Illuminate (8 page)

The girl with the ankle tattoo and all the hair drifted off from the group, appearing at the table beside me. I tried not to stare as she lifted an open bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and pulled a crystal champagne flute from the neat rows of glasses lining the back of the table. Bubbles frothed as she poured. I recognized her from my Googling: Raphaella. She was a model and socialite, always going to the best parties and photographed with important people. I had seen a few of these faces show up in my search, now that I thought about it. The one with the shoulder tattoo, Calliope, had been written about in an art magazine or something like it.

With delicate fingers, Raphaella held the glass out to me. “Cheers,” she said. “This is liquid gold. Aurelia’s favorite. The best you’ll ever taste.” The gesture was warm but her tone wasn’t so much; it felt a little like she was doing a job. I caught myself before getting too hung up on it:
Haven, try to be a little less sensitive for a change, please?
I took the glass from Raphaella’s hand.

“Oh, wow, thanks.” Her chilliness aside, I was still oddly touched. It was kind of nice to feel included, even if I didn’t plan to drink it. I looked over at Lance. He hadn’t touched his drink. He sat there, almost invisible, taking everything in from behind those glasses, his hair still messy from his nap. He and I were like bookends, fencing in this party that raged between us.

Raphaella poured a glass of champagne for herself and took a seat next to me, crossing her endless spider’s legs. She took a dainty sip from her slender glass. I decided I should try to be friendly.

“You’re Raphaella, right?” She nodded and smiled softly, her kohl-rimmed eyes two beautiful blank buttons. “I’ve seen you in magazines and things. You must have such an exciting life modeling and all. Do you hang out here a lot? I just started this internship. I’m really excited to be here.” I was rambling now. There was a long, painful pause.

“I would be nowhere without Aurelia and the Outfit,” she said, as if it were the most obvious and mundane of facts repeated emotionlessly millions of times, such as Chicago is cold in the winter.

“Aurelia said that being here can open doors. I guess she really meant it.”

“She did. I promise you.” This she said sternly, as though making sure I was paying attention. Then she smiled again, taking another sip.

“That’s good to know. Do you have any exciting upcoming jobs?”

“Yes, there’s the cover of the
Chicago Tribune
’s Sunday magazine next month,
Chicago
magazine’s special spring fashion edition, and spreads in
Glamour
and
Seventeen
.” She said it all much more flatly than I would have if it had been me with that news to tell. “I’m sorry,” she said before turning away to whisper something to the girl seated beside her with the pin-straight jet-black hair and almond-shaped eyes.

I pretended to be fascinated watching the fizz of my champagne. The flames behind me breathed heat onto my neck. They were a tough group, these people, tough in a different way than the kids at school. There, they were just rude and hostile with no manners whatsoever, but here there was something else, an iciness I couldn’t understand. I wanted to know where all these beautiful people had come from that they were so oddly alike. Dante was dancing in the middle of the group, but by himself. I looked through the mob to Lance. He gave a sympathetic shrug—he had seen me literally get the cold shoulder. I answered him back with a shake of the head and felt the embarrassment dissipate, newly calmed. Raphaella looked over her shoulder, canvassing the grounds below. The thought of sitting any longer in silence seemed worse than having to try again. So I did. No one knew us here, as Dante said. I could be brave.

“I, um, like your necklace,” I said, sounding like a child. But it
was
pretty impressive: a stiff black-velvet ribbon choker holding what looked like an amethyst the size of a walnut. I glanced quickly again at that girl on the dance floor, Calliope—yes, she had one too. And I spotted one on another delicate swan-like neck or two on the other side of the platform. I pictured these women all shopping together, roaming the mall at Water Tower Place or perhaps ducking into some of those precious boutiques in Wicker Park that Joan always tried to get me into. I could imagine them walking down the street, shopping bags in hand, talking and laughing at inside jokes, and not even noticing the stares they got as they passed. Raphaella touched the stone with raisin-painted nails and smiled once more.

“Thank you.”

Calliope, finished dancing for the moment, appeared with a drink in her hand and Raphaella slid over to make room for her between us.

“I’m Calliope,” she said, holding out her hand for me to shake. Her periwinkle eyes seemed somehow slightly more alive than Raphaella’s. I shook her firm grip.

“Hi, I’m—”

“Haven, of course,” she said, surprising me. “Are they recruiting you?” She said it with a seriousness I couldn’t make sense of, leaning in closer to me. I didn’t quite understand the question.

“Oh, well, we were just—”

“There’s a lot to learn here,” Calliope said sincerely. Raphaella set her hand on Calliope’s forearm, and they exchanged a look that seemed to tell Calliope she was done talking to me, because she didn’t say another word. She simply nodded blankly at Raphaella and then they gazed over the low flames to scan the scene below us. I followed Calliope’s eyes until I saw her lock in on him. He wasn’t one of the Outfit; just another guy out for an evening with his buddies. And he saw her.

Calliope simply smiled, perfect and gleaming. She flicked her head and that was it. The man wandered over toward our platform, staring up at her. She beckoned him with her slim fingers. Then she and Raphaella looked knowingly at each other. I imagined Raphaella was equally skilled in this sort of mating call. I had always wished to be the kind of girl who could rely on simply a smile to ensnare anyone. Win anyone over. They knew they had an advantage: that they were desired, and that was half the battle, more than half, toward getting anything
they
desired. Instant confidence lay behind smiles like that. Others of us shared the burden of having to develop some personality, which actually took time and cultivation; it’s a much slower process wrought by trial and error.

“Have a good night, Haven. If you’ll excuse me,” said Calliope, as she rose gently from her seat and glided over to the top of the spiral staircase. In no time, he was there, looking nervous and thrilled.

I felt the champagne glass being pried from my fingers and I whipped my head around. Lucian.

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. What did he say? I think it was “Hello, Haven.” But I might have been wrong. Was it possible he remembered my name? He sat down beside me, in the space left blissfully vacant by Calliope. There wasn’t much room and his arm touched my shoulder as he settled into place. A wave of his musk and cedar scent enveloped me and made me lightheaded. He wore a black suit, white button-down shirt, and a skinny black tie. Everyone here was so dressed up all the time. His hair, which had been so smoothly slicked back earlier, was looser now, a blond forelock draping his left eye.

“Welcome to the ring of fire.”

“Hi. Um, thanks.” I struggled to get the words out. I felt my lips trembling and pursed them together to hold them still.

“And happy birthday,” he said, slowly, in that voice that could lull me to a deep and warm sleep.

“Thanks. How did you know?” I could only look at him in short bursts. I would look for a second or two and then fix my eyes quickly somewhere else, letting them refocus, before locking on him again. He made me too nervous. A heat rose to my face.

“We know everything.” His gray eyes beaming at me with a hint of that mischief I’d seen earlier today. “And, I’m afraid, Haven—” I was unable to mask my amazement that, yes, he had in fact remembered my name. “Champagne”—he held up the glass he had taken from me—“is too ordinary for a day like this. Here.” He handed me a goblet with a blue flame dancing on top of the liquid inside. This drink en flambé had apparently been in his hands the whole time and I just hadn’t noticed it; that’s how distracted I was by him.

“Wow, thanks.” I took it in both hands and watched the flame lick at the air, flickering between shades of blue and orange. What was I supposed to do with this? I worried I might somehow set fire to myself—I was clearly a little shaky. His arm brushed against mine again. “Um, I’m sixteen actually,” I blurted out. I don’t know why. I could not have been less cool. It was a struggle to keep my face from twisting into some kind of freakish, distorted cringe. My biggest problem, I scolded myself, was getting in my own way, derailing anything remotely exciting that might possibly happen.

“I know. Cheers.” He took a swig from my old champagne glass. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” There was no way he was twenty-one either. No. Way.

“What exactly is this anyway?” I tried to make my tone as light and carefree as possible in an effort to redeem myself.
This? Oh, sure, it’s nothing. I drink fiery cocktails every day.

“A house specialty. You’ll love it.”

“I guess you don’t worry much about fire codes around here, huh?”

“Obviously not.” He laughed and took another sip of champagne. “So, go on, make a wish.”

A wish. Well, where to begin? I watched it burn and glanced quickly at his face. My heart quivered when I found that he was still looking at me. “Umm . . .”

“Relax, you’ve got some time. Let it burn itself out. It’ll burn off the alcohol.” He raised his eyebrow at me again, as he had that morning.

“Ohhhh. Good to know.”

“Don’t worry, we play by the rules here. Most of the time.” He drained his champagne glass and reached across me to set it on the table.

“Glad to hear it.” Nothing more enticing than a girl who follows the rules.

“Now be careful with that,” Lucian said in a light, almost mocking tone. With one quick motion, he flicked my long hair over my shoulder and tucked a strand behind my ear, out of the way from the drink’s small flame. I had to focus to firm up my grip on the chalice. “Enjoy,” he said, rising to his feet. He swooped down toward me and, with his hand set lightly on my chin, kissed my cheek. The shock of it, of his warm lips against my flushed skin, sent every bit of feeling rushing to my head. I was sure the blush was overtaking my face. I saw it and felt it all in slow motion, assigning a weight to the action, something important and special between us. But I was smart enough to know that his days were likely filled with millions of kisses like this. Weren’t they? He slipped away as quickly as he had appeared, absorbed into the crowd on the platform and then down the stairs and gone. I stared after him, not really seeing anything.

It took me a while to realize the tapping at my shoulder was Dante. He had come to sit next to me. I turned my head toward him and tried to catch up on what he was saying. His lips were moving so fast but my brain was moving so slow. The music had gotten louder. My drink, in this ridiculously large glass in my hands, felt heavy again. I tried to pay attention.

“ . . . could not stop watching, it was unbelievable . . . I look up and you’re in the middle of this little tête-à-tête with the boss.He’s absurdly hot, it’s out of control. So?”

His skin was slick from so much dancing.

“So?” My thoughts were coming down the pipeline again, only very slowly.

“So, what was that about? I’m dying here!” He leaned forward, making sweeping gestures with his hands. “I have to hear everything.”

“I think I like the ring of fire.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I like what you’re sayin’.”

“That’s where we are—this is the ring of fire; that’s what he said.”

“What else? Tell me more.”

“He gave me this for my birthday. Did you see? It was on fire!” I was beginning to break a sweat. The flame was long gone, but I blew into the glass just to be safe, rippling the surface with my breath. I lifted it to take a sip then stopped. “He said the alcohol burned off. From a scientific point of view, that sounds correct, wouldn’t you say?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Dante concurred. “Want me to try?” He grabbed it from my hands and took a sip. “You’re fine, drink up.”

“Thanks.” I took a tentative sip. It tasted like carbonated fruit punch. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was—I kept drinking like it was one of those sports drinks and I’d just run a marathon.

“What did he
say?
” Dante pressed on.

“Not much really. He said to make a wish.”

“Smooth. He’s smooth,” he said, with cool admiration. “I’m not surprised.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, my voice losing some of its steam and wild optimism. I knew I was blowing things out of proportion. I tried to bring myself back down to earth. “I’m sure it was all no big deal.”

Dante shrugged, thinking it over.

And I jumped back in: “But I mean that whole bit with my hair, did you see that?” He nodded. “Was that just a safety precaution or something else?” I asked. He took it seriously, hand to his chin, thinking, thinking.

Finally: “Now, I want to say it was possibly something else.”

“You do . . .” I brightened.

He continued, “But prudence dictates that we monitor the situation before getting too excited.”

“Can we get a little excited?”

“A little excitement is definitely permissible since it’s your birthday.”

I smiled in a big way and whispered, “Yay.”

He laughed. I settled back into the soft confines of the bench. Peaceful waves crashed over me. I felt like rays of light were shooting from my pores, and my skin was hot but so awake. Yet my mind was so much the opposite. The music, throbbing as it was, wooed me to sleep; the sparkling flames and the tremble of activity around us all carried me off. My eyes may have drooped shut; either that or I just couldn’t remember what I had been looking at for the past several minutes.

“That blonde sure has been talking to Lance for a while, even though he’s just sitting there. I’ll have to give you both lessons in flirting,” Dante said.