39. Sara
39
SARA
T he night of the ball, Francis shows up at my apartment, greeting me shrilly with over-the-top air kisses, delighted I asked him to be my plus-one. An additional invite had arrived in my inbox sometime during the day, a gesture from Jack to make me feel like I wasn’t obliged to go as his date, I assume. Since Amber had a dirty weekend planned in some Wall Street bankers’ Upstate cabin, I invited Francis instead.
Jack ended up leaving for Seattle earlier than planned. Urgent business which demanded most of his attention. He still made time to call me, but I was either swamped at work, about to go to bed, or busy with Amber, making up for lost time this past year. It meant we still hadn’t straightened things out properly, which meant I couldn’t wait to see him tonight, so we could finally talk and get this stupid heaviness we’d both been carrying off our chests.
As part of the terms of being my plus-one, Francis hands me his payment; an ivory garment bag with a linen hanger poking from the top.
Our agreement is simple: I give him access to this fancy ball where he’s convinced he’ll meet his future husband, and he gets to play fairy godmother by delivering me fabulous couture.
I unzip the bag, squealing when I see a pale pink dress made of elegant silk. It’s strapless, flows beautifully from the hips, and looks like it’ll pair flawlessly with my favorite sparkling Manolos.
“You did good, Francis.” I wink at him. “Where did this one come from?”
“Khalid obviously. It’s an Ala?a. Expensive and on loan, so be careful. If I so much as sniff bug spray anywhere near this…”
He looks at the dress longingly before shooting me a vexing stare.
Khalid’s one of Francis’s many hookups, who conveniently works in fashion PR where he has access to an array of gorgeous sample dresses no one will miss for a night or two.
I don’t take my eyes off the dress as I glide, in a dreamlike state, toward my bedroom. It’s the thing I adore most about fashion, how the mere act of piecing together a beautiful outfit has the ability to flip a shitty mood on its back. And right now, in the presence of this dress, I’m at peace.
As I slide the silk over my body, I clasp the final button and zip up the side. Standing on tiptoe, I marvel at the way the bodice wraps around my chest to make my breasts appear particularly perky, and where the silk parts to reveal a high slit that cuts up to my thigh. In a tasteful, classy way of course, being that this is the Hemmingvale ball for the love of God.
A prolonged gasp echoes behind me as Francis appears in the doorway, hands spread comically wide over his cheeks .
“How do I look?” I shrug, twisting to admire the dress in the mirror, swishing the material around my waist, watching it ripple like a waterfall of freshly plucked petals.
“Like you’re ready for a fucking ball.” Francis beams.
There is no place like New York. It’s a city that forbids you to feel isolated or out of place, because for every heartbreaking quarrel, peculiar hobby, or ridiculous phobia, a sea of others exist who are willing to climb to even greater heights to demonstrate how abundantly we all belong, quirks and all.
It’s a city that moves quickly, too hungry for life to soak in misery for any length of time. Opportunity exists down every avenue, and just when you think you might have seen it all, the curtain is pulled and a whole other world is revealed, ready to be devoured.
And when the splendor gets to be too much, too fast, too loud, an eye-watering sum in a yellow cab will snatch you away for the night until you catch your breath.
Scarsdale. A pocket of suburban, stately bliss an hour’s drive from the city.
Francis and I pull up to a charming estate where vines climb the pillars of a gleaming colonial mansion with tall, arched windows and sprawling, striped lawns.
The Hemmingvale estate is the former home of a diplomat who sold the property when the upkeep became too costly. Now it continues to host sparkling soirees, extravagant masquerade parties and so much more. Tonight, CEOs, directors, and investors from across the country assemble to raise money, spend money, and be merry for the night.
So, when I enter the grand hallway and see a familiar face who doesn’t belong to any mentioned category, I get a little confused.
“What’s she doing here?” I hiss under my breath as I spot Kandi in a tight turquoise dress with a swaying, feather trim. She links arms with a man I strain to make out until… “Wait, is that Drew?”
Francis places a hand across his chest, his features blazing with delight. “Oh my.”
A bolt of unease twists in my stomach. “Did you know she was coming?”
“Who cares about her?” Francis waves me off, his eyes tracking every male in the vicinity before settling back on Drew. “Let’s get a drink.”
He pulls me beneath a towering archway of violet and ivory flowers. My breath hitches when we enter a grand hall, my wide eyes absorbing every lavish detail. The walls are decorated with golden paneling and enormous oil paintings. Huge white vases with lilies perch upon Greek-style columns which erupt from gleaming marble floors that shimmer several tones of bronze and gold. The place is lit by a series of chandeliers, all glowing on a low setting, bathing the hall in dim, subdued warmth.
In the center is a table with a staircase-like structure of wide-brimmed champagne glasses. The arrangement is surrounded by delicious appetizers such as plump shrimp and trays of twinkling oysters on ice.
A waiter is about to pass me a glass of champagne when cackling laughter threatens to rupture my eardrums. Kandi is fake laughing amongst a crowd I don’t know.
I take the champagne but before I can move away from the table, Kandi steps back, knocking into me.
“Oh pardon… oh ”—her face twists from apologetic to inconvenienced—“it’s you. ”
“What are you doing here?” I don’t attempt to hide my disapproval.
“Before you came over, I was trying to have a good time,” Kandi says. “The question is, what are you doing here? After allowing the Vandenberg figures to get out under your watch, I don’t understand how you have the nerve to even show up.”
While she smugly sips champagne, I look at Kandi’s pretty makeup - at the touch of sparkle at the inner corner of her eyes I’ve seen before and always wondered the brand. I look at her beautiful dress, and her shimmering accessories not too dissimilar from my own. I think about her work ethic, her attention to detail, her drive to succeed. I think about all the things we share. And…it disappoints me.
“You know what I don’t understand?” I say eventually. “Why we never became friends.”
Her brows pull together for a split second before she quickly smooths her expression. Despite the eye roll she’s currently delivering, I continue, “I liked you from the day we met. I liked your hair and I thought you were funny.” I shrug with a pout. “Yet every time I reached out, you batted me away. You invented this…competition between us.” It makes me feel wriggly and ugly to suggest it, but it’s the truth. “You do it with everyone you meet. I watch it every day in the office.”
Kandi shifts on the spot. “Obviously it’s a competition.” She scoffs. “You know Walter will step all over you if you don’t become exactly what he wants. Don’t be mad because I played the game a little smarter.”
I shake my head. “This is what I’m talking about. It never should have been me against you. It should have been us against Walter. Figuring out how to beat him at his game.”
She’s silent. And for the first time, I think I might have gotten through to her. Right before her eyes narrow to tiny pin holes. “I do what I have to. Excuse me.” She steps around me, slinking off into the swelling crowds.
Obviously it’s a competition…I do what I have to.
I gasp before twisting to Francis. “You don’t think she had anything to do with leaking those files, do you?”
“I’d bet my entire Prada collection on it,” Francis says without hesitation.
From behind, a hand grazes my arm.
“Sara, hey.” Drew, wearing an ivory tux, beams down at me with his blinding smile. “Isn’t this awesome?” He gestures around us.
“Hey, you.” Francis grins at Drew, who nods, ignoring his attempt at flirting.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” I say as I elbow Francis out of the way.
“It was a last minute thing. Kandi said she could get me on the guest list.” He leans forward. “I mean, it’s the Hemmingvale ball, right? Listen to that quartet.” His thumb points over his shoulder at a stage of straight-backed violinists who sway in time with their dreamy melody.
I shrug because, honestly, I don’t know who wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to attend such an exclusive event.
And then I’m zoning out because I can’t stop thinking that Kandi is guilty. And if she turned up tonight, while she and Jack are in the middle of a situation that involved legal issues , then what if she’s here to cause further chaos? And then the blazing urge to know exactly what’s going on between them consumes me. I’m turning on my heel, spinning and standing on tiptoe to seek out Jack. I cut through the crowds, brushing past swaying skirts and clusters of bodies congregating on an enormous dancefloor.
People pair off, dancing and twirling around me. I continue to cut through the center of the dancefloor, until someone catches my wrist, and draws me close.
My body melts against his as his arm comes around my waist.
Safe. The word hovers around me, enveloping me in a cage of protection.
“Jack…” I whisper, looking up at him, my hands travelling up his biceps as we begin to follow the sway of the crowd around us. “You found me.”
He smirks down at me. He’s in his signature midnight black, the sharpest suit I’ve ever seen him in. “You can’t turn up looking like that and not expect me to notice you.” I feel his thumb rub small circles at my lower back. “Missed you, baby,” he whispers against my ear.
My hand slips around his neck as our bodies connect after days of no contact. A swell begins to form deep in my stomach, warm and fluttering, and replaces the absent ache I’ve felt since that terrible conversation over a week ago in the lobby.
“I missed you too,” I say against his cheek. “Lots.”
“Why were you charging through the crowds?” He smirks, applying subtle pressure to my hips as he leads me in the slow dance.
“I was looking for you.”
“Been here the whole time.” He pulls me closer, his mouth brushing my ear again. “Never left.”
A pang of heat spears through me because I know he’s not talking about his presence at this ball.
“Me either,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure he hears until his fingers sink into my lower back.
Then he’s looking down at me again, head tilting to the side as his face turns serious. “I let you down.” He sighs. “I said I’d give you honesty, but I got so caught up in…wh atever incredible thing was happening between us, I didn’t stop to take care of the serious stuff too.” He shakes his head. “I guess I wanted to keep the bad stuff out.”
I bite my lip. “I’m still figuring out all the things that come with who you are, Jack. And I know a lot of those things are complex, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try to understand. Especially if it involves another woman.” I inhale, because I know this next part might be premature, but I’m not scared to look vulnerable in front of him, I’ve never been afraid to look that way. “But the moment you keep the bad stuff to yourself, that’s the moment you go through it, alone. And if you want there to be an us, then we go through things as a team, no matter how shitty they are. Your weight, is my weight.”
Jack doesn’t say anything, but he swallows, and I see his brows raise.
“I mean, I was going to apologize for what I said about you working for your boss.” He narrows one eye, smirking. “But, I changed my mind. I don’t apologize. You should be running my company with smart things like that coming out your mouth.”
I brush the side of his face with my fingertips. “Couldn’t afford me, I’m afraid.”
He grins, swaying me into a spin before drawing me tighter to his body. “I figured.”
I grin back before I’m serious and composing myself again. “Just know that if we’re not being honest, we’re saying this isn’t worth the truth. That’s what it comes down to, okay?” I’ve seen what hiding your feelings does, I’ve seen what saying everything is fine does, I know how it ends.
Jack nods, his chin tilting down, his nose grazing the side of mine. “Sara, you will always, always be worth it.”
And then we’re swaying again, leaning into each other, letting our bodies sync with the other, making up for the lost time. I’m a few elevated heartbeats from telling him about my theory about Kandi when a voice comes from over my shoulder, pulling us from our daydream.
“Long time, Vandenberg.” A man with olive skin and round features pats Jack on the back. “Come meet my son, he’s been dying to talk to you.”
Jack nods tightly at the man, while flashing me an apologetic look.
Right at the same time a pair of very familiar faces stop in front of me.
Faces I see daily when I enter the office, and again when I leave. Staring down at me from their four-foot glossy portraits on the wall at reception. The founders, CEO’s, presidents. Leaders on every level and in every capacity.
Reza Parvin and Justin Spence, creators of Street Bandit.
At first, I don’t think they’ll recognize me, because they haven’t set foot in the office in over six months, and even then, the visits are compressed into thirty or so minutes of meetings led by Walter which rarely involve me.
Only, they’re looking at me with blatant hints of recognition. Reza is pinning me with dark brown eyes, and Justin is tossing his blond highlighted head back to finish his drink before exclaiming, “I know you.”
Reza nods, places a hand over his thick black beard, his eyes swelling with contemplation. “Our marketing girl.”
The pair, in their mid-thirties, exchange looks. Undecipherable, long looks.
And that’s when I know that I’m thoroughly and unavoidably doomed.
They’ve been informed about the leak, and how I was the one who let the private information of our most important client to date, filter to the press .
I draw in a deep breath as I prepare to accept my fate.
“Great idea with the app by the way,” Justin says.
Right at the same time I blurt, “I’m so, so, sorry.” Then I shake my head. “Wait, what did you say?”
“The idea you pitched the other week, about creating a sister app?” Reza frowns, smoothing the material on the arm of his black suit. “We liked it.”
I scratch at my neck that feels like it’s suffering from third degree burns. “You liked it,” I confirm to myself, swallowing audibly. “Well, great,” I shriek before composing myself. “But, how do you know about that?”
The light dusting of freckles scattered across Reza’s brown skin wrinkles slightly as he grins. “We saw the details of your pitch. Good job getting the Vandenberg Group on board by the way.”
Two compliments. Zero firings.
Perhaps they have no idea about the leak after all.
As I process this most bewildering interaction, I can’t help but wonder how they managed to get their hands on my pitch. Was it Walter?
“Thank you,” I say at last when I’ve finally controlled my stammering. “I didn’t know Walter told you about that.”
Justin shakes his head. “I don’t think it was Walter.” He shrugs without giving it a second thought. “Anyway, I’m glad we ran into you. Things are going in a great direction for us, and you’re part of that success.” He grabs a drink from a passing waitress, pulling a pink handkerchief from the pocket of his oversized white suit to dab the liquid that’s spilled from the rim of the glass. “We care about details, and we can see that you do too. There’s no way we could have put a Vandenberg establishment on the current app.”
“Yeah, what Justin said.” Reza makes a prayer gesture with his hands. “We’re lucky to have you on board. This is your first time running a project of this scope, right?” I nod. “If it goes well, it’ll open a lot more doors within the company.”
Sounds like they definitely have no idea about the leak.
“Yes, that’s my goal. There’s an internal position I have my eye on, but I guess I’ll just see how this goes.”
“Oh?” Reza asks.
“It would be a huge promotion for me, but it’s the Marketing Director position,” I say a little quieter.
The pair pause to think for a few moments before Justin appears to come to a realization. “Oh, yeah that. No that’s been filled. But, surely you’d want something a little more creative, something to do with the new app you suggested?”
The music seems to kick up a notch, and the arrival of a cluster of bodies makes the space feel too small.
The position has been filled?
My shoulders sag, and my throat works to push down the emotions building up in the dark corners of my chest. I shouldn’t be disappointed. Part of me knew I wouldn’t be considered as a candidate after the Vandenberg blunder. And a couple minutes ago, I thought I was about to lose my job entirely, so really, this is fine. This is fine.
This is…
A fucking nightmare.
“Wait, are we talking about the same Director position? I mean, who filled it? And when?” I ask quickly, ignoring the arrival of people who bump into me as they attempt to get closer to Reza and Justin.
My questions are lost as the attention goes to the new arrivals. A guy with a sharp white suit and hair pulled into a knot at his neck is at the center of everything now. He’s carrying a tray of violet tinted shots which has attracted a small entourage of keen participants, all eager to devour their contents.
Justin leans back, glancing at me before he reaches for the tray. “Yesterday. I think. Guy from finance. Drew Dawson?”
He raises a shot glass in the air.
“Here’s to you!”