One Look At You (2 page)

“Why can’t we ever meet proper gentlemen with the sexiest accent ever?” Jen asks, only half-jokingly.

“Maybe because we don’t live in England and don’t have the posh accent, as well,” I say in a spot-on imitation of their manner of speaking.

Jen tries very hard to mimic the British accent and we both end up laughing at how ridiculous she sounds. Just then, Mark and Melanie are at the door. Mark is dapper in his suit and Mel is looking chic in a magenta long-sleeved cocktail dress.

“You look fabulous,” Mark says to Jen as he asks her to give a twirl.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she says.

“Would it have killed you to make more of an effort?” Melanie asks me. “Seriously, slacks, a semi-formal top, and an almost bare face?”

“What? I have make-up on. If you’re not careful, you’ll turn into a hostile cynic one of these days. Oh, wait, you already have,” I gleefully respond.

“Mel, stop trying to ruin the night. Livie’s fine.” Mark bends to kiss the top of my head.

We head out of the apartment and see a black limo parked by the curb. Jen and I turn to Mark with questioning looks.

“Ladies, we’re partying, so I thought it best to get us one,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. Considering that Mark is the scion of a wealthy family from Newport Beach and is one of the top real estate brokers in L.A., he can well afford it, and we certainly won’t thumb our noses at his generous gesture.

There’s a lot to be said for riding a limousine in Los Angeles. A limo is not an uncommon sight on the streets, but many drivers still give a limo a curious stare, probably wondering which celebrity is being driven around.

It’s my first time in one, so I do what I’ve seen people do in the movies – I go through the moon roof and take in the view of the street while a soft breeze runs through my hair.

“Newbie!” Mark affectionately tells me as I go down to take my seat.

“What? I may never get to ride in another one,” I say to him.

“Your date didn’t pick you up in one for the prom?” Melanie asks with a frown.

“Ahh…no. I didn’t go to the prom.”

“Why?” All three of them turn to me in astonishment.

“I’d just gotten hired at Gallo’s then. I couldn’t afford to miss a night.” I shrug my shoulders like it’s not a big deal. “Guys, no one asked me anyway so I didn’t miss anything.” The memory still hurts but I’ll be damned if I let my friends see that. They all know that my Mom and I had to make ends meet. My family story is not uncommon. My mom was barely sixteen when she got pregnant. She never had a chance to go to college, so she had to content herself with minimum-wage jobs. She was a shift leader at a sandwich shop during the daytime, and a cashier at a 7-11 four nights a week. I pitched in with part-time work after school. Of course, things are much better now. Mom was promoted to supervisor and, with my full-time job helping out, she doesn’t need a second paycheck.

The inevitable awkward silence follows my revelation and they all pretend to busy themselves with something else. I half smile at their discomfort. Jen’s tugging at some imaginary thread in her outfit. Mark’s checking out the wet bar, and Melanie’s just being Melanie – examining her flawless make-up in her compact mirror.

We arrive at the
Rembrandt
after half an hour. We step out of the limo, and Jen and I stay close to one another. The lobby is a splendid study in uncompromising luxury. From the opulent chandelier to the tapestries on the wall and the shiny marble floors – everything is simply breathtaking. I can only imagine how much this party is going to cost – most likely an amount I won’t even earn in half a decade.

“This way, ladies,” Mark gallantly directs us to the ballroom where the party is obviously now in full swing.

As we enter the Sapphire Ballroom, my senses go into overdrive. At least two hundred elegantly-dressed men and women, mostly our age, are happily gyrating to the electronic dance music blaring from the large subwoofers while blinking strobe lights assault eyes in the semi-darkness, much like the manner of a toned-down rave party. I see Jen’s slightly dazed expression and feel her cling to my right arm as if fearful that she’ll be lost in the boisterous crowd.

I’m somewhat bemused myself because it’s my first time at such a gathering. Mark sure wasn’t kidding about his cousin’s celebration. None of us want to dance, so we all look around for an empty table. There are actually several empty tables close to the backdoor exit. The bartender seems to have disappeared, so Mark grabs some shot glasses with one hand and two bottles of Grey Goose vodka from the counter with the other.

“Will you relax?” he tells me loudly as I give him the ‘what are you doing’ look. I shrug and we all make ourselves comfortable at the table.

“Who are all these people?” Jen asks wonderingly.

“Friends, relatives, strangers, freeloaders… who knows?” Mark says.

“Where’s Joseph?” I ask the obvious question.

“See that guy over there?” he asks while laughingly pointing to a man busily licking salt from the back of his hand and downing a tequila shot as a group of people egg him on. “I don’t think you’ll even get to meet the man of the hour. As you can see, he has his hands full.”

“If I hadn’t known your cousin was a genius, I’d think he was one of those irresponsible trust-fund kids,” Melanie snorts.

“He deserves to have some fun. I’ll bet that on Monday he’ll be keeping his nose to the grindstone again,” Mark says. He then opens the first bottle of vodka and starts pouring into each shot glass. I put my right hand up to stop him but he chooses to ignore me.

“Livie, we’re here to have fun. Will you just lighten up,” he says in annoyed tone.

“You know I really don’t drink,” I hiss, but he just rolls his eyes at me.

“Nobody likes a party-pooper,” Melanie says while staring at me challengingly.

This is going to be a long night, for sure. So I give up and take a sip of my drink. Not so bad. I think I can get away with pretending to drink while I take a few sips now and then.

Apparently, Mark changes his mind about dancing and grabs Melanie’s hand to usher her to the dance floor. Jen and I do our best to communicate over the din. Half of the time, we’re shouting to each other, which is not an easy thing, until we figure out that it’s so much easier to ‘talk’ through messaging.

Jen:
Do you see that gorgeous guy at the bar?

I see a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties, dressed in a tailored suit, his face well-chiseled with a beard stubble roughening up his wide, powerful jaw. He seems to be scrolling on his phone through his email, so either he’s supremely bored or is a surefire workaholic. I really can’t see his facial features clearly from my angle, but I know what Jen means because he exudes class and confidence – the kind only a really attractive man would possess.

Me:
He doesn’t seem to be having fun.

Jen:
You think? Go join him at the bar.

Me:
Are you mad?

Jen:
Why not?

Me:
Because.

Jen:
Because?

Me:
I don’t do that.

Jen:
Why not?

Me:
Stop!

Jen:
What era were you born in? :)

Me:
Why don’t you go join him?

Jen:
I have a feeling you’d be perfect for him.

Me:
You’re definitely crazy.

Jen:
Live a little.

Me:
No freaking way.

Jen:
Melanie’s right. You’re a party pooper. (

Me:
I don’t care.

Jen:
Oh Liv.

Me:
Speaking of handsome. Do you see that guy in a white shirt smiling at you?

Jen:
:) :) :)

Me:
Amused much?

Jen:
Don’t look. I think he’s walking this way.

I’m about to type my response when I look up to see the guy right in front of our table.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks Jen, his smile revealing his even white teeth. Jen’s eyes sparkle and there’s a warm glow on her cheeks. She looks at me and I silently mouth my agreement. She bends towards me and whispers “Are you gonna be okay?” and I nod my head. She then stands up to join him, and I can’t help but be glad that at least the party’s not a total waste for her.

Mark comes to me and pulls me up. “C’mon! I’m all alone on the dance floor. Melanie has abandoned me for some stranger.”

“Serves you right,” I respond teasingly. Another DJ has taken over and the music now leans towards pop rather than techno. I let go on the dance floor because I’m comfortable with Mark. As I move my body to the rhythm of the song, I feel like I’m in my own little world, oblivious to everything around me. After some time, I become aware that Mark is slyly smiling at me.

“What?!” I ask loudly.

“Nothing. You’re quite hot when you’re dancing. You’ve got the moves. And I think you have an admirer,” he says while motioning with a tilt of his head to someone at the bar.

He’s talking about
that
man at the bar. Another man is talking to him, yet he seems to be only half-listening and is instead looking in our direction. I shrug off Mark’s comment because, very likely, he’s just imagining things. “Just keep dancing or I’ll do a Melanie and walk out on you,” I tell him.

After dancing for at least half an hour, I’m thirsty, and I make my way back to the table. I guzzle down my drink. Somehow, I don’t feel my thirst being quenched so I pour some more into my shot glass and drink again. “Whoa! Go easy on that, Miss I-really-don’t-drink,” Mark cautions me.

“It’s too hot in here, and all that dancing hasn’t helped.”

“Do you want me to get you some bottled water?” he asks. I’m still thirsty, but a number of people are milling around the bar so I wave him off. “C’mon, let’s just go back. By the way, am I not cramping your style? Wouldn’t you rather partner up with one of the lovely ladies?”

“Not tonight. Tonight I’m just hanging out with you girls,” he says with a mock bow.

Mark approaches me from the back and we start dancing that way. I sway my hips back and forth, taking some small steps from side to side. He loosely puts his left hand on my shoulder and follows my lead. I raise my right arm and swing it left to right to the beat of the music. To anyone observing, it may look like we’re dancing sensuously, but for Mark and me, nothing can be farther from the truth. We’re just two friends having a great time moving to the sound.

At one point, I look up and I see the man at the bar staring at us. A shudder goes through me. Did I just imagine that? For a moment, I feel unsteady on my feet.

“Time-out!” Mark cheerfully says. Jen and her partner are at the table. So are Melanie and another man. Mark grabs two empty chairs from the next table and we seat ourselves with relief.

“Everyone, this is Jerry,” Melanie introduces the man beside her. “And that’s Max, Jen’s new friend,” she adds. Jen blushes. Hi’s and hello’s are exchanged, and we start to talk about nothing in particular. The heat. The throng. The talented DJ. Joseph being missing in action. The non-stop flow of wine and liquor.

Suddenly, I feel the room spinning. I close my eyes and reopen them, and the feeling mercifully comes to a halt.

“Livie, are you okay?” Mark asks with some concern.

“Of course. Just tired, I guess.”
What’s the point of alarming everyone?

“The night’s still young so we’re not leaving just yet,” Melanie says, and everyone raises their glass in approval. Not wanting to be called a wet blanket again, I clink my glass and drink my third shot. I don’t even notice that someone filled my glass again.

“Ladies, let’s dance!” Jen shouts, and orders Melanie and myself to join her. We go a little crazy with our wild dancing, with Jen and Melanie doing exaggerated sexy ‘come-hither’ moves for their partners. In the meantime, I just twirl around by myself, my body throbbing from some unexplainable inner heat.

“May I join you?” a deep voice from behind me asks. I turn around.

I’m trying to reach Jen, but the call just keeps going to voicemail.
Pick up, pick up, pick up.
Next, I try Melanie, but my luck fails again.
Mark. Mark’s my only hope now.

He picks up on the third ring. “Livie? Where are you?” He sounds really worried.

“I’m at the entrance of the hotel,” I say softly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“You’re at the Rembrandt?” He asks loudly, making my head throb even more.

“Yes. Where the hell did you think I was?”

“We looked everywhere and didn’t find you. So we thought you had gone somewhere with the tall, dark and handsome stranger you were dancing with.”

“Did you really think I would just leave without saying anything?” My voice is a little shrill now, and I no longer care if other people are listening in on our conversation. Then, of course, my heart sinks as I realize that’s exactly what I done – just left without a word to anyone.

“We combed every inch of that ballroom. Restrooms, lobby, poolside. You were nowhere to be found. You weren’t picking up your phone. What did you expect us to think?” Now his voice is equally loud and his anger is evident.

“Please come pick me up,” I plead with him. “Mark,” my voice is now soft and tinged with fear. “I don’t remember anything.”

“I’ll be right there,” Mark says.

My relief is palpable as I see Mark driving up to the entrance of the hotel. I quickly get into his BMW roadster. We drive for about ten minutes in silence.

“Tell me what you remember,” he commands me.

“That’s just it. I don’t remember anything. I recall drinking, dancing with you, Melanie, and Jen, but I have trouble recalling anything after that.”

“Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You don’t remember the man you were dancing with?”

“I don’t. I mean, I do remember someone asking me to dance, but I can’t remember the rest.”

“Livie, where were you all night? Were you dozing off in the lobby or something?” I know that Mark is doing his best to hide his exasperation.

“I woke up in someone’s suite.” I feel my face turning red at my admission.