Chapter Nine

MICHELLE

“Good evening, Desiree. You look lovely tonight. Is our table ready?”

Tate leaned against a wooden stand with his lips pulled back into a charming smile. The once-snooty look on the hostess’ face vanished at the sight of the superstar. She adjusted the ruffle bodice of her red cocktail dress and grabbed two menus.

“It’s wonderful to see you this evening, Mr. Sheen.” The hostess held the menus to her chest with one hand and stretched out the other, beckoning us to follow her. “Your guests have already arrived. We saved the best table in the house for your party tonight. It’s between the fountain and the live orchestra.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you.” As Tate and I followed the hostess, he took my hand. “I wish you weren’t stubborn all the time, Michelle,” Tate hissed under his breath. “Why didn’t you wear the gold dress like I asked you?”

“Because it’s ridiculously short, way too tight around my boobs, and inappropriate for a place like this.”

“Fine. Whatever you say. But would it kill you to pull down your dress a little?” Tate stopped himself as we arrived at the table. “Gentlemen! I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

The hostess pulled out our chairs and handed us the menus. I slid into my seat, thanking another waiter as he folded my napkin and laid it across my lap. Four older men in pressed three-piece suits filled the other seats around us.

“Don’t worry. We only arrived a few minutes ago ourselves,” said Peter Trotsky, raising his glass with a tremulous hand. “You must try the cognac here. It is simply sublime.”

The former Supreme Court justice sat in the center of the table. At eighty-six, he was the oldest member of the group. With his peculiar bulbous nose, top hat, and monocle, the feeble old man looked as mild-mannered and adorable as any other older gentleman. It was hard to imagine that the sweet-looking man was responsible for wildly bigoted essays against women’s rights in the workplace and voting against laws protecting minority groups.

“Shall we get our orders in before we get down to business? I’ve personally asked for Lola to wait on us tonight. Wait till you see the chest on that broad...” Samuel Forte, the twenty-nine-year-old son of an international oil magnate, caught himself when he saw me. “Sorry, I forgot we had a lady at the table.”

“Please, don’t hold back on my account,” I answered him monotonously, reaching for my glass of water. Noticing the empty chair next to Samuel, I turned to Tate. “Are we expecting someone else?”

Tate straightened his black satin tie, exhibiting all of his classic tells. He was hiding something. He pretended not to hear me, but his forehead tightened, and his nostrils flared. I prodded his knee under the table.

“Tate, who is coming tonight?”

“Good evening, gentlemen. Elizabeth.”

There was only one man in the world who insisted on calling me Elizabeth.

Tate slipped his hand under the table, holding onto my hands, which had suddenly clenched into fists. The touch of his hands made me tense up even more. I snatched myself away from Tate’s grasp and put my hands on my lap. I had the sudden urge to get up and leave. Once again, Tate had taken it upon himself to override my wishes and make decisions for me.

The tall man in the slim-fitting gray suit had a cheesy smile on his face, but the light of the smile never reached his pale blue eyes.

“Hello, Dad.” I stared him down coldly.

“Mr. Fletcher, it’s fantastic to meet you finally.” Tate rose from his seat, shaking my Dad’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, have you now?” I asked innocently behind him.

“Thank you kindly for inviting me tonight, Tate.”

“We’re happy to have you here. Go ahead and have a seat, Mr. Fletcher.”

As Dad began to introduce himself to the other guests around the table, Tate fell back in his chair.

“What is this, Tate?” I whispered through a plastic smile behind my glass. “You spent fifteen minutes talking about your hangnail on the ride here, but you didn’t think the presence of my father was worth mentioning?”

“I’m doing this for your sake. You’ll thank me for it later,” Tate whispered back through a fake smile. Through years of constant bickering at fancy restaurants and public spaces, we had perfected the art of arguing in the middle of company.

“For the love of God, Tate. Don’t patronize me.”

“Not now, Michelle. We can talk about this later.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Fletcher,” said Shaun Reagan, the man sitting across from me. The congressman rose from his seat, buttoning his coat. “Would you like to switch seats with me so you can sit next to your daughter?”

I raised my hand like I was back in school. “Mr. Reagan, that won’t be necessary.” Of course, I went unheard.

“Certainly, Congressman Reagan. That would be splendid.” Dad took the seat in front of me. I gnashed my teeth quietly, shooting him daggers with my eyes.

Seventeen years later, Dad was almost exactly as I remembered him. He looked better with age, sun-kissed and glowing from a lifetime of salons, facials, and luxury living. His hairline had receded a little, but he still owned a full head of tousled charcoal-black hair streaked with distinguished grays. I could see the way the waitresses and young women around our table were looking at him, and it made my blood pressure spike.

In Mom’s final days, she looked terrible. Not one strand of her honey-brown hair remained on her bare scalp or forehead. There was no luster left in her dead eyes, which appeared sunken with thick black rings around them. Her face had been robbed of its natural rosy blush, and her curves eaten away by the illness, leaving behind an unrecognizable skeletal frame. No one could have guessed that this was the same woman who once woke up at the crack of dawn, prepared all my meals for the day, and got me dressed for school before heading off to her jobs without complaining.

I wish I could say that Mom was sprightly, bubbly, and fought with every fiber of her being to stay alive, but it would be a lie. She was dying, slowly wasting away and we both knew it. One day, she wasn’t there anymore. My mother was a one-of-a-kind woman with a bottomless heart, and the world quickly forgot her.

My Dad was still alive, the picture of health and happiness and adored by everyone that met him. How was that just or fair?

“Hello, Elizabeth. It’s been a while.”

“You don’t say?” I kept my voice low, consciously avoiding the merry conversational tone of the other guests. “For the record, let me say that I didn’t have a clue you were coming here tonight.”

“I know. I could tell from the look on your face when I arrived.”

There was a lull in our uneasy conversation as Lola, the buxom waitress, came by to take our orders.

Dad tried again. “So...you and Tate Sheen, huh?” He smiled, glancing in Tate’s direction. “That must be exciting.”

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you give me a call to tell me the news?” I sensed a miserable tone in Dad’s voice.

“What news? That I got a boyfriend?” I laughed darkly, shaking my head. “It never occurred to me. Just like it never occurred to you to reach out to me when I graduated high school or college or when your wife was dying from stage four cancer. Am I ringing any bells yet?”

“Come on, Elizabeth,” said Dad exasperatedly, rubbing his palms together. “I’m trying here. Why can’t we let the past remain in the past and start over?”

Around us, the men’s conversation died down when our appetizers arrived. I tried to take control of my seething resentment and pushed it down for Tate’s sake. We were in a public environment, so I was going to keep everything civil.

“Let’s try this again. Can we talk about you? What have you been up to?”

“I’ve sold the company, and now I’m happily retired. I’ll be moving to planet Uzra in a few months. It’s the perfect place for me. It has beautiful beaches and warm weather. It’s a paradise out there.”

“Uh-huh. How lovely for you.” I stuffed a floppy piece of smoked salmon in my mouth. The teeny serving on my plate added to my shitty mood. “How is Kiara doing?”

“Kiara and I have been divorced for five years. I’m now married to a wonderful woman named Janelle.”

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Kiara. Next time you should try dating someone who is out of school.” Well, that attempt at civility was a failure.

“Michelle, please.” Tate’s face looked horrified as he caught our last exchange. “Don’t be a bitch.”

“Say, aren’t those the aliens who crashed onto Maplewood Ranch?” Trotsky leaned forward inquisitively, peering into his monocle.

He was right. From the other end of the dining room, the hostess ushered Prince Jethro and a small group of Keepers past the tables. They looked like they were heading straight for the empty table across from us. Each of the Keepers accommodated the restaurant’s formal dress code. The Prince, who led the group, was the most eye-catching of them all, striding across the floor in a purple swallowtail coat and a jaunty bowler hat.

When I saw Cas at the end of the line, my fists slowly unfurled. The Keeper looked good in anything he wore, particularly the sleeveless numbers that showed off his beefy and deliciously veined biceps. Tonight it would be difficult to keep my eyes off him. His dark hair was gelled back and brushed away from his face, and a sharp tux covered his arms. With only subtle hints of his broad shoulders and arms visible through his blazer, he looked even more strapping than when he revealed everything.

“Yes, I think that’s them. I saw their picture in the papers,” said Drake Pollock from the other end of the table. The reputed prosecutor turned to Samuel for confirmation. “You recognize the one in purple, don’t you?”

“Those are the aliens?” Tate’s eyebrows snapped together. “They’re not what I was expecting at all.”

“I hear the one in purple is the prince of their planet.”

“A prince?” Tate’s forehead unwrinkled. “Is that right?”

As the Yarians took their seats, I slid down in mine, trying to hide behind the carnation centerpiece.

“Isn’t that Michelle?”

Botu rocked back in his seat, waving at me from his table. With nowhere to run, I slid back up in my chair and returned the wave. Next to Botu, Cas looked up from his menu. I shied away from his smoldering squint and half-smile, turning back to the astounded looks around my table.

“Do you know them?” Samuel asked, jaw hanging open. “How did you manage to meet a pack of aliens?”

“Yes, Michelle, I’d like to be enlightened, too.” Tate kept a forced smile on his face with every sharp word out of his mouth.

“I don’t know them well.” I tried to disregard Tate’s hostile stance. “I met them once at a restaurant. It was uneventful.”

“The Prince is coming our way!”

Prince Jethro marched to our table, stopping between my father and the prosecutor. “How are you, Michelle? It’s a pleasure to run into you again. Would you care to introduce me to your friends?”

“Prince Jethro, these...”

Tate cut me off. “Prince Jethro, is it?” He rose from his chair, covering the prince’s hand with his hands and shaking vigorously. “I’m glad to meet you. My name is Tate Sheen, and these gentlemen here are good friends of mine.”

“Aye, of course. Michelle’s better half.”

“She has told you about me, I see.” Tate placed his hand on my shoulder, beaming down at me approvingly. He introduced his guests to the prince, leaving my father for last. “This gentleman is Walter Fletcher, Michelle’s father.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Jethro.” Dad shook the prince’s hand with a kitschy little bow. “I didn’t know my daughter was this worldly, or in this case, other-worldly.”

I was tempted to slip in a snippy remark, but I held my tongue. The men at the table, the Prince included, laughed uproariously at Dad’s silly joke. I knew that causing a scene would only make me look unstable.

“I’m sure she inherits much of her grace from her father.”

“I try not to brag, but she is my daughter, after all,” Dad chortled, ignoring my scathing stare. “Why don’t you and the rest of your party join us for dinner tonight? I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to push our tables together. You gentlemen won’t mind, would you?”

“Of course not. We’d be honored to dine with them,” Tate declared, looking around at the aliens. “This was merely a dinner to celebrate my campaign and brainstorm new strategies to climb the polls, but it can wait until later. It’s not every day that we get to dine with a prince.” There was an echo of enthusiasm around the table.

“Your campaign?” Prince Jethro took off his hat, nodding slowly. “Aye, that’s right – we have seen you on the Earth broadcast channels. You’re running for governor, correct?”

“Yes, I am,” said Tate confidently. He straightened his posture and jutted his shoulders back, trying to look taller. “How about it, Prince Jethro?”

“Very well. I shall summon my subordinates.”

While Prince Jethro fetched the Keepers, Tate snapped his fingers, calling the attention of a busboy. The unhappy staff rushed over to make a larger table. I remained in my seat, feeling a twitch in my stomach as Cas took the place by my father. Samuel moved one spot over, making room for the Prince next to Tate.

“Now this is a party!” Tate raised his champagne glass. “I propose a toast to new friends and hope for a good night ahead of us.”

I joined the table in the obligatory toast. When I raised my glass, I snuck a peek in Cas’ direction. When I saw he was already looking at me, I quickly looked away. Fortunately, my cheeks were already stained with plenty of cream blusher so he couldn’t see my embarrassment.

“Lola!” Samuel whistled at the cocktail waitress. She strolled over to our table, showing a sense of professionalism most minimum-wage employees could only envy.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I understand you’ve requested for me specifically to take your orders tonight. This isn’t usually what I do around here, so please excuse me if I’m a little slow.”

“You can take all the time you need, sweet thing,” said Samuel slimily, giving Lola a loud smack on the ass.

I was shocked, but no one else at the table batted an eye. To be fair, maybe none of them noticed. Lola, on the other hand, was less than pleased. She took one step back, pulling up on her slit black dress.

“Sir, please don’t do that again.”

“Do what, baby?” Samuel wouldn’t take no for an answer. He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. “Come on, don’t be such a party-pooper. You remember how well I tip, don’t you?”

“Sir, stop touching me.”

I could see Cas looking around at Samuel and Lola, but I beat him to it. “Knock it off. Didn’t you hear what the lady said?”

Samuel jumped in his seat, pulling back his arm like he had just been electrocuted.

“Michelle, what are you doing?” Tate whispered urgently, yanking my arm. “Sit down. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Relax, Michelle. I was just playing around.” Samuel dismissed me with a wave. He tried to de-escalate the situation by putting a shaky smile on his reddening face. “Lola’s taking it in good fun, aren’t you, honey?”

Lola looked over in her manager’s direction, choosing to stay silent.

“Do you know something? On second thought, why don’t we take this party somewhere else?” Tate looked at Lola disdainfully. “I say we get a room at Diamond Tower. We can use that club on the eighty-seventh floor. The club offers the finest private entertainment, and the buffet there is second to none.”

“I’ve got a friend who works at the club,” Samuel agreed, grinning. “I can call him right now and make sure he gets us the best room. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

“What a splendid idea.” Prince Jethro stood up, and the rest of the Keepers rose in unison.

“That’s not the word I would use.” I took a deep breath, hardly believing what I heard.

“Michelle, you can find your way home, right?” Tate pushed his chair into the table. “Or should I call a taxi for you?”

“I can take care of myself, but thanks for the concern.” I rose from the table. Dad slipped his arms into his jacket and started towards the men, who were gradually making their way out of the restaurant. “You’re leaving too? You’re not going to stick around and catch up with your daughter?”

Dad looked back at me, his face falling.

“Don’t bother saying anything. It’s fine. Have a good night.” I shook my head and walked past the party toward the exit.