There was something about these things that always made her feel cynical, reflected Scarlett as she paused in front of the panoramic window. Beneath her sprawled Central Park, a swathe of deep green slowly sinking into shadow as the sun began to set. On one side pale pink edged the skyscrapers; on the other, night-blue; between them she was faintly visible in the glass, ghostly in a pale-rose single-shoulder dress. She adjusted her sleeve, brushed back a strand of hair, sighed; and then felt vaguely guilty.
It had been a long afternoon, and though evening was approaching she wasn't done yet; one of those gala events held every year in aid of some charitable foundation you've never heard of, which exists largely so that old-money widows and new-money wives have something to do. She frowned, finished her champagne, smiled ruefully.
With the last of the bubbles fizzling on her tongue Scarlett blew the city a quick kiss, then turned and continued down the hall. If she was honest, mostly she didn't really enjoy these events because she felt out of place; naturally Scarlett spent a lot of time at glitzy parties full of rich people, but this was different. Somehow it felt as though she was a precocious child brought in to show off for the grown ups. The possibility that this was how she unwittingly treated other, ordinary people lurked disquietingly at the back of her mind. Scarlett shook her head and laughed softly, told herself she was just being a paranoid diva.
Rounding the corner, she walked back into the reception area; with speeches made and official photographs taken, the event was beginning to slowly wind down. Little knots of patrons and committee members drifted aimlessly across the sumptuously decorated space, impeccably dressed staff darting between them. One took Scarlett's empty glass and replaced it with such swift elegance that it took her a moment to register what had happened. A dozen polite conversations muttered in the background, punctuated by clinking glasses and underscored by the works of Erik Satie. A smothering, oddly soothing ambience settled over the softly-lit room, a warm blanket of wealth and privilege keeping the real world safely outside.
After a fortifying sip of perfectly-chilled Veuve Clicquot, Scarlett set out to do her part; it was for a good cause, after all. (Whatever that cause actually was?) For about an hour (although it felt like longer) she worked the room, making small-talk, signing autographs, posing for pictures. The kind of thing she'd done a hundred times before and could usually manage on autopilot, except for the nagging suspicion that half of them weren't entirely sure who she was but were just being polite. Still, if nothing else courteous bemusement made a change from starstruck fawning, and if anyone was staring at her breasts they were being discreet about it.
But it was tiring, making the same empty conversation a dozen times in a row, not to mention thirsty work; the moment she thought she'd done her fair share Scarlett made a beeline for the bar and asked for a Scotch-and-soda on the rocks. As the bartender poured Glenlivet into a highball glass so clean it was almost invisible, she turned away for a moment to look back at the room. For a single piercing moment, the thirty-five year-old Hollywood megastar was struck by the achingly adolescent sense that everyone else is having fun without you. Then the bartender took a perfect sphere from the Japanese ice-press and placed it in her glass with the very faintest of
clink
s; and the moment passed.
Midway through her drink Scarlett was just starting to think about slipping away soon without seeming rude, when a figure at the other end of the otherwise deserted bar caught her eye. It was the dress that got her attention, bright against the room's muted tones; sheer gradient-dyed silk, blending from skyblue at the high neck to deep violet at the hemline. Locks of glossy brown-black hair tumbled casually past bare shoulders; and when she straightened up with a laugh Scarlett couldn't quite hear, light sparkled on a silver earring.
She turned away from the bar and at last Scarlett got a clear look, breath catching in her throat as she drank in a heartbreakingly beautiful woman with flawless olive skin. Her delicately featured face was that of a fairytale princess; with her slim but not insubstantial figure she could have been a fashion model, or perhaps a dancer. Elegant fingers held the stem of a bulbous Copa de Balon glass; the contents were the same candy-blue as her dress was across her bust. She dropped a twist of lime into the glass and swirled it gently, watched as the liquid changed colour to match the violet silk over her thigh.
Uncomfortably aware that she was staring, Scarlett turned away and raised her own drink to cover her embarrassment. After placing the empty glass on the richly-polished bar she risked another glance and found herself looking directly into the woman's emerald eyes, whisky burning pleasantly on her tongue. Kissable, taupe-glossed lips broke into a smile and Scarlett tried to tell herself that the warm feeling inside was just the alcohol.
"Oh! Scarlett!" she exclaimed in a velvet-smooth French accent, "I was
so
hoping to meet you!" She crossed the floor like it was a catwalk, presented herself with absolute confidence and leaned in close. Ordinarily Scarlett, with a lifetime's experience of overly familiar strangers, would have some sharp words about inappropriate behaviour; instead she found herself turning her face to be kissed on the cheek. She breathed in the delicate floral notes of some luxurious perfume, ever-so-slightly undercut by the scent of gin, felt that shining hair brush against her arm.
Scarlett blinked, swallowed, collected herself. "It's lovely to meet you..."
"Ah, but where are my manners?" She made a playful curtsy. "Sérafine."
Scarlett, not to be outdone, took her hand and bowed to kiss it, was rewarded by a flutter of laughter. "Charmed, I'm sure..."
Straightening up and regaining her naturally regal posture, Sérafine took a sip of her drink, licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Shall we get you another?" she asked, nodding towards the bar.
"Oh, uh... no," decided Scarlett, who was already feeling a touch light-headed, "no, I'm good."
The talk of the other guests receded to a vague commingled murmur as the pair drifted from the bar to a quiet space and fell into conversation; the kind of eager, easy conversation that only happens between people who don't know each other but want to. Had anyone looked in their direction they would have seen two beautiful women alone together in a crowded room, backdropped by the Manhattan skyline; a tableau that any great photographer would have died for.
"Well, I grew up in Paris after my parents left Tehran, and then-" Sérafine gestured expansively with her empty glass "-well, I'm from lots of places."
"A real cosmopolitan!"
"Oh, but you're a local though, is that right?"
"Sure, Greenwich Village." Scarlett laughed, rolling her eyes. "It's funny, whenever you come to one of these things here everyone wants you to know they're New York natives, but in Hollywood-"
"Everyone wants you to know they're
really
from somewhere else."
Soon the rest of the room was entirely forgotten and the pair were feeling very comfortable; Sérafine casually brushing stray hair from Scarlett's shoulder, touching her lightly on the arm to emphasise a point. In no time there was more warmth between the two women than anywhere else in the room, warmth that was growing steadily into heat. Retreating still further from the crowd, they found a couch in a corner snug and sidled up close, smooth silk brushing against Scarlett's bare ankle.
She bit her lip, took a deep breath, leaned in conspiratorially. "Sérafine? Will you tell me something?"
"Well..." she pondered, "I don't know, a lady should have secrets..."
"Oh, I'll bet you have
plenty
to spare." Sérafine affected a sly expression. "What if I tell you one in return?" A smile and a nod. "Well then- are you trying to seduce me?"
Sérafine looked her straight in the eye. "Oh,
absolutely
."
"Well, I guess I have to tell you mine now, too." She beckoned Sérafine close, brushed her lips against her ear and whispered "
