Diversification #8
totally flies for black tie. Sort of like a wink, a nod, you know? And I got it off TheRealReal, so it’s actively anti-capitalist.”
“Exactly, fuck the system,” Jackie comments, as she holds a lush green minidress against her body in the mirror. “All those
rich SoHo girls outside TheRealReal? Major Engels fans.”
“Shut up, or you’re not borrowing that,” Amina snaps. “It’d be nice if you wore your hair up,” she adds, turning back to Lili
and gathering her hair at the nape of her neck. “Like this, sort of.”
Lili smiles, seeing how her hair drawn back opens up her face, revealing her cheekbones, a shine in her eyes. Like she sees
something pleasing in her own face. “It’s beautiful, genuinely.”
“It’s yours.”
Lili looks at her sharply. “What?”
“Pretend it’s a belated birthday gift.”
“You got me a birthday gift.”
“Just pretend this is another one.”
“Amina, no—I’m not comfortable with that, this is expensive—”
“I’m never going to wear it anyway,” Amina says. “I got it especially for you. It’s supposed to be floor-length, but it comes up to, like, my knees.”
“I found out I was going to this gala yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes I get things because I know they’ll look good on you.”
“That’s insane! Do you have any idea how privileged that sounds?”
“Lili,” Amina insists, irritated. “It makes me happy to give you this. Genuinely. So, you’re actively making me unhappy by arguing.”
“That’s not—”
“Actively unhappy. Almost miserable. If you give it back to me, I’ll actually just burn it.”
Jackie laughs, looking at them with fondness as she sets the minidress back in Amina’s closet. “Wouldn’t that be worse, Marwan?”
she teases. “Imagine the waste of that, the environmental cost.”
Lili sighs. In the mirror, her reflection toys with the thin bracelet on her wrist: tiny chain, gold, barely noticeable, the
nazar Amina gave her for her birthday. A bracelet she even forgets she has on when she’s in the shower, that makes her feel
like herself. Against her skin, the dress feels light and thin, like water; her whole life, these last few weeks, feels like
water, a river rushing past her ankles, joy claiming space in her days.
Last night, she’d texted him before she’d fallen asleep in his bed—excited and finding it difficult to sleep, thinking of
seeing him tomorrow.
(11:58 p.m.) If you need help with a dress, my EAs can have options brought to the loft based on what you’d like.
(11:58 p.m.) no no I’ve got it
(11:58 p.m.) what’s the dress code?
(11:59 p.m.) you said gala so like formal dress?
(11:59 p.m.) Black tie, unfortunately.
(12:01 a.m.) so sweats and a crop top?
(12:02 a.m.) Yes, if you’d like.
(12:02 a.m.) and BYOB, I assume?
(12:02 a.m.) Precisely.
(12:03 a.m.) perf hope you like orange wine!!!
(12:03 a.m.) Orange what?
(12:03 a.m.) cant wait!!!
“Come on,” Jackie says now, grasping Lili’s hand. “Let’s do your makeup. There’s this new blush trick a makeup artist showed
me on set today, I want to see if you’ll like it.”
“Aleksandr?”
Stepping out of the elevator, Lili spies his suitcase against the wall. Just back from the airport. Down the hall, she hears
a door close. She hops onto the kitchen island without thinking—expensive dress, delicate silk—but there’s no tug of fabric,
no tear. Looking down, she tries to keep the dress from tangling between her legs or catching on the sharp spikes of her stilettos,
taller than she’s used to.
“Having trouble?”
She glances up; Aleksandr, walking out from the hall. He smiles, doing up his cuff links—handsome to the point of beautiful,
as always, as unfairly as ever; somehow more difficult to take in after days apart, as his gaze, almost mischievous, skates
over her. Something soars in her chest at the sight of him, warmth she’s been missing, and a grin overtakes her own face,
matching his growing smile, and she feels the urge to run at him—
Lili clears her throat. “Want me to do that?” she asks, pointing at his sleeve.
A knowing edge in his smile pushes into the territory of a smirk. He doesn’t need help with cuff links, she knows; it’s a second-nature habit, like shrugging on a jacket or doing up shirt buttons.
But Aleksandr drops the cuff links into her waiting palm.
“Do you know how?” he asks, settling a hand on her thigh—smoothing along the silk of her dress towards her hip, like he’s
familiarizing himself with the shape of her, again.
Lili scoffs. “Of course, I know how. Honestly.”
Aleksandr laughs, squeezing her leg. She makes herself concentrate. Under her fingers, the sleeve of his shirt is crisp, starched.
The scent of him, dark with cologne, fresh from a shower, makes her ache.
“There,” she says, looking up when she finishes his second sleeve. “Done.”
And she—she isn’t prepared for the way he’s looking at her.
The intensity of his stare: It combines pride, affection—lust, hint of incredulity—excitement like mischief, warmth like joy,
and more, there’s more—
Overwhelmed, Lili glances down at his lips—and he kisses her.
With a hot gasp, her mouth opens, and the taste of him again—a moan slips between their lips, her own, and a shiver runs sharp up her spine, the heat of his tongue in her
mouth. Her fingers curl in his collar, drawing him closer. The force of the kiss pushes her back, as he kisses her like he
wants to eat her, like he wants to carve out space for himself inside of her, and it sears a great, hidden, savage joy: that
he wants her like this, that he’s missed her like this; that the immensity of her own want finds an unbelievable match in
him.
Thoughts blurring, Lili gasps for breath. Aleksandr pulls away, letting her catch some air. He grins at her frown, resting
his forehead against hers.
“You look handsome,” she breathes, placing her hand against his cheek. Grasping her wrist, Aleksandr turns her palm and kisses
it.
“You look stunning,” he says. A small crease furrows his brow, confusion with a smile, as he inhales the hollow of her wrist,
brushing her thin gold bracelet, the tiny nazar. “And you smell wonderful.”
“Lavender oil,” she says. “It’s calming—helps with nerves. Actually, do you want some?”
“Are you nervous, Lili?” he teases.
“No,” she asserts. It’s true, surprisingly. “I’m ready to stare down hawks, point out all the flaws in the administration’s
approach to foreign affairs.”
He grins. “As long as I get a picture when you accuse them of neoimperialism—”
“Oh!” Lili says, grasping for her small clutch. “Here, that reminds me—”
She holds up the Polaroid—white border, dark gleam—that he’d asked for.
His smile, when he sees the photograph: It’s his slightly crooked one, just the tiniest bit uneven, like he hasn’t had the
chance to realize he’s smiling before it breaks over his face; the expression reminds her of quiet mornings, moments tangled
in bed together.
“Thank you,” he says. From his breast pocket, he pulls out his slim wallet. Lili watches as he slides the photo behind black
credit cards, before placing it back in his suit.
There is a growing tightness in her ribs.
She missed him.
She missed him so much.
“How much time do we have?” she asks, smoothing her hands down the front of his suit.
“Depends on what you have in mind,” he replies, smiling.
“Well—”
The elevator dings, followed by severe footsteps.
“Chop, chop—now is not the time,” Michael says. “Andrew’s waiting in the car, we’re going to be late.”
With a sigh, Aleksandr turns. “We can’t be late to a dinner where we’re the honorees.”
“Sasha.” Michael grimaces, gesturing at Aleksandr’s lack of a tie. “Show some respect, it’s black tie.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No.”
“Aleksandr.”
“Sorry, I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
Lili suppresses a smile, resting her chin on Aleksandr’s shoulder as she looks at Michael.
But instead of scowling at her, or insulting her, Michael just—nods.
Once, at her. No smile, but a grudging sense of—acquiescence.
“Come on,” Aleksandr says, grasping Lili’s hand to help her down from the counter. He didn’t notice the interaction. She lands
lightly on her toes, in her borrowed high heels. They offer her a few more inches of height, but Aleksandr still looks down
at her, much taller. “Let’s go before Michael decides where he’ll bury our bodies.”
Michael sighs, irritated. He mutters inaudibly as he grabs the elevator door before it shuts. Lili follows, glancing over
her shoulder when she doesn’t hear Aleksandr’s footsteps behind her.
Still at the counter, Aleksandr is staring at her back, the skin fully exposed by her dress.
“Perestani pyalitsya,” Michael snaps, in Russian. “U tebya net styda?”
Lili hides a smirk, as Aleksandr follows before the elevator closes, Michael stabbing the ground floor button.
At her back, she feels Aleksandr’s hand skim over her bare skin.
“This dress,” he murmurs. A thrill of something—electric, excited, exposed—slips between the notches of her spine, and she
wishes they’d had enough time—
“Still right here,” Michael mutters.
Aleksandr laughs, drawing Lili into his side.
She’d thought that when Aleksandr said gala, he’d meant a fundraiser: a social event for work, an appearance Michael was compelling
him to make, some repeat of Greene’s party.
Instead, the details he emailed to her after she’d fallen asleep—after their call, the cigarette by the window—had made her
eyes widen.
(9:05 a.m.) jesus christ, this is like a legitimate event
(9:11 a.m.) Thank you, Lili. I appreciate the implication that the rest of my work is somehow illegitimate.
(9:12 a.m.) you know what i mean
In her inbox, she read over the email again, gnawing at her cuticle.
The National Committee on U.S.-China Relations
presents its
Annual Gala Dinner
The Gala provides a significant source of support for the National Committee, a nonpartisan organization promoting better
understanding between the United States and China by creating opportunities for informed dialogue regarding issues of critical
bilateral and global importance. BlackRiver, Inc., a global leader in asset management, is this year’s honoree.