| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 16 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Friday, October 29, 05:35:00am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Chapter 16
The kickoff party was starting off to be a rousing success. All of the “right” people had arrived. Photo-journalists were everywhere, representing every kind of publication. Nikita, Carla, and several other l'Éclat models were being treated like princesses, and were secretly getting a kick out of the whole thing. Nikita had always loved to play dress up, and tonight was no exception, even though it was only her eyes that were “on display.”
Michael, as Elena had feared, was irritated. He had expected to be able to speak with some of his father’s former colleagues. He had not anticipated being trapped at a “make-up ball.” He didn’t even know which line it was. Nor did he care. Until he heard the word l'Éclat. Suddenly, alarm bells went off in his head. Was she here? Did she know he was here? Had she seen him? Did she remember him? His eyes scanned the crowed as he accepted another glass of champagne from Elena, who tucked her arm through his and looked up at him, smiling. He smiled back, but there was no warmth in his eyes. He had gone into machine-mode, almost without realizing it. If Nikita was here, he would find her.
Nikita was starting to feel overly warm in the crowded hall. Letting Madeline know where she was going, she stepped outside onto the patio, breathing deeply in the still warm autumn air. There were few stragglers about, and those her were didn’t seem too interested in talking. Nikita smiled. What would the tabloids give to know that the famous model Nikita, one of the People Magazine’s “25 Most Beautiful Women,” had never had a boyfriend? Never even been kissed? True, she wasn’t a virgin, she thought, her expression hardening, but that had hardly been her choice. Fortunately, she could no longer recall that exact horrific moment in her childhood. She sighed wistfully. What man would ever want her if he knew the truth? That she was damaged goods. Probably frigid, too. The one time a boy at Sunny Day Nursery had tried to touch her breast, she had nearly gone postal, screaming bloody murder and acting like a complete idiot. Probably rendering the kid impotent for the next 10 years, she grinned in spite of herself.
Michael didn’t feel her. He couldn’t sense her presence. He couldn’t have said how, but he would have known if she were in the room. Easing himself from Elena’s side, he started up the stairway, determined to check the second floor. He couldn’t be this close and not see her for himself. Even if he didn’t talk to her. Even if they didn’t exchange a word. It was a compulsion he couldn’t fight, even if he knew how. He reached the top of the stairs and started checking unlocked doors, one by one. Most of the rooms were offices, and therefore locked, but he had to try them all. He stepped inside a small parlor where a group had gathered. No Nikita. He asked a young woman going into the ladies’ room if she could check to see if Nikita was there. Of course, no description was needed. Several minutes later the woman emerged from the powder room and reported in the negative. Feeling frustrated, Michael opened the French doors that let out to a small balcony over the patio. He stepped outside and took a deep breath of the autumn air. The current was electric. He could feel it. Quickly, he scanned the occupants of the patio below.
He almost missed her. She was standing almost directly beneath him. It wasn’t until she moved out into the open and he saw the moon reflect in her silver-blonde hair that he knew he had found her. Nikita. His Nikita. Michael almost called out to her, then caught himself. Even if he had made such an undignified gesture, what would he have said? Hey, Nikita! Remember me? The boy from the beach 18 years ago? He reminded himself that she probably didn’t even remember him. She would probably think he was an ardent admirer run amok, and have security take him away.
Enough with the “probablies.” It was time to make his move. Michael turned back inside and hastened back down the stairs. He crossed the floor in long-legged strides to the patio doors and stepped outside. She was gone! No, wait. There she was, over against the far wall. Her back was to him. He approached her cautiously, silently, as though she were an injured animal. Mon Dieu, she is tall, he thought as he neared her silent figure. Almost as tall as I am.
Suddenly, his elbow was snatched from behind, and he whirled around fiercely to find himself staring into Elena’s startled eyes. “Michael, it’s Adam,” she began. “His nanny called, and he’s running a fever. I really think we need to leave.”
Michael’s mind was in a quandary. Adam was probably teething, but it might be something serious. The woman of his dreams was standing scant feet away, but his son was ill. His heart was torn. Reluctantly he turned around for one more look, and then left with Elena.
Nikita was startled from her rêverie by the word “Michael,” but she knew better than to turn around. He wasn’t here. Why would he be? Why would a multi-millionaire art dealer come to a cosmetics launch party? She had to stop reacting every time she heard that name. People would start coming after her with butterfly nets.
After a few more moments of solitude, Nikita came back inside and reported to Madeline, who was stuck to Paul Wolfe like white on rice. She told her that she had a slight headache, and that she would be returning to the hotel to lie down with a cold face-cloth. Madeline wasn’t pleased, but the launch party was a two-day event, and she couldn’t afford to have her most famous eyewear model all puffy. She bid Nikita good-night, and Nikita fled to the sanctuary of her hotel.
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