“Yes!” says Lennox, bouncing onto the sofa. “So what are you going to wear?”
Wear?
I hadn’t even thought of that!
LENNOX
“We are going to Pretty Woman the shit out of you,” I tell my baby.
Our flight landed at 1pm, so we have the afternoon to get Harmony some clothes. Asa is playing Roy Orbison on his phone. “Pretty women…” we all shout, as the song hits the chorus again. I tell the driver to take us to Rodeo Drive, and head to a specific boutique.
To the others, it might look like we are here kinda at random, but I did my research this morning.
The manager instantly goes into ass-kissing overdrive as we walk in.
“Welcome! So honored to have Mercury Rising!”
“Help dress our girl,” says Asa. “Gala clothes, the best of everything.”
“Of course, of course. Can I offer you all some champagne?”
Asa and Hugo sit on the low sofas, drinking champagne and watch a nervous Harmony get taken off to be fitted out. I go with her, she’ll need me for this.
The sales lady starts pulling out a dark blue and I stop her immediately.
“She needs soft, warm colors. Light. I want her to glow…”
After half an hour, she’s almost perfect. Her beautiful curves are showcased in a peachy, cream satin. The dress is draped and flows modestly at the front, but when she turns, holy fuck. The back plunges so low you can see the top of her ass crack.
“Shoes feel good?”
She lifts the hem to reveal gold, strappy heels. The golden leather criss crosses up her legs, making her look like the goddess she is. I have been looking around the jewelry offerings in the store, but I’m not impressed.
Harmony goes off to get out of the gown and so I head next door to Tiffany’s.
“Pick out something amazing,” says Hugo.
“Well duh! I may not be able to read for shit,” I tell him, “but trust me. I've got an eye for this shit. My baby’s gonna drip.”
???
When our driver returns us to the hotel, we decide to eat in our room.
The gala tonight will be our first time in public all together.
We are not coming out as an official ‘quad-tupal’, Harmony isn’t ready for that. She will just be a date, for one of us. We are not specifying who—leave that for the press to decide.
Still, Harmony is picking at her salad, too nervous to eat.
Instead of vodka, I take Clara’s advice and open a bottle of champagne.
“Clara’s medicine for Dutch courage,” I say, passing her a glass.
“I never understood that phrase,” she says.
“Me neither.”
Hugo, of course, chimes in. “English sailors used it as an insult when they were battling the Dutch. It meant that the Dutch were only brave when they were drunk.”
