Reckless Abandon(73)
Last night’s rose was red.
Today is Thanksgiving. I didn’t go home for the holiday. The banquet for the Juliette Academy is this weekend and the quick turnaround for holiday travel is too much. Plus, Leah and Adam’s wedding is in two weeks. I’ll be home for that.
Instead of eating my mom’s turkey and dad’s famous stuffing, I am spending the day doing something I have been wanting to do since arriving in New York. I am going to explore the city.
All by myself, dressed up and ready for my date of one, I hop on the subway and trek uptown to Lincoln Center to see Yo-Yo Ma perform with the New York Philharmonic. Since I only needed one, I was easily able to get a ticket to the almost sold-out show online.
Walking through Lincoln Center, I feel the old giddiness I used to get as a kid going to see a performance. I walk through the elegant buildings, taking in the sights. I’ve been here before with my parents and once for a competition, but tonight it feels different.
It is just as amazing as I dreamed. I have listened to Yo-Yo Ma’s music and seen him play on YouTube, but never live.
When the performance is over I walk across the street and grab dinner at Café Fiorello. While eating, I scroll through my phone and order more tickets for this weekend. Tomorrow, I am going to the opera. Saturday, I am going to see a Broadway matinee and then the ballet. And on Sunday I am going to watch Allyce play my violin in the park. I call my parents for the holiday and spend an exorbitant amount of time telling my mom about the concert and the school and the city . . .
By the time the waiter comes with my check, I have a weekend of the arts fully booked and my mom and I are laughing and talking, she is completely neglecting her holiday company.
And when I get home I have a beautiful bouquet of mixed wild flowers waiting for me outside my door. Once I am securely inside my apartment I hear the familiar sound of a motorcycle rumble down the street. I may have a new sense of purpose but my feelings for Alexander Asher have not changed.
What they are, exactly, is up for debate.
My stiletto heel sinks in the lush carpeting of the Starlight Roof at the Waldorf-Astoria. This is my first New York City event and so far it is as visually stunning as anything I could have dreamed up.
The landmark hotel banquet room has a gilded ceiling of art deco design, illuminated by Austrian crystal chandeliers. In front of a wall of windows is a thirteen-piece band on a stage, surrounded by banquet tables. In the middle is a dance floor of black and white design.
Six hundred guests came out for tonight’s occasion, all dressed in elegance.
I look over at Crystal in her black, one-shoulder gown with beading along the bodice. Her curls are pinned up, her beautiful porcelain skin glows. Lisa is here with her husband. She is wearing a navy cocktail dress with a matching wrap. Her husband looks handsome in a tuxedo, even if he doesn’t appear to be happy to be wearing one
I am wearing a strapless, dark purple chiffon dress I borrowed from Crystal. I was very happy to see it fit, though not as well as it would Crystal’s hourglass figure. I paired the dress with metallic gold shoes and a necklace that used to be my grandmother’s.
Crystal and I spent the afternoon getting our hair done. I opted to keep my blonde tresses down but I did let the stylist at the Louis Licari salon talk me into getting highlights. After two hours of foils and glaze, I was nervous to see the transformation. I had never done anything to my hair, aside from dipping it in Kool-Aid when I was thirteen, streaking a few strands red.
Noting my hesitation, Crystal insisted I not look until everything was done. I felt like one of those women on the Today Show who get makeovers that make them look like a completely different person. One look in the mirror and I was impressed with the transformation. My hair is still the same length, with slight shaping and a few angles. The strands, however, are much lighter and brighter. I look sunnier, somehow. I even let them do my makeup. They didn’t overdo it. They made me look just right.
Lisa’s husband hands me a glass of champagne and I take it, giving a cheers to the girls.
Frank appears from behind and asks if I can be taken away as he has people he’d like to introduce me to. I walk around the room with Frank, greeting the guests who are here to, hopefully, donate money to our little school. Some faces I recognize and many more I am meeting for the first time.
The band plays on and I look over to see Lisa and her husband twirling around the dance floor having a good time. Crystal is at the bar talking with a gentleman I have never seen before and I hope they are hitting it off. She deserves to meet a nice guy.
I continue to look around the room when my eyes stop at the entrance and a man who is so beautiful it takes my breath away.
Alexander Asher walks into the room looking fierce and determined. All six feet of him are standing tall, and he’s positively gorgeous in a black-on-black tuxedo fitted at the waist, showcasing the incredible body underneath. A white shirt and black bow tie outline his masculine neck and square jaw, while his golden highlights twinkle in the mood lighting of the room and his bronzed skin looks like silk. Strong thighs, broad shoulders and a chest that was created by God to model a double-breasted suit . . . oh, my.
The band is currently playing a Brian Setzer tune, but I can only hear Beethoven’s Eroica playing in my head. It’s a structurally rigorous composition of great emotional depth, just like the man who inspired the song to play in my head.
He looks around the room, taking in the event. A man approaches him and shakes his hand. While they talk, Asher’s eyes continue to roam. Another man comes up to him and he carries on a conversation with him, as well. In between words, his eyes still look about the gala . . . searching . . . for something.