Chapter 8
Lance
Looking up to the clock, I saw that it was almost eight. On a thousand other nights, it would not have made any difference to me what time it was. On this night, however, eight o’clock was the beginning of four hours of what I assumed would be absolute torture. I was waiting in a small room to the side of the ballroom. I could hear the orchestra tuning up and there was a general, high-pitched buzz which I assumed came from the ladies waiting outside the entrance. I walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains to look down to the street below.
The street was clogged with everything from motorcycles to soccer-mom vans to limousines. Girl after girl after girl emerged, pausing to adjust her clothing after she stepped onto the curb. One would think it was a Hollywood premiere. I didn’t flatter myself—I knew what they were really after.
I went to the small bar in the corner of the room and poured myself two fingers of Scotch. I dropped in a couple of ice cubes but didn’t wait for them to cool the liquid. I poured it down my throat, picked up the bottle to pour more and thought better of it. The last thing I needed was to get drunk and end up with one of those gals. The stakes were too high to risk a drunken choice.
There was a tap on the door and I heard my mother’s voice calling my name. “Come on in, Mom.”
She shyly pushed the door open and looked around, her eyes searching the room for me. She found me standing with the bottle of Scotch in my hand. Pursing her lips, she said, “Oh, Lance, do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“No, Mom. I’ve only had one small drink. I agree; there’s too much at stake.”
This seemed to satisfy her, and she looked me over head to toe. “You look charming, quite debonair,” she reassured me.
I wasn’t concerned about my appearance. I just wanted to get this over with so I could get back to my life and find Sindy. I hadn’t told anyone about her. The last thing I needed was for someone to chase her down and bring her to the party.
I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking when I agreed to set this entire affair in action. I’d always been so impatient. It was my shortcoming. If I’d waited just a little longer, I would have met her and I could have saved myself all this trouble. I set down the glass and pushed the contemplating part of my mind deeper into my head. I could get through the next four hours. Hell, anyone could get through the next four hours.
Mom walked up to the mirror next to the door. A few last-minute primps and a touch-up of her lipstick seemed in order. “It’s time,” she told me in a small voice. I think she found this a very emotional moment, almost a second birth.
“May I?” I asked as I offered my arm to escort her into the ballroom. She gave me a quick hug and took my arm.
They had set up a receiving line where I was to stand and greet each guest, one at a time. The group had worked it out that if I met a young lady in whom I was interested, I was to slide my left hand into my pants pocket as I shook her hand. This was a signal for them to make sure she became my dance partner at some point during the night. I disliked the idea. It felt like we were culling calves out of a herd to be branded. It didn’t matter, though; I was taking none of this seriously.
Unless you’ve been swallowed up by a mass migration of females, you can’t imagine the atmosphere in the room that night. The line was like so many Christmas lights, each a different color and each connected to the next. I wanted to pull the plug and shut the door. Pinks, greens, purples, blacks, bright yellows; it was amazing what women thought suited them best. I tried to imagine each one naked, but the sad fact was that most were better imagined dressed. By the twelfth one, I quit trying to think of something original and witty to say. I simply shook their hands and said, “Hello.” My left hand only went into the pocket three times in the entire first hour. There was one memorably pitiful creature who even brought her dog. It kept nipping at her neck as she slapped it away. I motioned to one of my staff to remove the poor animal before she gave it a concussion.
The outer doors were closed and the remaining dozen or so girls were waiting patiently. The music had already begun.
She was fourth in line. She might as well have been the only one in line. My cock saw her before my eyes did. An ethereal creature, she was dressed in the color of the sky and seemed to float in just as lightly. Her attire was understated, her figure magnificent, and curiously, she was wearing a mask. She staggered a bit when she looked at me, and I almost imagined a look of recognition in her blue eyes. My hand went into my left pocket, and stayed there, discreetly fondling my cock. I no longer gave a shit about the others. This was the one I wanted.
I wouldn’t let go of her hand after the shake, but dragged her out onto the dance floor and pulled her closely against me. She smiled sweetly, and then with a bit of alarm as my hard cock pressed against her flat tummy. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t want to.
I don’t think I ever stopped dancing. My staff was furiously trying to attract my attention for the next girl, but I ignored them.
“Do you want to talk now?” I asked the woman in blue.
She shook her head silently. It was the best answer I could have heard. I signaled the orchestra to play only slow dances, and I never let the woman in blue go. Eventually, the others gave up and herded themselves to the champagne punch bowl. Not long after that, they kicked off their heels and began dancing with one another, just to keep from standing in one spot all evening.
I felt the body in my arms, and it molded against mine in all the right places. Her breasts invited my mouth, and were it not for the audience, I would have dropped to the ballroom floor and taken her right there. Images of she and I skiing, making Thanksgiving dinner, shopping, playing chess and making babies rolled through my head like a movie.
I looked around for my mother and finally found her standing on the sideline. She was nodding and smiling. She approved. Suddenly, I saw her face crumble and watched her turn around, her hands rising as if to fend something off. She was clearly upset, and I dropped the woman in blue from my arms and went toward Mom. I thought perhaps she was ill, but the look on her face was more serious, and then the sounds of screams began to filter through the bubble I’d been in for the last hour or more.
“Fire! Fire!” came the shouts, and the screams carried the word faster than the flames themselves. The emergency exit signs lit, and a loud buzzer shocked more people into finding the nearest exit. Thank God we were only a little more than ten feet above the ground – the length of the entry flight of stairs. Police and men in firefighting garb appeared intermittently in the crowd, urging everyone to calm down and directing them to the nearest exit. One firefighter had his arm over Mom’s shoulders, recognizing that she might get trampled among the younger women.
I turned back to find the woman in blue, but she had disappeared. Everything was havoc. I was seized from behind by one of my personal security detail and likewise ushered out a nearby exit and into a waiting limo. I ordered the driver to stay in place while I searched for the woman in blue, but the police ordered us to move on, and soon my woman in blue, the party scene and the entire building were a plume of black smoke out the rearview window.