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- 02/10/2017
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Dame - 8. Chapter 8
Off to the ball!
"I was wondering if you even owned a tuxedo", she whispered in my ear as I leaned in to greet her with a kiss when I arrived to pick her up for the benefit. She was resplendent in a strapless satin ball gown of pink and silver. The tulle skirt sparkled with crystal rhinestones. Her hair swept in an updo that looked professionally done. A necklace of pink pearls and a diamond pendant draped around her neck, the diamond earrings to match. I nuzzled that neck then caught the edge of one earlobe between my teeth, teasing it for a moment. I whispered back, "I aim to please".
The Belmonte Hotel favored the rich and well-connected. Known for its discretion and rarely allowing the press in its front doors, they employed a large staff who could make anything happen, for a price. The political elite could not afford less then well-choreographed public events.
Tonight was no different. The minute anyone walked up to the front doors, flash bulbs went off in all directions. Hoping to shield Dorothy from most of it as I wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the scrutiny, we ducked in behind a congressional representative who appeared ready to stump for his next election.
Sumptuous red carpeting overlaid the walkway through the lobby leading upstairs to the ballroom. A crystal chandelier hung pendulously in the center of a room large enough for the next session of congress. Its light sparkled over a huge raised catwalk erected down the center. At one end of the walkway a platform with a curtained stage loomed over the hundreds of dining tables scattered throughout the room. At the other end, a small dance floor had been laid out before a band who were currently playing softly. We found our table which turned out to be one of the closest to the stage.
Senator Metcalf’s entrance created the spectacle he likely hoped to be the highlight of the evening and reported on the events page the next day. For a man nearing middle age, he still retained that boyish facade, dimpled cheeks and pixie eyes beaming under the spotlight. Ushered in on a wave of a conservativism, his traditional views and unprogressive legislation made it easy to see how he got elected.
Despite the fanfare, his wife clung to his arm like an inert prop, her face resigned, as if destined to always be on the sidelines. His entourage consisted of several beefy young men with arrogant swagger and alert demeanor. If possible the senator’s presence swelled as his admirers crowded his entrance. It took more than 20 minutes for him to make it to his table, only two further up from ours.
At the bar I ordered two martinis and headed back where Dorothy was engaged in a conversation with one of the other two couples at our table. In a room full of society elite she blended in like she was one of them and no one was the wiser. Fake diamonds were easier to smell. People tend to see what they expect and she lived up to that expectation precisely. Made me think there was a lot I still didn't know about this dame, like how is it she seemed so at ease with all this power and wealth? Who easily acquires tickets to such a swanky event less than a week before and for one of the best tables?
She turned her head searching me out from the room. Raising our drinks, I caught her attention but movement to my left diverted my gaze. I thought I spied Damian skulking the stage, disappearing behind a curtain. For a moment I was torn between going after him or returning to Dorothy. Figuring I had time to track him down I turned back to find Dorothy’s smile. A wink from her left me grinning, my attention solely on this dame of mine.
The tap on my shoulder left me unprepared for seeing Jennifer, our former hostess in Virginia.
“I thought it was you two! Fancy seeing you here.”
She was decked out in full-length ball gown complete with long white gloves and pearls. Dorothy greeted her and they proceeded to converse like old friends. I tuned out the chitchat in favor of scanning the crowd for any more familiar faces.
It was only when I heard, “– my husband is Michael Rutherford, Senator Metcalf’s advisor. Are you also politically involved?” , that caught my attention.
After Jennifer left to continue mingling, Dorothy leaned in, “If she’s the wife of powerful politico like Michael Rutherford, why’s Damian staying in their private bungalow ?”
She raised one sculpted eyebrow and looked up at me. I had no answers but returned with another question, “Who else’s money was Damian taking?”
Eventually, the band struck up a familiar tune so I rose and offered my hand. Dorothy’s surprised expression melted into one of pure pleasure. Holding her close while we swayed to the music, her eyes flickered to mine and then around the room in delight. Her smile melted every doubt I’d been holding against her. It was for me and me alone.
"Haven't done this before?" I had to know if I was a first.
She looked up at me as the smile slid from her face, "Oh, I've been to these sorts of functions all my life. Just never ... like this."
"So you're used to leading?" I'm such a smartass.
When the band played “It had to be You” I twirled her around me trying to keep from stepping on her toes, the lightness of the moment caught up in her radiant smile. She moved with such grace and agility that I was taken off guard when she came to a sudden halt.
“Danny?”
There was that name again only now it was from Dorothy’s lips. I tensed up steeling myself to whoever it was she stared at over my shoulder. Turning I found a young man of medium height, slender build and a handsome face with a scowl so pronounced it had me wincing. Not knowing what to say, I glance at Dorothy. Her intense look of trepidation pushed something inside me. A jolt of anger rose up as I rounded on the guy but he beat me to the punch and issued a terse “Follow me” before striding off.
We found ourselves in a small alcove off the main hall not too far from the kitchen. Secluded and relatively quiet he looked around nonetheless. I wrapped a protective arm around her waist and pulled Dorothy close.
He responded to that with a sneer. “What are you doing here?” he hissed in her face.
I’d never seen Dorothy look so vulnerable and close to tears. Not waiting for her response I pushed myself between her and this guy. With a few inches on him and more than a few pounds, I took the intimidation route, keeping my voice low.
“Buddy, you need to give the lady some room!”
Pulling back with the same intensity and slitted eyes directed over my shoulder, he hissed again, “He’s no lady.” Dorothy moaned in response.
I searched the guy’s face for more. Was he jealous? Disgusted?
No, desperate and angry seemed more the case. Who exactly is this guy? How did he know Dorothy’s secret?
I felt Dorothy’s hands grab the backs of my arms. “She’s my lady.” I boldly stated, then continued, “Who the hell are you anyway?”
His eyes snapped back to mine in a wide and penetrating stare.
“I’m his brother. Or didn’t David tell you?” was his sarcasm-laced reply.
I presume he expected to be met with shock, anger or embarrassment after dropping a bombshell of those proportions.
Yeah, right. The grin that broke out across my puss was borderline inappropriate but I just couldn’t help myself.
Looking back at Dorothy I smirked, “David, huh? Nah, doesn’t go with the dress. I think I’ll stick with Dorothy.”
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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