When you invited me to this "little party," I expected an intimate gathering with a handful of friends. Maybe some wine and a store bought tray of crackers and cured meat, with an exchanging of pleasantries. I didn't expect a suburban estate brimming with Chicago's elite. Anybody who was anybody mingled among the glitz and glamour, all dressed impeccably. They were clearly here to see and be seen. I felt underwhelming in my off-brand little black dress and scuffed Mary Janes.
"Who even are you?" I leaned in, trying to be inconspicuous with my words.
"They're just work friends, Baby." You shot me an amused grin.
I knew you were a named partner at a top Chicago firm, but l'd clearly underestimated the definition of top. I never dreamed I'd see a national anchorman, the mayor of Chicago, and a notorious local crime boss laughing over Veuve Clicquot and antipasto.
"Are these clients?" I asked, trying unsuccessfully to mask my disbelief.
"You know I can't break attorney-client privilege, Baby. But there are some very important people here. We need to make our appearance, then I can get you home and out of those heels."
I leaned into your shoulder in gratitude, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze before taking in the room. It even smelled of Old Money. Clean, but in a subtle way. No fragrance was too overwhelming. The scent of wood, leather, food, spirits, and luxury colognes mingled pleasantly. I shifted in my heels and tried to take on a more confident posture, but only felt sillier. This wasn't my scene. I didn't know how to mingle with this crowd, but I plastered on a smile and vowed to do my best.
"So, which one is the host?"
"See the man over there?" You pointed with your eyes towards a group of men admiring a gaudy oil painting of horses, above the fireplace. "He's the one in the plaid jacket. An author."
"Do I know his work?"
"You most definitely do. I'll have to introduce you later. But if you don't mind, I'd like to have a look around. Join me?"
You held out your arm, my fingers lacing around it as we headed towards the elaborate marble hallway. We walked this way, comfortably intertwined, through the crowds of people. You pointed out your favorite pieces of art and furniture, occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries with a familiar face. I wondered what kind of lives these people lead, and how you knew them. How many were clients? Were you only helping them with their contracts and their books? What kind of scandals were quietly settled by your firm? These were big money people, the kind of people who could get away with anything, with enough checks exchanged for silence.
Eventually, the faces started to thin out and we found ourselves in a quieter corner of the home, with a grand winding staircase.
"Dare we see what's upstairs?" You whispered in my ear, your breath teasing my neck.
"I doubt we're supposed to" I said hesitantly, turning to head back towards the laughter and music.
Your hand grasped mine and spun me gently back towards you. "Come on, it'll be fun. This place is huge. We won't be missed. I just want a peek. If we get caught, we can say we got lost."
I quietly hoped that you were right and followed you up the stairs. They felt massive in my thin heels, and the lofted ceilings meant far more steps than the average staircase. I marveled in disbelief at the perfection of the wood railing. There wasn't a single scuff or scrape, the wood polish still glistening in the soft light of the chandelier. If this staircase was used often, they surely never touched the railing.
The upper level was just as immaculate, the walls lined in antique-finished wallpaper and more art. It was eclectic, yet refined. I wondered how many generations of belongings lined this one hall. Some of the art was quite old, while other pieces were obviously modern additions to a collection. It was stunning.
