massage... but only if she wrapped up all of the tasks on her work calendar first.

  “Where are we going, Rachel?” Sophia asked, trying to look out of the tinted windows of the SUV-limo-monstrosity they were being driven in from the airport.

  Inside the limo, there were no fewer than two disco balls, numerous purple lights, and a stripper pole.

  Horrendous.

  Even worse, Sabrina’s midwife friend was urging Sabrina to give the pole a try, claiming it would help clear out her sacral chakra. Mercifully, Sabrina politely refused, instead pouring more champagne for everyone and giggling loudly.

  Rachel did not hear her the first time over the sound of laughter in the car as another woman tried out the pole. Sophia again asked where they were going.

  “Hotel Panache,” Rachel said.

  “What hotel?” Sophia asked, thinking she had heard wrong.

  The name was not familiar to her. She had not asked Rachel in advance what she was planning as far as accommodations were concerned, but she assumed they would be staying at one of the usual big name hotels on the strip, the ones with the thousands of rooms and entire cities contained within, where tacky restaurants were open at all hours of day and night, and endless slot machines scattered throughout the premises.

  “It’s called Panache,” Rachel repeated.

  “It’s an elegant place,” Ari chimed in, noting the look of concern on Sophia’s face.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Sophia said, glancing down at her phone, out of habit.

  “And that’s why you hired a Vegas pro to plan this weekend for you,” Rachel said, grinning.

  The limo SUV dropped them off outside the entrance to one of the main, monstrous hotels where Sophia had expected to stay.

  “This isn’t Panache,” Sophia observed, taking her suitcase and pushing on her sunglasses.

  “Nope, it’s not,” Ari said, helping the driver unload the rest of the suitcases.

  Sabrina’s friends had all but forgotten their whereabouts, much less their suitcases, focusing instead on laughing about some outrageous story that a tipsy Cassandra was telling.

  “Put your phone down, sis, and stop being such a bore,” Sabrina said, snatching the phone out of Sophia’s hand and marching into the lobby.

  “Hey!” Sophia said, rushing after her.

  They walked through the massive lobby of the hotel, past endless shops, bars, restaurants and what appeared to be a river cutting through the entire lobby, and then, through an unmarked door. They followed a mostly-dark passageway for what felt like a mile, punctuated with backlit glass mosaic works of art, until they emerged in a surprisingly cool,
quiet courtyard with small fountains, benches and ample lush greenery. They crossed the courtyard and found themselves walking through another door – and straight into what was a hushed, elegant, sophisticated boutique hotel lobby. Hardly anyone was in the space, and two bellhops and a receptionist greeted them immediately.

  “This must be the bachelorette party,” one of the bellhops said, rushing to take their bags.

  “Reporting for duty,” Rachel said, moving swiftly to the front desk to check in the group.

  “What is this place?” Sophia asked, looking around.

  “It’s Panache,” Ari said. “It’s a hidden hotel.”

  “A hidden hotel?”

  “You have to know someone who knows someone to even think about making reservations,” Ari explained.

  “It really does feel hidden,” Sophia said, looking around the quiet, low-key lobby. “I’m impressed.”

  “All right, ladies, let’s take the elevator on the right to the penthouse suite!” Rachel rounded up the animated group of women, including a distracted Sabrina, who was still holding her glass of champagne from the limo ride and haphazardly flirting with one of the bellhops.

  Sophia stayed behind at the front desk.

  “Waiting for something?” Ari asked as she also moved towards the elevator with the group.

  “I want to check into my own room before going up,” Sophia said.

  “You’ll be waiting a long time. We’re all in the penthouse. But don’t worry, it’s huge.”

  “What? Are you serious? I am not staying with those women. No. I’m getting my own room.” Sophia said firmly.

  “Then you’ll be waiting a while. This place is totally booked this weekend, next weekend, pretty much every weekend from now until... well, Sabrina’s next wedding.”

  Sophia clenched her jaw.

  “Then I’m going to another hotel. Like the enormous one we just walked through. Anything would be better than staying with this group of-” She waved absently at the group of women.

  One of the actresses was laughing hysterically, already the victim of one too many glasses of champagne.

  Ari touched her elbow, gently urging her towards the elevator with the rest of the group. “Maybe later. For now, join the party. You’re technically the host, after all.”

  ¨°¨

  Upon arriving at the penthouse, Sophia had to admit it was massive and luxurious, even by her standards. It was a world unto itself that stretched over two floors, had a private rooftop pool, 24/7 dedicated butler service and unlimited drinks, several bedrooms and a massive grand living room overlooking the Strip.

  As soon as they had all stumbled into the penthouse and their luggage was delivered by four smartly dressed bellhops, Rachel pulled her first trick out of her hat, which was a drinking game that somehow also involved answering dirty trivia questions and the losers - not the winners - received “prizes” that had to be worn out on the town later: t-shirts with sassy catchphrases about love and marriage, tiaras, Mardi Gras bead necklaces, and other outrageous junk that Sophia did not plan on touching, much less wearing. Needless to say, Sophia sat it out in a little impromptu office she made from a desk she found in a corner on the second floor of the suite.

  “Here you are,” Ari said soon after Sophia had settled into her tiny workspace. “Rachel was looking for you. You sure you don’t want to win - or maybe lose is the better term for it - a light-up pin that says ‘I’m with the Bridezilla’ or a flashing tiara to wear out later tonight?”

  “Light-up pin or tiara? Too last season for my tastes,” Sophia deadpanned, pushing her glasses higher up on her nose and typing on her laptop.

  Ari paused a moment, appreciating the view of the brunette in her dark brown-framed glasses. Sitting at the desk and studying her computer, as maddening as it was that this woman could not just chill out and take a break, Ari had to admit to herself that serious glasses-wearing Sophia was a sight to behold.

  “At least pause for a snack. Our private butler for the weekend is putting out some food for lunch,” urged Ari.

  “I am fairly sure everyone is having a liquid lunch today,” Sophia said, and as if on cue, the sound of laughter could be heard ringing from downstairs.

  “They need to learn to pace themselves,” Ari said. “We’ve got a lot more ahead of us. That’s why it’s time to fill them up with some food. Good, solid, greasy food. C’mon, sister of the bride, help me feed these ladies.”

  Sophia closed the lid of her laptop and reluctantly followed Ari down into the common area, towards a massive, open gourmet kitchen. “I prefer my lunches to consist of salads, or at least some fresh fruit and vegetables, if there are any?”

  “Nope,” Ari answered, then pointed to something on a tray. “Although there’s garlic in those. Does garlic count as a vegetable?”

  “Vaguely,” Sophia grumbled, sitting on a stool at the counter next to the tray with the garlic-filled things, which happened to smell absolutely delicious. “What are they?”

  “Garlic rolls,” Ari said. “They’re so good. We ordered lunch from one of my favorite places in Vegas.”

  “They do smell good,” Sophia admitted.

  “Have one,” Ari urged.

  Sophia shook her head, and took a sip of water from a bottle. “No. I happen to work in an industry that’s not very kind to aging women with increasingly grim metabolism. I can’t just down a bunch of garlic rolls for lunch.”

  “Aging?” Ari asked, pulling out another tray from the oven. “I doubt you really have to worry about that right now. What are you, 30?”

  Sophia looked up at her suspiciously. “Nice try. Add a few years.”

  Ari presented her with yet another tray. “Big deal. Here, how about blooming onions with garlic-chili or honey mustard sauce?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sophia said, recoiling.

  She actually really hated onions.

  “Then take a roll. They’re good, and they’re not going to kill you, unlike these deep-fried onions.”

  Sophia reached for a plate and reluctantly took a garlic roll. She sunk her teeth into it, and... it was perfection. Pure, steamy, buttery, garlicky perfection.

  “Well?” Ari asked. “How was it?”

  “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever tasted,” Sophia said coolly.

  In fact, she observed as she chewed, it was butter and garlic heaven.

  “Well, you have approximately 20 seconds to serve yourself before I tell the squad it’s time to eat.”

  Sophia snatched another garlic roll, and a few minutes later, slipped back upstairs to her laptop.

  ¨°¨

  By mid-afternoon, Sophia caved. She put away her laptop and joined the group for a glass of white wine. Based on the inane conversation she was subject to, she made the decision to opt for a second glass 20 minutes later. When her sister started to dance, she determined it prudent to reach for a third glass of wine. This time, she switched to red.

  Suddenly, she was more enthusiastic about going along with the group’s bachelorette antics, and less concerned about her lack of personal space in the penthouse.

  Late in the afternoon, Rachel had another surprise for them all: dance lessons with a Las Vegas choreographer. By the time they had all donned feathery skirts and headdresses and learned the moves from classic showgirl dances, Sophia had three glasses of wine in her system and was reasonably content to dance with the rest of the group.

  “Nice feathers,” Ari teased Sophia a little while later when she went into the kitchen for a glass of water - her first after the glasses of wine - and she looked down and realized that feathers from her showgirl costume had stuck to her designer black pants.

  “You try dancing in a feather costume after three glasses of wine,” Sophia said.

  “No thanks, I’m good with staying in here,” Ari said, pleased with herself.

  When they went out for dinner around 7 at a loud, busy restaurant with live entertainment – against her best judgment, S
ophia ordered ravioli and had a large helping of salad - her unsteady, muddled mind finally regained a bit of clarity thanks to the onslaught of carbs and cheese.

  Unfortunately, her sobriety also meant that she had begun to question her enthusiasm for the group’s next plan: attending a show that Rachel gleefully teased would provide entertainment in more ways than one.

  “That sounds ominous,” Sophia muttered.

  “Before we go,” Rachel announced, standing up and waving to get the group’s attention, “We have one more drink.”

  A waiter had materialized, carrying a tray full of green liquid in elegant crystal glasses.

  “The poisoned apple,” he announced proudly to the group, who cheered. “Guaranteed to get the bachelorette party night off to a tarty start.”

  “We heard you like green,” Rachel said to Sabrina.

  “I dooo, darling,” Sabrina cooed approvingly, happily examining the drink that was placed in front of her.

  The drinks were so green, they were practically glowing in their glasses.

  “Looks aptly named,” Sophia muttered to Ari, who sat next to her at dinner and was slowly sipping on a beer, the first drink Sophia had seen her have all day.

  The waiter set a glass in front of Sophia, and she sniffed it disdainfully.

  “You’d better drink that, sis!” Sabrina called from across the table. “Bride’s orders, the Maid of Honor has to follow them! Bottom’s up!”

  “Ugh,” Sophia replied.

  “Come on, Sophia. When in Rome, do as the...well, Roman bachelorettes would do,” an amused Ari said.

  The group of women cheered, clinked their glasses and drank. Sophia reluctantly took a delicate sip from hers, closing her eyes as she did, then recoiled.

  “Not to your taste?” Ari commented, amused by her expression.

  “Absolutely not. I haven’t had anything so horrendous since my first year in college.”

  “It kinda looks like something that should come with a warning label,” Ari admitted.

  Sophia glanced over where Ari was casually leaning back in her seat and nursing her beer. “Wait, how did you get out of having one of these things?” she asked.