Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) (13 page)

“What
ways?”

“You’ll
see.”

“One
thing,” he said.

“Yes?”

“I
always come to these events alone.
 
I meant what I said earlier—your presence with me will cause a
commotion.
 
Just hold on to my hand,
and get ready for the press.
 
It
will be intense, they’ll shout out questions, but we say nothing.
 
OK?”

The
driver opened the door.
 
Flashes of
light started to go off, and I leaned toward his ear, a sign of intimacy that
was part of our agreement.
 
“OK,” I
whispered.
 
“I say nothing.”

And
the melee began.

CHA
PTER SIXTEEN

When
I stepped out of the car, the driver held out his hand to me.
 
He assisted me with my dress so I
wouldn’t step on it and take a digger on the sidewalk, so, because of him, I
made a graceful exit despite the fact that I couldn’t see anything due the
blinding explosions of light.
 

Alex
was right behind me, which fueled the crowd of reporters more when they
realized that we were together.
 
I
reached out my hand to him.
 
He
lifted it to his lips and kissed it, and I felt my knees go weak at the touch
of his soft lips and the stubble on his chin against my skin.
 

That stubble is going to get me every
time,
I thought.

Deal with it.

In
front of everyone, with that sort of lingering kiss on the back of my hand, he
had just marked me as his own.
 
No
one knew about our arrangement.
 
But
with that simple gesture—which broke the rule of no kissing—the
news would quickly spread that, at least on some level, Alexander Wenn was
taken.

The
questions began in earnest, but Alex just smiled and nodded to the crowd before
leading me toward a line of other men and women in evening wear who were
walking past the doorman and through the door he held open for us.

There
was a staircase to our left.
 
With
his hand still firmly holding mine, we moved up the stairs to the receiving
area.
 
I’d heard so much about this
iconic institution, I took it all in as if I might never see it again.
 

At
the top of the stairs would be the Grille Room, as well as the bar.
 
Down a hallway to the left would be the
famed Pool Room where deals were struck every day over lunch.
 
How often had I read about this
place?
 
About how important this
restaurant was to the business community?
 
I couldn’t believe I was here.
 
The warm light glowed deep, and had the effect of making everyone look
younger than they were, which likely was intentional.

I
could hear a buzz of activity coming from the Pool Room.
 
And then there was society itself.
 
Most were talking in small groups,
enjoying the glasses of champagne being offered on silver trays by the
attractive wait staff.
 
Others stood
at the bar; this group was comprised only of men sipping glasses of Scotch with
other men.
 
Not one woman was part
of that group, which said it all to me, and which disappointed me.
 
This still was a man’s world into which
I’d likely never fully enter.
 
If I
was lucky, I’d be tolerated along the periphery, but that’s where it would end.

As
I looked around, I noted that the women in particular seemed adrift in ether,
their shoes barely touching the floor.
 
I was relieved to see that I wasn’t overdressed.
 

Blackwell
nailed it.

So, this is what it’s like to be rich
,
I thought.
 
And
powerful.
 
And successful.
 
It’s incredible.

“Champagne,
Mr. Wenn?” a server asked.

Alex
picked up two bubbling flutes and handed one to me.
 
“Thank you,” he said to the young man,
who nodded before stepping away.
 
Alex touched his glass against mine, we sipped, and I watched him admire
me over the rim of his glass.
 
I
couldn’t tell what was an act and what was real.
 
All I could remember was our
arrangement, though I sensed there was something else between us.
 
Or maybe I just hoped that there
was.
 
He turned me on physically and
intellectually, a rare combination if ever there was one.
 
I returned his smile, and then felt his
hand press against the small of my back, which I permitted.

“I’m
searching for Cyrus,” I said quietly to him.

“He’s
likely in the Pool Room with his father.
 
Darius likes to hold court there.”

“When
do you want to spend time with him?”

“Later,”
he said.
 
“I know most everyone
here, so I’ll need to say my hellos.
 
I want to introduce you to those who will approach us—which will
be everyone—but I need to keep things moving quickly, so I don’t lose
Darius or Cyrus to the night.
 
These
events can go by quickly.
 
Too
quickly.
 
I need to be careful of
that.”

“You’ve
got a second set of eyes in me.”

“What
I have are many eyes on you.
 
Unless
you haven’t noticed, Ms. Kent, you’re the buzz of the ball.
 
Or whatever this event is.”

“It’s
a fundraiser for the Met.”

He
sipped his champagne and smiled at me.
 
“Oh, that’s right.
 
Sorry.
 
The Met.”

Could
his eyes set me on fire any more than they already did?
 
I couldn’t let them or him get to me,
but that was a lost cause.

“And
so it begins,” he murmured to me.
 
“Here comes Tootie Staunton-Miller and her husband, Addison, or
Addy.
 
She’s difficult, but he’s a
very nice man, probably because he’s in a sham of a marriage and knows
it.”
 
He checked himself.
 
“Actually, that’s not fair.
 
I like Addy regardless of his
secrets.
 
He’s one of the kinder
people you’ll meet here tonight.”

I
watched an elegant couple move toward us.

“What
do you mean about Addy?”

“He’s
gay.
 
It’s notorious, but no one
speaks of it.
 
You’ll like him.
 
Everyone likes him.
 
As for her?
 
Not so much.
 
They have their own arrangement.
 
I suppose lots of people here do.”
 

He
looked up at them as they approached.
 
“Tootie,” he said.
 
“So good
to see you.”
 
He gave her a peck on
each cheek, and then held out his hand to Addy, who shook it.

“Hellohoware?”
Tootie said, glancing sideways at me.
 
“It’s been what?
 
A
week?
 
You look very handsome, Alex.
 
But, then, you always do.
 
Who is this?”

“This
is Jennifer Kent,” he said.

She
nodded at me.
 
“Hellohoware?
 
Are you of the Philadelphia Kents?”

“No.
 
I’m of the Maine Kents.”

Tootie,
who was fiftyish, though her face had been molded and pulled into something
that stretched toward fortyish, smiled tightly at me.
 
She had blonde hair that just touched
her shoulders, and wore understated jewels at her throat, wrists and fingers,
and a light yellow gown that I had to admit was sublime.
 
I knew next to nothing about fashion,
but in her form-fitting dress, which could betray more mature curves, Tootie
Staunton-Miller looked trim and terrific.
 
She also reeked of class and old money.

“I
don’t know the Maine Kents,” she said.
 
“Should I?”

“I
doubt it.”

“Oh.”
 
She looked at Alex with confusion,
likely because his hand was still on my back and it appeared to those not in
the know that we were a couple.

“Are
you of the Northeast Harbor set?”

“No.”

“The
Seal Harbor set?”

“Sorry.”

“The
Grindstone Neck set?”

“Not
even close.”

“The
Bar Harbor set?”

“I’m
not.”

“Which
set are you from?”

“I
don’t have a set.
 
Unless Bangor is
a set.”

She
lifted her eyes to the ceiling and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
 
“Of course.
 
So sorry.
 
I always think
coast
.
 
I always think
Atlantic
and
rocky shores
when it comes to Maine.
 
When the lumber barons ruled Bangor,
there absolutely was a set, which has roots in Philadelphia and New York.
 
I’m assuming that’s your set.”

“I’m
afraid it isn’t.”

“Oh,
dear.”

“It’s
a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kent,” Addison Miller interrupted.
 
He took my hand in his, and kissed the
back of it.
 
That was twice tonight
that someone had made such a gesture.
 
Maybe Alex hadn’t crossed the ‘no kissing’ line.
 
Maybe this was just who they were.
 
The first one I received was from a stud
who now was stroking my back, and the second one was from a gay man who had a
gentle demeanor I immediately liked.
 
I couldn’t imagine a better combination for my entree to society, but
then I loved gay men.

“It’s
a pleasure.
 
Please call me
Jennifer.”

“Jennifer
it is.
 
You look lovely, my
dear.
 
Ravishing.”

“Thank
you, Mr. Miller.”

“It’s
Addy.
 
Always Addy.
 
None of this ‘Mr. Miller’ stuff.”

He
really was kind.
 
Better yet,
unaffected, unlike his wife.

“Is
that Valentino?” Tootie asked.

“It
is.”

“I
saw it on the runway.”

“You
don’t say?”

“Paris.
 
That leather bodice will certainly turn
heads tonight.”

“I
would imagine the designer intended for that.”

“It
seems so aggressive for an event such as this.
 
Leather and lace to support the
Met.
 
Goodness!”

“I
think it’s beautiful,” Alex said.

“Hear,
hear,” Addy said.

Tootie
blinked at Alex.
 
“Oh.
 
Well, of course, it is.
 
Valentino and everything.
 
You can’t go wrong.
 
Well, not really.”

“I
can’t imagine anyone judging him,” Alex said.
 
“As you know, my mother wore him
often.
 
She loved his work.
 
You remember mother in Valentino, don’t
you, Tootie?”

“What
I remember is her in Dior.
 
But,
yes, also Valentino.
 
And Karl, of
course.
 
She loved Karl.
 
Such style your mother had.
 
Such panache.
 
Did she ever go wrong?
 
No.
 
Fashion was just an extension of her.
 
We miss her so much, Alex.
 
Even after all these years.”

“Thank
you, Tootie.”

“Are
you two seeing each other?”

The
question was so abrupt, I blushed, wondering how Alex would handle it.

“We
are.
 
It’s only been a few weeks,
but we are committed to each other, and we’re very happy.”

“This
is cause for celebration,” Addy said.
 
“It’s been too long.
 
I’m happy
for each of you.”

What’s been too long?

“So
am I,” Tootie said, though her voice was so cool, it was clear that she didn’t
mean it.
 
I wasn’t part of any set
she could relate to.
 
I was common
in her eyes, which was fine by me because it was true.
 
I
was
common.
 
I had nothing on these people.
 
I didn’t belong to this group, and I
didn’t want to belong to it.