Nearly an hour late to Jean's party, Aidan wasn't surprised to find that the house his friend had leased for the six months he planned on spending in Seattle was right on the water. As he drove up the stereotypical circular, gravel path leading to the house, he couldn't help but think that Jean didn't do anything on a small scale.
A mix of modern lines with a hint of classical flair, the house was two stories with a dark exterior broken up by several floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected the darkness of the street. Immaculate shrubs framed the image perfectly and, as Aidan stepped out of his car, tossing his keys to the waiting valet, it occurred to him that no matter how elegant this party turned out to be, he'd rather be at home.
Unlike Jean, Aidan wasn't a crowd person; he didn't find any fulfillment in trying to impress dozens of perfect strangers—not that Jean did either, more likely *he* enjoyed watching them all try to impress him. With a grin, Aidan took the steps two at a time, thinking to himself that if anyone was made to be a jetsetter it was Jean.
The Frenchman's friendly, yet ambitious nature was partly what had drawn him and Aidan together all those years ago back in boarding school. Aidan had been the dreamer who wanted to be a photographer and Jean, well he'd been the one that even the headmaster of the boarding school couldn't break. It had always been his way or no way.
Pressing his finger against the doorbell, the sound echoing sonorously within the house, Aidan shifted in his dress clothes. The party was supposed to be 'casual,' but Aidan knew that to Jean's expensive tastes that meant slacks, Italian shoes and a dressy shirt. In a pair of coal black slacks and a crisp white, collarless dress shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, Aidan fit the bill perfectly.
The door swung open and he came face-to-face with Jean-Philippe who looked very much the party host in a custom-made charcoal suit that probably cost more than Aidan made in six months.
"Aidan," Jean greeted him cheerfully. "Bonsoir, mon ami."
Clasping the hand Jean held out to him, he caught the perfect enunciation his friend gave to each of his syllables and knew from experience that Jean was just this side of being drunk. Maybe this could be interesting, he thought, returning Jean's wide smile as he entered the house.
"Bonsoir," he replied, a near-perfect accent on his French. "Ca va, Jean?"
"It's going amazingly well," Jean retorted in English, hooking his arm through Aidan's as he led him to toward the back of the house. "A few more people than were on the guest list but," he gave his classic Gallic shrug, "that just makes it more interesting, no?"
"Hmm," Aidan replied noncommittally.
They were passing through the great room where a fired burned unheeded in the corner and a few dozen beautifully dressed partygoers lounged around with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Everyone wore bored expressions that said, quite clearly, that they and their surroundings were elegant beyond belief but they were too used to that elegance to pay it any attention.
A wall of windows, with a pair of glass doors in the center, framed the scene outside like some sort of Vanity Fair tableau. Tables and sleek, steel-backed chairs hid in the shadows not reached by tiki lamps burning around the pool. The crystalline blue water of the long, kidney-shaped pool sparkled back into the night air, every now and then catching and reflecting the vivid colors of the costly silks and satins worn by Jean's more elite acquaintances.
Sliding one of the doors open, Jean all but dragged Aidan out onto the patio. "I want you to meet someone," he said, nodding a greeting at several people as if he were a visiting monarch.
Allowing Jean to lead him along, Aidan found himself glancing around the people gathered to celebrate Jean-Philippe's success. He didn't know any of Jean's friends and he didn't expect to find a friendly face...save one: Rainey's. Since Saturday, he'd wondered if she would actually go through with attending the party but his question had been answered when he'd talked to Karen on Tuesday and she was practically bubbling over with excitement about tonight.
But, if he guessed right, and he was sure he did, Rainey would hate being here as much as she'd hated going to the club. Did she see the same vacuous nature in the surroundings that he did? The blatant seductiveness that seemed to drip from every low-cut dress he saw; the appraising glances in the eyes of stiff-lipped women; the predatory gleam in the eyes of wealthy men who looked at those women as if they were potentially their latest acquisition.
Maybe he was bitter, Aidan mused. Maybe he only saw the rough edges of the whole masquerade because love was something that hadn't turned out for him. The dice didn't always roll true for everyone, he thought, and that wasn't a reason to look at these people and imagine that all of their motives were bleak, desperate and cold when it came to relationships.
Still, his eyes scanned the moderate crowd, where was Rainey in all of this gem-like luxury? He wondered how she was faring amidst people jaded by years in the 'fast track.' Maybe he should find her...
Even as the thought occurred to him, Jean pulled to a stop in front of a brown-eyed, blonde beauty wearing a strapless black dress with a slit up the side that reached mid-thigh.
"Aidan, I'd like you to meet Colette Fitzroy. Colette, Aidan Murphy."
Colette held a narrow flute of champagne in one hand, the other arm crossed over her waist as she gazed at Aidan, a look of sexual appraisal clear in her gaze. Stepping toward him, she unfolded her arm and held out her hand for Aidan to kiss.
"It's nice to meet you," he murmured, bending over her hand, his lips hovering in the air just above her skin.
"And so very, very nice to meet you, Aidan," she replied, leaning into him, boldly pressing her breasts against his chest as she dropped imaginary kisses on either side of his face in the European style. "Jean has told me so much about you."
Aidan's brow shot up and he turned to give Jean a speculative glance only to find that his friend had deserted him. So, Aidan thought, Jean-Philippe is trying to play matchmaker with this Anna Nicole Smith clone. He made a mental note to take care of Jean later. As it was, he found himself trapped in a conversation with Colette.
"...tells me you're a photographer," she was saying.
Aidan nodded. "Between that and freelance journalism, I'm pretty much able to keep the telephone company from disconnecting me," he said flippantly.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and he was curious to see what her response would be. Instead of speechlessness, she let out a tinkling laugh, placing her perfectly manicured hand on his upper arm. "Jean *did* tell me that you like to speak your mind." She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and locked her eyes on his. "I find that very attractive."
**********
On the other side of the pool, from behind a half circle of chairs at which Karen was the center of attention, Rainey watched as Aidan bent over a blonde's hand. An empty glass of champagne—her third, or was it fourth?—hung limply in her fingers as she tuned out the conversation going on a few feet in front of her.
She and Karen had arrived half an hour earlier and, after being boisterously greeted by Jean-Philippe who gushed over Karen until her head spun, were turned loose on the patio to fend for themselves while Jean saw to his other guests. Karen was completely in her element; she'd strode across the stone patio like she spent every weekend rubbing elbows with the rich and elite of the West Coast. But, Rainey was forced to admit, in a frothy, mid-length aquamarine dress that was shockingly translucent when she passed in front of the soft glow of the pool-side tiki lamps, Karen *did* belong here with all of these other gorgeous women and their expensively dressed male counterparts.
Rainey, herself, wore a peach-colored blouse that tied, rather precariously, around her neck, and a white chiffon skirt that had made her cringe when she saw the price tag. Karen had assured her that the cut accented her hips, something she usually avoided at all costs, but, placing complete faith in Karen's expert eye for fashion, Rainey bought it anyway.
Now, surrounded by silk, satin and slim-waisted women, Rainey just felt fat and dumpy. Her mood wasn't at all helped by the fact that she and Karen had taken a seat at one of the tables on the patio after Karen talked Rainey into accepting a glass of champagne from a wandering waiter, and men, some of them ten years older than them, had started gravitating toward Karen. As always, Rainey sat on the sidelines and listened to conversations about...well, she didn't know what they were talking about because she'd stopped paying attention so soon into the evening.
The waiter made his way past them a few more times and, out of boredom more than anything else, Rainey plucked a glass of champagne from his tray every time he made his rounds. The amber-colored drink was so light and airy, the bubbles tickling her nose each time she raised her glass to her mouth, that she found herself feeling better and better by the moment. So what if Karen got all the attention? Rainey didn't *want* attention...well, at least not from anyone but Aidan.
She giggled a little as that thought occurred to her. Sobering quickly, she glanced around to make sure no one had heard her laughing to herself—of course, no one was even looking in her direction—and she eyed her half-full glass dubiously. The tiny bubbles danced to the surface with vigor and she wondered if she was a little tipsy. When that thought also inspired a tiny fit of giggles, she decided that she *was* a little light-headed.
Maybe she should stop...
The waiter appeared again on her left and she reached out, plucking another fluted glass from his ever-full tray. After this glass, she'd stop.
Glancing around, she idly held up the glass in front of her face so that the world took on a golden glow. Bubbles flitted between people from her viewpoint and she imagined, in her less than able-minded state that every bubble was a bit of laughter floating around in the air.
People needed laughter. Laughter was good. It was a pretty thought and it brought a smile to her lips. Turning toward the glass doors that led into the great room where even more people were enjoying champagne and caviar on gourmet crackers, her breath hitched when she saw Aidan's form, tinged gold by the champagne, appear flanked by Jean-Philippe. She'd forgotten about him for one, long blissful moment.
She settled the glass into the palm of her hand and watched as Jean led him toward the other end of the swimming pool. He seemed distracted, brooding; his eyes were restless, moving over the crowd like he was searching for something.
Bringing him to a stop near a gorgeous blonde in a black dress that barely stayed together because of the huge slit running up her perfect calf and thigh, Rainey watched Jean motion between Aidan and the woman. Even at a distance, the acute interest in the woman's eyes made Rainey's stomach churn. Unconsciously, her hand tightened on the stem of her glass of champagne.
Rainey watched as Aidan bent over the blonde's hand and the woman, damn her, pressed her breasts against Aidan's chest as she kissed his cheeks. They began conversing and, much to Rainey's disgust, the blonde laughed, tilting her head back and running a hand over Aidan's upper arm.
