Chapter Nine
The next day, all I can think about is the gala. Throughout the morning, I sit through some more meetings, but my consciousness is wrapped up in the night’s festivities. I have never been to an event of this magnitude. Russian and American dignitaries, politicians and top business figures will be in attendance. I usually shy away from events that require mingling with people I do not know. This event is particularly something I would be nervous about considering the caliber of those I will be required to entertain. This time however, I feel strangely excited. I have studied many of the influencers in attendance and it feels like a game, juggling my multiple responsibilities. My body is tingling with nervous energy, knowing I will be by Taylor’s side all night, possibly holding his hand. I hope that since Taylor has been to these type of events before, he can help me navigate the elite social scene while I help keep him comfortable and educated about important guests.
Since Taylor goes to so many fundraising, business and political events, it is impossible for him to keep up with the people he meets. Sometimes he remembers a face, but not a name, or he remembers a name, but he has no idea where they come from. Yet he has maintained a reputation for being great with people and remembering details and conversations from years past. Now I know why. Taylor visited Russia last year and met many of the people that will be at the gala tonight. Many of the people we encountered in our meetings this past week will also be in attendance. I am to remind him of names, and provide quick nuggets of information so that he can engage them. If I do this right, he appears impossibly charming and thoughtful. I think I have a system down, but I have no idea how it will work in action. The hardest part has been memorizing Russian names and I am terrified I will totally botch them. I have been practicing them in front of the mirror this entire week during my free time. During our drives to meetings, I have been rehearsing names out loud which Taylor finds highly amusing.
The gala begins at seven o’clock and we return to our rooms at four-thirty, allowing us a comfortable amount of time to clean up and get dressed. I brought a simple black cocktail dress that I had worn to a friend’s wedding last year. A gown was not included in Mona’s shopping spree for me and I didn’t have any time to go shopping before we left. As I enter my freshly cleaned hotel room, I debate whether I will have some time to check in with Rick or Kristin on Skype. I texted Rick when I landed the other day and each night before bed, but haven’t had the time to call him since I arrived. I want to take my time getting ready and don’t want to get sucked into a long conversation, but I figure if I Skype Rick I can get ready and talk at the same time. I kick off my shoes, turn on the television and walk over to my bed, where I plan to set up my laptop. Then it catches my eye: a white garment bag laying on the bed alongside a shoebox and a small white bag. What is all this? The curiosity makes me feel like a child about to unwrap her birthday gifts. I cautiously walk over to the bag and catch myself looking around, to see if someone is watching. Of course this is Taylor’s doing, who else could it be? I grab the hanger which is facing away from me while half of the garment is hanging over the edge of the bed towards me. I hold the garment bag in front of me and use the other hand to unzip it. Out slithers an icy blue satin dress. The fabric is unlike any I have felt before and I discover at that moment that satin isn’t just satin. The dress has a heavy liquid quality and pours from the hanger. I pull it completely out of the bag and marvel at its delicate beauty. It is fastened to the hanger by small spaghetti straps and has a subtle cowl neck that appears to sit just below the collarbone. I turn the dress around and the back cowl is very low. I estimate it will graze my lumbar. Above the cowl is about two or three inches of the most beautiful lace that skims across the base of the back. Finally, a small train adds an air of elegance. The gown is simple, elegant, sexy, luscious, and feminine. I hang the dress up in the closet and plan to try it on once I get through the other items. In the box is a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals in a silver color. The next bag has a jewelry box. Oh no he didn’t.
I don’t wear a lot of jewelry and don’t usually get excited about it, but the gesture, the act of receiving this gift makes me breathless as I open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace. It is white gold or platinum, with a solitaire diamond on the end. Just above it are two chandelier earrings that reflect the light as if they were illuminated from within. Like a waterfall of diamonds, they cascade down about two and a half inches. I don’t even feel myself lower onto the bed, sitting there with the box held close to my heart. I have never been treated like this, making a large part of me grateful, and a small part of me wary. There are always those lingering questions in the back of my mind: What does this mean? Does he want me? Does he want something from me? He has been alone with me many times and I feel as though he cares for me, but that is as far as I can know for sure. Perhaps he is just a generous person who is especially grateful to me? I just don’t know. Lost in thought, I return the necklace case back to the white gift bag, when I notice another small box inside. This one is not velvet like the jewelry case, but instead a firm cardboard material, indicating to me it houses an item of clothing.
I open it and recognize the black lace. My heart nearly skips a beat. This must be a coincidence. Black thongs are not the Hope Diamond, they can be purchased anywhere. My heart reels. Can this really be one of the pieces I selected at Bella’s? I don’t know what any of this means and it sends my overall anxiety level to a new high. The anxiety is delicious. It is the same feeling one gets just before a first kiss, or the first time someone you like reaches over to touch your hand, or when the person you have secretly loved finally looks you in the eyes in that way. I step away from the bedroom, trying to collect my thoughts. Skyping Rick or Kristin is now out of the question because I can’t sit still. I refrain from saying anything to Taylor until I see him. I need to get ready and gather myself, the airy feeling in my head makes me no match to his wiles.
I devote my nervous energy into getting ready for the event. First I set my hair into long, cascading curls and pin them up into a loose side bun. Next, I use the makeup purchased for me: rosy cheeks, pale lips, and bright eyes. It’s about six o’clock when I hear my phone buzz.
Lizzy:
Hey are you ready? I am stopping over to your room so we can head out together.
Shyla:
Yes. I am almost done. Just head on over.
I hide all the bags. I doubt Lizzy already knows about Taylor’s penchant for buying me things, and I don’t want anyone knowing from me. For one, there is that stupid NDA. My other concern is Lizzy’s big mouth. She is completely capable of saying something in front of Taylor that would turn me into an exploding bright red tomato of embarrassment. Minutes later, there is a knock at the door. Lizzy looks hot as usual. She is wearing a long chiffon strapless black dress and this time her short blonde hair is full of volume. Her makeup is much softer than last night and her blue eyes sparkle.
“Oh Shyla! That dress!” She says to me as she walks in. “You look stunning, like royalty.” I return the compliment.
I have to admit, never in my life have I felt this beautiful. I never would have used that word to describe myself before, but today it feels right. We head to the lobby to rendezvous with Henry and Taylor. I begin to feel the delicious anxiety again. Will I get the same cold reaction I received the night we went to the club? Impossible! He chose this outfit for me. Didn’t he? There is no note, or if there was one I missed it while being caught up in the items. The urge to go back and check starts to nag me. What if there was some sort of proclamation? I almost turn to go back to my room to check when I hear Henry’s voice greeting us.
“You ladies look wonderful.” While there are parts of Henry that make me want to gag, he is beginning to grow on me. He looks handsome in his classic tux, his hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Taylor is nowhere to be seen. Henry informs us that he is outside on a phone call and offers to buy us drinks from the hotel bar. I decline. I am still recovering mentally from the hangover and there will be plenty of champagne passed around the during the gala.
I anxiously await Taylor’s return. I want to see his reaction, but at the same time I cannot bear to look at him. Like a shy girl trying to catch a boy’s eye, I want to admire his beauty and avert my eyes just before he looks back. From a distance, I see him walking through the lobby with a drink in his hand. He must be nervous about tonight. Henry signals to him and he begins to walk toward us. How can he be such a beautiful collection of parts? It was as if he was molded from clay, an artist’s vision of a demigod. How can someone be so lucky? Even as a woman, I feel a twinge of envy. To have just one of these traits: intelligence, looks, strength, or inherited wealth would be considered hitting the genetic lottery. To have them all, that just seems unfair. What is the price he must pay? Everyone must pay a price. I know. He is alone and he is trapped in a world of rituals, but it is more than that. While it appears he copes just fine, something tells me that there is something else. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, I see the sadness. I have walked by his office and watched him sitting, his back towards the door, just staring out into the woods as if searching for something. He never speaks about his family and makes a point to avoid bringing them up in discussion. He does everything to give to those around him and I am beginning to believe the glare of their smiles serve to blind him from his sadness, even if for a short while.
He is wearing a modern tux, with a black tie. His hair is parted and combed to the side. He wears the classic hair so well. His eyes look bluer today. I love how they lean blue or green depending on his mood or the lighting. I pretend to be occupied in a discussion with Liz, I can’t bring myself to look at him directly because I feel everyone in the room will know, they will feel the weight in the air between us. I sense his eyes on me and I look towards him coyly.
“Hi.” That’s all I can get out. The word barely cuts the air.
“Hi.” He says. His voice is breathy too. I wonder if Lizzy and Henry can tell. I rely on the fact that Henry only concerns himself with Henry. Lizzy however, I fear will soon be able to tell that something is there. We don’t say another word to each other as we all walk to our limo. I grab a glass of champagne to distract me, while reminding myself that this is a work event and I am on duty. I try to center myself and bury the childish emotions. We arrive in front of the Hermitage Museum Winter Palace. It would feel like we are 18th-century royalty arriving to a ball if not for the flash of cameras and vehicles lining up to bring guests to the red carpet. The magnitude of the event is overwhelming. It wasn’t long ago when I was designing brochures on my dining room table and now I am a guest among the international elite. I take a deep breath as the limo driver guides me out of the vehicle. It’s game time.
I am all smiles as we walk into the palace. It is the grandest thing I have ever seen. Gilded sculptures, ornate moulding at every corner, winding staircases, columns, and arches engulf me. When a little girl imagines Prince Charming’s castle, this is it. I pause to take it all in, scanning the magnificent architecture and artwork. Standing next to me is the physical embodiment of Prince Charming himself. While my story is no fairytale, tonight will be my perfect night, in the way it was for Cinderella before the spell ran out. We enter the ballroom, which is already buzzing with activity. A server walks by with champagne and I immediately swipe two glasses, one for me and one for Taylor.
“Here you go Mr. Holden,” I say, tongue in cheek. His tense jaw loosens up as he smiles and takes the drink from my hand. Before he can react, a man makes a beeline towards us. My mouth utters the words to Taylor, on autopilot, I don’t even have time to worry if I am correct.
“It’s Igor Petrovich from Russian Grain United. We were at the factory a couple of days ago. His daughter fell ill and he could not make it.”
“Mr. Petrovich!” Taylor exclaims as if they were great friends. He holds his glass up as if to toast, which provides a great distraction from a possible handshake.
“Mr. Holden, my apologies for missing your visit to our factory. I know you traveled a great distance.”
“No need to apologize. I understand your daughter fell ill. I hope everything is okay.”
“Yes, she was rushed to the hospital the morning of our meeting. She had appendicitis and had to have her appendix removed. She is recovering at home.” He eyes divert to me.
Taylor catches it. “Ah yes, this is my assistant, Ms. Shyla Ball.” I offer a handshake, but instead he takes my hand and kisses it! I do my best to play off the shock.
“Very nice to meet you Ms. Ball.” His thick Russian accent begins to lean on the sleazy side. Taylor artfully closes the conversation and we move along.
We soon develop a rhythm. I spot a person, give him a brief summary or initiate conversation myself, help maintain his “rituals” and we go from person to person. The conversations are formal and brief, but pleasant. Taylor is so very good at this that I can’t tell that this is even a problem for him. It makes me wonder if the issue is as severe as he claims. It almost becomes too easy, so we begin to play a game where I throw in one fact and something completely fabricated that he has to sort through before the subject approaches.
“That is Mila Sayotovich. She is the Minister of Agriculture. Plays tennis a lot and collects miniature poodles.” He begins a conversation about the US Open, her bewildered looks makes Taylor soon realize he picked incorrectly. We laugh about that one for minutes.
An hour in, we reconnect with Henry and Lizzy who are also making rounds. Lizzy is a social force and has several men eating out of her palm already. Regrouping with them is a nice refuge from the facade Taylor and I have been holding together. As we chat, I notice a young, very attractive woman burning holes through Taylor from across the room and I begin to tense up. I haven’t considered what to do in a case like this. I never asked what the rules were regarding the opposite sex. Am I supposed to cock block? Henry and Liz reenter the crowd and not even thirty seconds later, this woman trounces over in our direction and stands in between Taylor and me. Apparently my presence is of no consequence to her. I recognize her as one of the attorneys from our proposal meeting for the fiber optics project. She knows I am just his assistant. I freeze. I don’t think to intercept her or fill him in about who she is. I transform from efficient assistant, to dumbfounded and trampled girl.
Tatyana Sikorsky, the name flashes in my head. She was no one of extreme importance that I was required to remember, it is just by chance that I recall being introduced to her before one of the meetings. She is attractive, yet very intense looking. Her eyes are catlike and unwelcoming. Her velvet burgundy dress is form fitting and low cut, revealing an ample bust. I should have thought about this; I should have asked him what he wanted me to do. I have no understanding of how his rules incorporate into his love life.
She practically purrs like a Russian feline when she introduces herself. “Mr. Holden, so nice to see you again. I am Tatyana, I am facilitating the negotiations for the development proposal.” She doesn’t even look my way. She gives him her hand, in the old fashioned way. There is a pause and I can see hesitation in Taylor’s eyes. She has caught us both off guard. He hesitantly takes her hand for brief second and releases it.
“Yes, very nice to see you again.” He seems flustered. She leans against the wall and begins to toy with a ring on her finger. It is quite large and has a round flat disk with an unusual design. It is hideous and her obsessive toying with it makes her seem like a flirty teenage girl. I feel that I do not belong, that I am interrupting some sort of moment and I slip away. The night was going so well, like a perfectly coordinated waltz, and this vamp just stomped all over it. I don’t see Henry or Lizzy and start to feel self conscious in the crowd. Now that I am alone, people are not lining up to converse. After all, it is millionaire-bachelor Taylor Holden who everyone wants a piece of. I grab another glass of champagne, and take one last look in the distance. The floozy is all over him, so I head out to a balcony for some air.
The cool air feels so invigorating against my skin and the opalescent dusk sky gives me something to admire. Things are quieter out here and instead of looking like an awkward person with no friends, I look like someone enjoying a moment of contemplation alone on the balcony. While someone like Tatyana gets right under my skin, I have no claim over Taylor. I cannot stop a rude and desperate woman from trying to seduce him. I can’t even blame her, I think he makes most women around him act out of character. He might even want her. He may very well bed her tonight. It was right of me to step away, because he is a grown man and he can take care of himself. I find my cell phone to check the time. and I see a text I missed.
Mr. Holden:
Where did you go?
It is a text from about 10 minutes ago from Taylor. I estimate I stepped away from him and Tatyana 20 minutes ago. As I prepare to respond I hear Taylor call my name. He looks uneasy.
“Shy, I have been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’m sorry. I just saw your text.” I am tempted to make a snide remark about Tits McGee, but I don’t want to sound jealous.
“What happened over there? You practically left the second she arrived.”
“Well, you may not have noticed, but it was pretty clear she didn’t want me there and I wasn’t sure what the rules of engagement were for hot Russian chicks. We didn’t ever get that far in our discussions.”
“I should have been more clear, but I don’t use these events to pick up women. You do not have to concern yourself with that.”
“You can’t control where you might meet a special person.”
“You’re right...” His voice trails off. Yet again, I feel like there is more than one meaning to his words. “Don’t worry about it. If it happens, I can take care of it.” He takes a deep breath. “We did well, but I would like to go. We’ve spent enough time here. Henry and Lizzy, the social butterflies want to stay out. You are of course, free to do so as well.”
“I can’t keep up with those two. You may remember my stellar showing at the club the other night.” He smiles, but I can sense he is tense and wants to leave.
The two of us sit in the limo in comfortable silence. Taylor pops open a bottle of wine, and I accept.
“I have to say, I have never been more comfortable at one of these galas. I think it had to do with your presence.”
“I’ll have to admit, I was beginning to wonder what all of the fuss was about.”
“I really hate these events, but it’s part of the job. You’ll see when we get these deals.”
“So you don’t remember any of these people from last year? Do you think you will if you return next year?”
“I don’t know. Mainly I don’t care. I only entertain them because I must. I recite lines you give me as if they are part of a script, and then I move onto the next person.”
“I couldn’t forget all these people if I tried.”
“That’s why you’re the perfect date, I can be myself and you make me look good. The night is young. Let’s stay out a bit longer.”
A rush of schoolgirl giddiness comes over me. The night is not over and it’s just the two of us. The driver offers to take us to an area with beautiful vistas while we enjoy ourselves in the car in the meantime. Once we arrive, we step out to the most magnificent views of the waterways. Even though it is well into the evening, it still appears to be twilight. Swirls of oranges, blues, and purples highlight the night sky and make me feel like I am standing in an exquisite painting rather than a city.
“That bridge over there is the Palace Bridge.” He points to a well-lit drawbridge, adjacent to the Winter Palace and the Peter and Paul Fortress. “Late into the night, around one in the morning, they draw all the bridges along the Neva at once to allow for large ships to pass. It’s simple, but majestic.”
“I can imagine. Just looking at the bridges against the backdrop of these amazing pieces of architecture and the dimly lit sky is beautiful enough. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did you learn to speak Russian?”
“I had language tutors from the second grade up until college. Not just Russian, I speak four languages fluently.”
“What languages do you speak?”
“English of course. Then Spanish, French, and Russian. My Russian proficiency is not as strong as my Spanish and French proficiency. A touch of German and Italian too, just enough to get me around though.”
“Wow. You’re a genius.”
“No, I was just immersed at a very young age.”
“Say something to me in one of your languages.”
Taylor thinks for a few seconds and smiles. “T’es belle comme le ciel nocturne.”
I recognize it as French, but he says it so quickly that I can’t make out the sentence using my first grade level of comprehension.
“Oh la la! What does that mean?”
“You’ll have use your imagination.”
There is a chill in the air and Taylor gives me his jacket. It smells of him, so clean and comforting. I realize I haven’t thanked him for the dress.
“Taylor, before the night is over I have to thank you for the outfit and the jewelry. I have never worn anything that made me feel this way.”
“My pleasure. It’s just a dress though, whatever you feel, it’s always there, dress or not.” We both lean forward against a railing facing the water. That was the nicest thing I have ever heard him say and I am not sure what to say back. I remember the fact that he likely knows the panties I am wearing and it is strangely arousing. I try to play detective with a question since I dare not ask about the undies directly.
“So I assume this was purchased here. I doubt you flew Mona halfway across the world, but something tells me you didn’t hand pick everything.”
“Are you questioning my taste Ms. Ball? Some things I picked out from a display brought to my room, some items were picked out by an assistant.” Besides a playful tone, his answer reveals nothing. I imagine him sitting in front of a rack of dresses while on a cell phone with paperwork on his lap, pointing to the one he wanted for me. I don’t understand this man, he lavishes me with expensive gifts, yet he does not take it a millimeter further. It is equally comforting and disconcerting. I feel he expects nothing from me, but at the same time, I wonder if there is motive behind all of this that is yet to be revealed. He has been nothing but a gracious employer, albeit mildly inappropriate in his tendencies to feed and clothe me.
“You are so unusual Taylor.” I say this with a smile, but it is a genuine observation. He leans back and gives me a confused look. I am beginning to feel comfortable enough around him to try and delve into his life. “Who is Mr. Taylor Holden?” I am feeling a little emboldened.
“What you see is what you get.”
“What if you don’t let people see anything?” He remains quiet. Oh no, I pushed him too far; he is shutting down. I don’t say another word. We both watch the cityscape in silence for a few more moments.
“You may not like what you see.” I barely hear him say this as we walk back into the limo. I am not sure that he wants a reply, but I offer up a small response.
“I doubt that. I think you’re a great guy. I’m really happy we met.”
While looking down at the ground, walking with his hands in his pockets, he looks at me, faintly smiles, and nods. As if to say: “me too.”
The mood during the drive back is serene. I have learned to accept his silence and his moments of sadness. To push the issue only makes him pull away. We ride the elevator up to our floor, my stomach in knots, feeling the magnetic energy in the air. He stands across from me, his hair is just slightly out of place. His tie and the top buttons of his tux are undone. His eyes glow in the dim light. I want to run across the elevator and kiss his full lips, run my hand across his beautiful face and have him accept my touch with no qualms. Instead I stand there, frozen, facing an invisible wall I cannot cross. His coolness makes me question if everything I feel is just a figment of my imagination.
When we arrive on our floor we head to our rooms, politely bidding each other goodnight. Just as I am about to enter mine, I remember I have his jacket. I can use this to have just one more moment with him tonight. I knock on his door, his lips slightly open when he sees me on the other side.
“You forgot your jacket.” It is still on my shoulders. I turn around to offer it up to him.
“Thank you Shy,” As he says this he takes both of his hands, grabbing each shoulder of the jacket and oh so slowly pulls it off of me, grazing my bare arms and back as he pulls it off. I close my eyes taking in his touch. Each caress of his fingertips feels like one thousand little sparks. How can just the faintest touch from this man set me off like this? Please kiss me. Kiss my neck. I won’t say no. I hold my position for a second more than I should, but it feels so tortuously long. There is nothing, not another touch, not a kiss. I turn to face him again and bid him goodnight. His face looks sad, almost guilty. Every word, every touch, every action tonight was an implication. This keeps us safe from one another. It keeps me safe from him.
“Goodnight Shy,” he says as if dismissing me from his presence.
“Goodnight Taylor.”