I nodded at him, fixing the button on my coat before stepping out. I held my hand out for Scarlett as she placed one heeled foot to the cement, emerging a second later looking as high-class as a skyscraper.
A few cheers rang out, a bunch of girlie squeals, as Scarlett approached the waiting crowd. Charlotte and Travis were passing, and her sister gave us a hard eye roll.
“It’s so cold!” Scarlett said, laughing. “A bunch of troopers! It means so much to me to meet you all.”
“You are so magical!” one of the girls said, a giddy note to her voice. “You make me breathless!”
“I cried when I watched you dance on stage. You moved me to tears. You mean so much to me.”
“You aresotiny!” another one said, snapping a picture.
The most common reaction Scarlett received was how small she seemed compared to the ballerina on stage. It wasn’t just the pointe shoes that gave them the impression that she was larger than life. Her command of the stage in juxtaposition to her almost ethereal softness made her more than intriguing. And for whatever reason, it made her seem as vast as the sky to some. When in reality, she was one star—all mine.
“No way,” another one said, hiding her mouth in her scarf, only her eyes visible. “It’s her beast!”
Scarlett grinned at this, continuing to sign the pictures handed over.
“Can I take a picture with you?” the scarf hider asked me.
We had been through this drill before. I nodded, and before I knew it, the entire group but one girl surrounded me.
“He smells so good.” Giggle.
“What type of cologne do you use?”
“Why? Are you going to spritz it on your pillow, Amber?”
“The Hungry-Eyed Fan Club is going to besojealous!”
“Say Brando!” the girl with the camera shouted. The girls all shouted my name, and the camera snapped.
“We say that instead of cheese,” one of the girls explained. “It’s our thing.”
“One more!” the one with the camera said. The process was repeated, but with her in the picture this time. Then repeated again with Scarlett standing in the center of their group.
The attendant that had opened our door looked at us in a different light this time. Scarlett wasn’t just some rich housewife. She wassomebody.
As we passed through the lobby, Charlotte and Everett stood together, a heated discussion going on between them.
“Why doessheget the Milano Suite?”
“It doesn’t make a difference, Charlotte. We all have suites. Now hush and go to your room.” The vein in Everett’s forehead bulged.
Travis stood around with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something strong.
Scarlett didn’t even glance at her sister and the scene as we moved forward toward the elevators. “Stesso vecchio,” Scarlett said, flipping a wrist in the air.Same old.
The Milano Suite was a mixture of natural colors, Italian marble, chandeliers, and lush furnishings. A color dark enough to be black but not quite made the purple accents stand out. The gold touches made it seem more elegant. The mirrored wall behind our bed reflected later opportunities. Something sensual floated in the air, a spicy touch.
Beneath us, the hustle and bustle of Fifth Avenue circulated. Through clear glass and ornate ironwork along the balcony, hundreds of lives coexisted, one soul passing another, all huddled against the sharp winter’s cold. Two worlds, theirs and ours, separated by only brick and mortar.
“Champagne, sir?” the attendant asked. “Compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Everett Poésy.”
Dom Perignon White Gold. The packaging proved that what’s on the outside does reflect what’s on the inside sometimes. The champagne’s case was plated in white gold and laser-engraved with the brand’s label. At twenty-five hundred a bottle, Everett was out to make a statement.
I held a hand up. “Later.Grazie.”
The attendant nodded and straightened the massive fruit basket on the counter before he headed out.
