Enthralled (Dark Passions) (8 page)

   “Well
that got rid of him,” Bradley said, smiling triumphantly. I grinned back
sheepishly. “So you choose now to get all coy,” he teased, stroking my cheek.
“You’re a very peculiar girl, Melanie Winters.”

   “Good
peculiar, or bad peculiar?” I asked, biting my lip.

   “Devastating
good,” he said, a trace of desire in his eyes. He considered for a moment, and
then took my hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go say goodbye to Andy. There
some other people I want you to meet. Some other adventures I want to take you
on.”

   I
looked at him curiously. “Where are we going now?” I asked.

   “L.A.
1966. Come on.”

***

   We
said our goodbyes to Andy Warhol and his crew, and jumped into a cab outside
the club. “Where to?” asked the cabbie.

   “Canal
and Mercer. Soho,” replied Bradley.

   When
we reached the intersection, Bradley asked the cabbie to drive a little up
Mercer. I noted that the cast-iron buildings looked much the same as they did
in 2012. “Right here,” Bradley said, pointing to a small gallery. The paintings
hanging on the front window were lit up by pot lights. We exited the cab, and
Bradley grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the sidewalk, pausing in front of
the gallery. My eyes immediately settled on a very dark, very gothic
representation of The Chateau Marmont.

   “Who’s
the artist?” I asked, peering up at him.

   “I’m
not sure,” he said. “There’s no signature. Last time I was here visiting Andy,
I was curious about what my gallery looked like in the seventies and stumbled
upon this place.”

   I
nodded. “The space looks a little more run down. It’s in need of a major reno,
but still, I recognize it.”

   Bradley
laughed. “When I bought it ten years ago, the last owner had gone all
postmodern on the place. I had to break down the jagged purple plywood walls he
put up so I could expose the original brick.”

   He
cleared his throat, “Anyway,” he said. “Enough small talk. Let’s get down to
business.”

   “Business?”
I asked.

   “Yes.
We’re heading to the Chateau Marmont. You know the drill. I have a room in
mind. Envision Craftsman-style chairs on a balcony. Gold coffered ceilings. A
cast iron bathtub. All of the rooms are originals, so these particular features
are unique to one room.” He squeezed my hand and lightly brushed my lips with
his. “Make sure in your vision it’s night time. I’ll see you there,” he said.

   I
closed my eyes and imagined sitting on a balcony in a Craftsman chair, looking
out at all the twinkling lights of Los Angeles, feeling a warm, sultry breeze
blow through my hair. I started feeling lightheaded, then out right dizzy. My
head literally started to spin. I opened my eyes, but I was blinded by a
glaring white light. Then my vision finally cleared, and I found myself – well,
you guessed it. Seated in a Craftsman chair, overlooking a spectacular view of
the L.A. skyline at night.

   I
took a deep breath, stood up, and went inside to explore. On the floor of the
main room was a trompe l’oeil Turkish carpet. I literally had to step on it and
rub my foot back and forth to prove to myself that it wasn’t real. The ceilings
were indeed, gold, coffered, and very high. In the bedroom, I found an imposing
eighteenth-century Portuguese bed. I looked for a note from Bradley, but there
was nothing. No sign of him. The bathroom contained the fabled claw-foot tub,
and I was considering taking a long soak in it while I waited for Bradley to
appear when I heard the front door open.

    “Mel,”
he called out, then entered the bedroom. He was carrying two gift boxes, and was
once again dressed in black tie.

   I
arched an eyebrow at him, and felt the corners of my mouth quirk up. “Another
photo shoot?” I asked.

   He
smiled at me indulgently and said, “No. A party. Now put these on.”

   I
took the boxes from him and placed them on the bed. In the first box was a pair
of three inch black stilettos. The contents of the other box made me gasp.
“It’s the Le Smoking tuxedo for women!” I said excitedly, practically jumping
up and down. “Yves Saint Laurent is a genius. A true pioneer. This is pretty
much the template for all of the women’s power suits to this day.”

   “Yes,”
he said. “And you’re going to look like a cutting-edge stunner tonight. I see
you still have your purse.” After he pointed it out, I noticed the thin strap
of my black velvet purse was still handing from my shoulder. “Hurry up and
change,” he said. “We have a car waiting for us downstairs.”

   “Where
exactly are we headed?” I asked, pulling off my turquoise antique velvet dress,
and examining the Le Smoking tuxedo with glee.

   “The
Hollywood Hills. You might even meet Audrey Hepburn. Now, come on, hurry up. We
have a wild night ahead of us.”