by Hotcheri
IT’S CELSI, DUDE!
“Hi, Todd,” Robyn and I said in unison, a lovesick smile on Robyn’s face as she gazed at him like she too had found her Prince Charming. Time for me to take my leave.
“I gotta get going, guys,” I said, thanking my lucky stars that the train had just pulled up to the platform. “Have fun!”
Robyn gave me one last desperate look as I walked to the train. Before the doors shut, I heard her say wildly, “I love your cologne, Todd! What is it?”
Todd’s pleased reply- “Hollister.”
I smiled as I found a seat. For years, I’d been giving Robyn relationship advice. It worked, surprisingly, since I had never had a boyfriend. 17 years old, a couple of dates (playing matchmaker was one of Robyn’s hobbies) but no boyfriend. Well, according to the romance books I read, I wasn’t alone. Unfortunately for me, in the romance books, the heroine found her Prince Charming at the end and lived happily ever after. Not me. I’d come to the painful conclusion that only a lucky few found their soul mates. My mom didn’t, what made me think I would be so lucky? Of course, I actually don’t know if my mom found her soul mate or not. She abandoned me at my aunt’s when I was 5. I was over it, even though every time the doorbell rang, my first thought was ‘she’s back!’ My aunt told me not to hold out hope that she’d come back, but I still did. All people like me could do was watch Cinderella over and over and put ourselves in her glass slippers. I can’t be the only person who does that, can I?
***
The subway trip took less than 15 minutes and I was standing in front of the majestic red-brick building that was 720 Park Avenue, gaping at the people walking in and out. A lady draped in pearls and fur (PETA had to know about her) stalked to her stretch limo, a tiny yapping dog in her arms. An old man in an expensively tailored suit was being escorted through the door by his much younger looking wife who was wearing a tight fitting designer dress.
I looked down at my outfit and groaned. Cheap looking (and just plain cheap) white parka jacket and matching boots, a fuzzy white flat cap from Target and a pair of wash faded jeans I found in Forever 21 on clearance. My look was presentable for school (sure, I couldn’t afford designer labels, but what of it?) but I figured they probably had a dress code for a place as elite as this. No jeans allowed, definitely. They are so not gonna let me in. Still, the file my fingers were clenched around was my immunity. I had to at least try.
Taking a couple of calming deep breaths that didn’t help in calming me, I walked in, striding purposely to the gilded elevator like I had every right in the world to be there. The Astor’s lived in the penthouse (naturally). Almost there...
“Excuse me, young miss. Who are you here to see?”
There was no doubt which ‘young miss’ the snooty voice behind me was addressing. I was the only person in the lobby under 30. Quaking, I turned to face a tall man with a pinched, pallid face. His eyes flicked down at my outfit and he totally disregarded me.
“I have a delivery for Luke Astor,” I said, standing my ground, even though my first instinct was to run for the hills. The guy was creepy! Put a black cape on him and he could moonlight as Dracula.
“Very well,” he said colorlessly, stretching his hand out to me. “Leave it with me. I’ll be sure that he gets it.”
In other words, hand me the damn delivery and get the hell out of this building, you’re lowering the tone of this place.
I narrowed my eyes. No way was he getting in the way of me getting my tea in the Astor penthouse. I hadn’t come all this way for nothing, you know!
“I was told expressly to deliver it into Luke Astor’s hands,” I said clearly, glad that my voice sounded strong. I was sure this guy was sapping my energy. “Sorry. You’ll have to let me go up.”
I thought that would sway him, but to no avail.
His lips tightening, Count Dracula said, “I can’t just ‘let you go up’,” in a cutting tone. “Master Astor left explicit instruction not to let anyone up to see him. I’m afraid you’ll have to give me the package.”
Clutching the file closer to me, I looked up at Count Dracula. “I didn’t say it was a package. It’s a file of important documents for Luke Astor’s eyes only.”
I wondered why Luke didn’t want visitors. He was the most outgoing person I knew, always surrounded by his friends and hangers-on. Does he have the mumps? I grinned to myself at the thought. Now that would be a sight. Wait, did I get vaccinated for the mumps?
Grudgingly, like he was doing me a super huge favor, Count Dracula turned to the phone on the wall. “I suppose I can call to find out if Master Astor is expecting anything,” he said shortly.
I shrugged. Sounded good to me.
An idea popped into my head as he picked up the phone. “Tell him it’s Joanna Winthrop,” I said hastily as he dialed a number into the handset. He barely nodded to let me know he’d heard. Snobby jerk.
The definition of awkward would be if Joanna was up there with Luke. God, I hoped not. That would be so embarrassing for me.
The concierge spoke quietly into the phone in official tones, glaring at me occasionally. I kept my face neutral, my fingers cramping from keeping them crossed so long.
Please let Luke let me go up. Please let Luke let me go up.
Finally, Count Dracula hung up and turned to me, his entire attitude changed.
“I’m sorry, Miss Winthrop,” he said fawningly, bowing in my direction. “Master Astor will see you. Please allow me to escort you upstairs.”
I shuddered. No thanks! If I got on an elevator with him, I would go insane!
“That’s okay, I’ll get there myself,” I said casually, wondering what Luke had said to the Count to warrant such a change. And was he a new employee? Surely he should have known that Joanna and I looked nothing alike. Firstly, Joanna wasn’t black. But I wasn’t going to argue. I thanked him as he eagerly pressed a button to open an elevator for me and stepped in, my mind on another obstacle. Boy, Luke was sure gonna be mad that I wasn’t really Joanna. And twice as mad that I came bearing homework. Standing in the empty elevator, I allowed myself a grin at my quick thinking. Posing as Joanna Winthrop, who just happened to be Luke's ex, sure had its merits.
I rode up in the elevator all by myself until I belatedly realized that it was exclusively for the penthouse. Unnecessary but cool nonetheless.
The elevator opened out onto a landing and I stepped out, wishing I had more eyes to take in all the lavishness. Bright lights accentuated the open space and expensive looking rugs and paintings decorated the foyer. It was beautiful.
A burly Mexican door man barred me from moving further into the foyer.
“May I help you, ma’am?” he asked politely.
“Yeah, I’m Joanna Winthrop,’ I replied confidently. “I’m here to see Luke.”
I was feeling cocky. I had gotten past Count Dracula and this guy, while big, looked like a pushover.
“Ma’am, you’re not Joanna Winthrop,” he said, looking me over slowly.
Or not.
“Huh?” I said, racking my brain for something smart to say.
“Miss Winthrop comes here once or twice a week,” the door man explained as I raised my eyebrows. Huh, guess she really does have a little something something with Luke. What do you know? “Besides, Miss Winthrop is Caucasian.”
I grimaced. Right. I’d come so far, I couldn’t be stopped now! It was time for me to go hard or go home. And I didn’t have expensive cookies at home like the Astor’s definitely had. That being my motivation, I launched into honesty mode.
“Okay, fine, I’m not Joanna Winthrop,” I conceded, leaning in closer to him and speaking in a low voice.
He nodded, his face impassive. But I’m sure he was laughing inside that I had the audacity to pose as Joanna. “Of course not.”
“Cut me some slack! I walked here all the way from Dalton in the rain, just to deliver Luke’s homework!” Okay, maybe not quite honesty mode. But I had walked in the rain to the subw
ay. “I only said I was Joanna so he would let me in. If I’d said my real name, he wouldn’t have let me up and I would have gotten into trouble at school. Know what I mean?”
The door man’s face cracked into a smile and I sighed in relief. I should be a salesman, I was that good.
“I feel you,” he quipped. I grinned.
“So, can you please let me in so I can give him this?”
I almost said ‘I’ll make it worth your while’, but stopped myself at the last moment. Last thing I needed was him thinking I wanted to bribe him with sexual favors. I didn’t. If push came to shove, I would bribe him with the assorted change I had in my pocket, not my body.
“Okay, fine,” the door man said. “I’ll buzz you in.”
Beaming, I slapped him companionably on the back as he pressed the gold edged buzzer. “Thanks so much, man,” I said cheerfully.
The heavy looking door to the penthouse opened just as the bemused looking door man murmured, “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
A butler in a black suit stood between me and a hot beverage. I stifled a groan. How many goons were there between Luke and the outside world? Did they have a master too that I was supposed to defeat before I could get to see the guy?
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the butler said in precise, clipped tones.
I smiled at him, bracing myself for another battle of wits. “Good afternoon to you, sir. I’m here for Luke Astor.”
To my surprise, he stood aside to let me in. “Right this way, madam. Follow me.”
I guess his goons ran the spectrum from nastily scary to polite.
My eyes wide, I followed the butler to the living room, trying to take in all I saw. Polished hardwood floors, valuable looking paintings on the wall- even the air smelt expensive. Bottled air, imported from Switzerland.
Gesturing to a plush couch, the butler said, “Please have a seat. Master Astor shall be with you shortly.”
“This living room is as big as my whole house,” I blurted out.
“This isn’t the living room, ma’am. It’s the parlor.”
Wow. Trying to act like sitting in parlors was a thing I did every day, I made myself comfortable on the couch, my eyes trying to flit in four different directions at once.
“May I offer you refreshment?”
I perked up. Now we were getting to the good stuff. “Yes please,” I said, placing my hands in my lap and trying to seem demure.
The butler smiled knowingly down at me. “Hot chocolate and cookies?”
Oh, that’s it. He was so in.
“That sounds delightful- uh, what did you say your name was?”
I hate talking to people who give me food without knowing their names.
Looking slightly flustered, the butler said “Smith, ma’am.”
“Call me Celsi. That sounds awesome, Mr. Smith,” I said, giddy with the promise of impending food. Canteen lunch wasn’t filling enough.
“Very well, Celsi,” Mr. Smith said, a smile twitching his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
He bowed low and backed out of the living room- I mean, parlor. How ‘Anne of Green Gables.’
Now, I have a problem. I’m one of the nosiest people you’ll ever meet. When I’m at other people’s houses, I constantly have the urge to snoop in their drawers and look under their beds. It’s a major character flaw.
I got up and, looking over my shoulder to make sure that I was alone, walked slowly around the room, picking up mini sculptures and setting them down.
Then I saw it and, just like in the movies, everything else around me faded before my eyes. The Steinway and Sons Alma-Tadema grand piano Recreation, Legendary Collection was all I could see.
And just what is The Steinway and Sons Alma-Tadema grand piano Recreation, Legendary Collection, you might ask?
Only one of the rarest and best piano’s in the world. Only a few exist, one at the White House, another at the Smithsonian Museum. It pulled me closer, making me feel like an artist coming face to face with a paint brush he knew Vincent Van Gogh had used.
In a trance, I touched the piano to convince myself it was real. I never thought that I would ever see an Alma-Tadema, let alone touch one. In rapture, I bent over the piano, running my fingers lightly over the keys. I closed my eyes, letting my fantasy of playing Carnegie Hall (a fantasy that nobody knew about) take over. I’m a self-taught pianist and even though my family(well, my aunt at least) and friends told me that I was amazingly good on the rare occasions that I played for them, I knew I wasn’t nearly as good as they claimed. But with a piano like this, I could be. With a piano like this, I could be world renowned.
As I was lost in the bright lights of Carnegie Hall, suddenly a pair of arms slipped around my waist, pulling me back against a muscular body and effectively jolting me out of my reverie.
“I really want to lay you out on that piano,” a husky voice murmured in my ear, hot minty fresh breath fanning my neck as the scent of Irish Spring soap surrounded me.
Caught unawares, I did the most natural thing that came to mind. I snapped my head up, my heart thumping with fright (I swear I thought Count Dracula was trying to work me over) as I jerked my elbow back. It connected with something hard. A thud and a grunt of pain came from behind me and I whirled around, only to see Luke Astor lying on the hardwood floor, his hand over his nose.
Oh, crap.
CHAPTER 2
Girl from the gutter.
“Oh, shit!”
My sentiments exactly.
The visions of piping hot chocolate and cookies, which had been dancing in front of my eyes ever since Mr. Smith had mentioned the magic word ‘refreshments’ dissolved as I gaped down at a groaning and cussing Luke, my heart sinking. I had just assaulted the ‘Master’ of the house. Right now, refreshments were not in my immediate future. Mr. Smith would call the Door Man, who would kick me out and Count Dracula would probably release the hounds once he too realized that I wasn’t really Joanna Winthrop and had pulled one over on him.
This is bad...
My hands over my mouth, I took a tiny step forward, staring down at Luke, whose eyes were clenched shut in a grimace of pain.
“Luke, I am so, so sorry!” I exclaimed. His eyes opened to slits, squinting at me as I continued, wringing my hands like a bad actress in a soapie. “It was a reflex action; your voice came out of nowhere-are you alright?” I bit the inside of my cheek nervously. “Are you bleeding?”
I’m very squeamish when it comes to other people’s blood.
“Fuuuck, it hurts!” was Luke’s groaned answer.
I bit my thumb hard to hold back the tsunami of laughter threatening to pour from me. Big Man on Campus or not, Luke Astor was just a big, tantrum throwing baby.
Either that or his nose was broken. Please don’t let his nose be broken.
I knew Luke probably had enough money in his private bank account to get cosmetic surgery on his nose, but I wouldn’t be able to live it down. I’d be known forevermore as ‘that girl who broke Luke Astor’s nose.’ Not a good reputation at all.
“Take your hand off your face, let me see,” I said in a commanding tone, leaning over his prone body. The white Guns and Roses t-shirt he was wearing rose up to show a strip of nicely tanned, lean stomach and a hint of his blue boxers. My eyes widened for a second as I blatantly stared then gave myself a mental slap. Focus, Celsi! I was supposed to be helping the guy, not ogling him!
He glowered up at me, his dark bangs falling into his eyes. “I’m not taking my hand off, are you insane? What part of ‘it hurts’ don’t you understand?”
Sheesh. The part which says it’s okay for you to act like a jerk when I’m trying to help you.
I almost said that aloud but checked myself when I remembered that I was the main reason he was in pain. All the poor guy had been after was a little intimacy with Joanna (who must still be his ‘lady friend’, if the piano line is anything to go by) but instead he got an elbow to the face. Life can be so unfair som
etimes.
“Okay, okay.” I clamped my lips together. “Are you bleeding?” I asked again, since he hadn’t answered me the first time. “Do we have any Kleenex?” I looked around the parlor for a box of tissues and spotted one to my left on a modern looking coffee table honed out of cherry wood.
Taking a step forward to grab the Kleenex box, I tripped over my own two feet (everybody’s done it before. Plus, my boots are about a size too big for me and I always trip over my feet when I wear them). I wind milled my arms wildly to keep my balance and not tip over...please God, don’t let me fall on Luke... but it was too late.
With an involuntary ‘oof’ noise escaping from me, I fell right on top of Luke, feeling his body clench as I ‘landed’.
Oh, God, just open up the ground and take me!
My pigtails swung into my face as I tried to pull myself up using my arms, which were caught in the strap of my book bag.
“For the love of God, get off me,” Luke growled from under me, trying to push me off his body. “Your jacket’s freaking wet!”
I hoped that nobody would choose that moment to walk into the room and catch us in such an incriminating position, even though, with the way things were going for me today, that was probably exactly what would happen.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying,” I panted, trying to work the bag’s strap over my shoulder to give my arms more mobility so that I could raise myself up. My legs were all tangled in his- we looked like a human ball of intertwined wool. As I was trying my best to free myself from my evil bag, I kept trying not to notice how warm Luke felt (even with the central heating, I still felt very cold) or how his chest was rising and falling in time to his breathing, or how fast his heart was beating, or how amazing he smelt (Irish Spring has never held much appeal to me until that particular moment). And you know what? I failed at not noticing. Guilty.
