Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
The next few days have me so exhausted with meal kit practicing, that I stop answering my friends’ texts. They notice and, on a late Saturday night, call me.
I briefly catch them up on how I lost my apartment (“to renovations”) and that my employer offered me a room to stay while I have no place to go.
It takes a bit of convincing, but they finally agree Luke is not a nefarious pervert trying to sleep with me by forcing me to stay with him.
I tell them my focus is on winning the meal kit competition and that’s why I have been so busy.
(Very largely true).
While on the phone with them, I narrate what Luke’s penthouse looks like (“copious amount of marble for no reason”) and come across a party invitation left behind on the kitchen counter.
“It’s for tonight,” I say out loud. “This is where Luke’s sister, Sistine, went. She mentioned something about going to a party to network.”
I tell my friends about Sistine. How she’s like a ghost in that I never see her around the apartment, but I can tell she’s still here because most of what I bake gets eaten by her.
One particular evening, she snuck up on me and blew into my ear. I almost shriveled to the ground, my heart pounding away.
“You’re okay,” she announced with a nod, before slinking out for the evening.
I think this admission is tantamount to a shouted declaration of devotion from other women.
I guess I’m still safe living here with Luke. His sister hasn’t stabbed me.
“What’s the card say?” wonders Kiren.
“Read the details,” demands Noor.
“It’s fairly vague, actually. There’s an address on it, and this one rather dramatic sentence. A night of spectacle for those who dare .”
As I put down the invite and start my nightly ritual of making tea, I realize I’ve messed up because both of my best friends go very quiet.
“ You need to be more daring on your trip,” drawls Kiren.
“A night of spectacle, huh? Who wouldn’t want to see that?” adds Noor.
“I haven’t been invited,” I tell them firmly, hoping that’s the end of it.
“Sistine is nice , isn’t she? That’s what you told us unless you weren’t honest about that,” says Noor.
“No, she is!”
“Great. She’ll be happy to see you.”
“Guys—”
“Don’t you want to network?” asks Kiren.
“What if tonight is the night you meet the head chef of some really fancy restaurant and you slip in how great of a cook you are, and he is intrigued enough to give you an interview the next day? Think about it. Anything could happen, but nothing is going to happen if you always stay inside, Rita. Your dreams are out there?—”
“I doubt any of that will happen at this party?—”
“But it might,” says Noor. “Plus, when was the last time you went out and had a fun night to yourself? Like old Rita used to? You remember? Literally every night out, you somehow made a new friend. That’s how we got that airline discount.
And we can’t forget the fake Prada dude!
He still sends you a holiday card. Like c’mon, Rita. ”
“And if the party isn’t fun, you don’t have to stay,” argues Kiren. “Or check it out from the outside and if it’s not your vibe, find yourself a cool bar and have a drink in the city, at least.”
I open my mouth. Maybe to argue, but my friends get serious before I can. They say they care about me, and I don’t have to go out tonight, but they are worried I’ve isolated myself in a new city. Every time they call, I am either working, cleaning for some reason, or about to go to sleep.
“It’s like you don’t have a social life anymore,” says Kiren quietly.
“At this rate, I’m going to fly to check up on you instead,” warns Noor.
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine ,” I insist. “And to prove it…I’m—I’m going out to this party.”
They can’t believe it, but I assure them I will.
From there, the night unfolds like a train set on a track with no brakes.
They insist on staying on the phone as I get ready.
And they get more and more excited as I start getting dressed and do my makeup.
Numerous opinions are thrown around regarding an outfit until a sequin, body-hugging, twinkly blue dress is chosen.
It compliments my curvaceous bum very nicely.
Putting the finishing touches on my mascara, even though I have no idea how I’ve let them convince me, I can’t help but feel energy tingling down my spine. When was the last time I’d properly done this? Gone out with no idea where the night will take me? By myself?
There’s been no chance to do it. Specifically, no finances to accommodate for it.
But one of the unexpected perks about staying with Luke is that he won’t take any rent, so I’m accruing spare money. After accounting for emergency savings, there is enough excess…for this one night.
Fueled by the loud persuasion from my friends, I actually do it. I attempt to have a good time, even in the middle of my housing and career crisis.
This is fine. It’s okay. Let’s go with it!
All that confidence is well and great until I find myself lingering in front of the entrance of a 38-storey skyscraper shaped like a bullet vibrator. Then those friends who forced me out of my comfy clothes right before I was about to have tea, sink into a couch, and watch Big Boss ?—
I curse them.
The building is occupied, flashing reds, blues, and greens, but there isn’t anyone walking inside via the front door on foot. I get a bit closer. There also isn’t a guard stationed by the entrance, but I spot a hefty security panel built into the wall. The main doors will surely be locked .
However, I do spot a stocky vehicle with tinted privacy windows turn in and go down a ramp into the underground parking. At this point, I debate going home, but I know I’m going to get harassed by questions if I do.
I need to try. At least a little, then I can tell them it wasn’t my fault. That I gave it an honest effort.
My honest effort has me inching down the underground ramp, where the parkade cage hasn’t gone back down yet.
This is silly. And where I get murdered!
I should turn around, but I don’t. Good thing it’s a short walk and not that dark. The stalls are well lit. Considering all the luxury vehicles parked down here, there are a lot of affluent people attending this party. A good sign?
Fairly quickly, I reach an elevator. With my heart racing more than a bit, I go inside and ride it up.
The main lobby of the building is decidedly normal.
I never thought the sight of blandly patterned carpeting would give me such relief.
Stepping further inside, I flit my eyes over the concierge table, the dangling chandelier, and then the grand staircase going up another floor.
Is the party up there? Going to the concierge, I ask.
The bald man wearing a navy uniform has no idea what I’m talking about: “What party?”
I pull the invitation out of my purse.
He still has no idea what I’m talking about. Says he’s completely in the dark about any goings on connected to the event in question and therefore is not liable for its existence.
How strange.
Wondering if I’ve really mucked this up and come completely to the wrong address, I step back and bump into a man I hadn’t noticed was behind me.
He’s tall, bearded, and has the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen.
His hair is gelled back minus the prominent curl on his forehead.
Silver rings occupy each of his fingers.
He spots the party invitation.
“I’m headed the same way,” he says. “Come with me.”
Not waiting for my response, he takes my arm and leads me back to the elevator. At this point, I want to go home again, but I also remind myself that Sistine is inside this building somewhere.
A daring spectacle. It could still be fun…
The man in the elevator scans a badge and instead of going up, the elevator goes down. He sideways peers at me. “You don’t look like someone who would come to this kind of thing.”
Immediately, I’m struck with horror. What if—could it be—some kind of sex thing?
“What kind of party is it?” I ask him hastily.
His answer is a crooked smile, which is not an answer at all.
No judgment at all for sex parties, but I prefer encounters to be one-on-one.
Multiple dicks are too much stimulus outside of source material you pull out when alone, bored, and horny.
Before I can interrogate him further, the elevator doors slide open.
The scene that unfolds before us is darkly fantastical—polished casino tables, animal masks, and bushels of realistic greenery hang everywhere as if the inspiration was Narnia in the summer during the night.
Instead of string lights, there are strands of jewels attached to the roof so the lumbering venue is lit by dancing diamonds.
Many costumed party goers are wearing tuxedos and ball gowns.
In comparison, my sequined dress feels way more clubby than classy.
Walking by, a server offers us a tray laden with pills of various sizes which would cause me to gawk if I wasn’t already doing so because the woman pushing drugs is also topless.
Her breasts are delightfully round and worthy of showing off, but once again, I’m faced with the possibility that this is a sex party.
“Take a pill,” says the man who took me down the elevator.
“No, thank you.”
“Don’t be boring,” he chides, rather forcefully.
Deciding a swift exit is needed, I step to the side. Unfortunately, a woman in a rabbit mask was walking that same way. Our shoulders bump. Before I can offer up an apology, I spot a silver object strapped to her thigh. Is that—a real knife?
Not wanting to find out, I squeak out something about needing a bathroom and being on my period. Both the rabbit and topless server point to a door nestled to our right, putting their bodies between me and Elevator Man. The solidarity of women allows me to flee to the toilets.