December 31, 2012 11:57pm The Waldorf Astoria New York, New York
At the end of the day and with the exception of bourbon, Charlie's tastes ran to the less selective side of things. He had a trusty trench coat, which was a nice tan color that he wore most of the time. He had a few favorite dress shirts and an obscene number of bow ties. He had a good brand of blazers and slacks that he could buy off the rack without needing to find a tailor, very simple and they were all easy things to acquire. Sure, the stores had changed and they were bigger and less personal than before, but he could still be a normal human being and make these purchases himself and not have to depend on some else to do it for him. He wasn't famous outside of select social circles.
However, those things were not for tonight. Charlie looked distinguished tonight and it was one of the few times he ever did purposefully. The long black cashmere dress coat with the long white scarf draped around his neck was a dead giveaway. The custom made tuxedo underneath and the Prada shoes are stark contrast to him and his usual personality. It was all contrary to who is; this look literally screamed that had he made different life choices he would be one of the owners of Atlantis World Media and not only an employee. He made his way with purpose down the hotel corridor, peeling off his leather gloves and stuffing them into one pocket as he fished out a hotel room key from the other.
The flimsy piece of plastic that was a key had been messengered to him, number scrawled on the front of the plain office grade envelope the day before with no note and no explanation because it didn't need one. It was the same thing that had been done for the last twenty or so years; the keys changed from actual keys to plastic cards but other than that, the arrangement was the same.
He admits himself into the dark room, throws the key on the floor and doesn't bother with the light. Enough of the city's glow is pouring in the window, a soft light that shows the outline of the room and is enough for him to see the outline of two beds. Doesn't really matter to him, he's not staying here for more than ten minutes at the most. He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it on the bed, and unbuttons his tuxedo jacket. He finds the door that connects to the next room, undoes the locks that admits him into the next room, the other door open and unlocked from the other room's occupant.
Her back is to him, she doesn't need to turn to know that he's arrived with only a few minutes to spare. Leona's been waiting longer than she should have been, because after all of these years she thought that she would have figured out to come up only minutes before instead of an hour before. The wait is the worst in that last hour and at least, had she stayed at the party downstairs she could have drank some more champagne. She comes early because she has no sense of time, she never has. She can't tell you if something takes an hour or a minute to do. She has great respect for time, just not how to measure it. She doesn't want to be late.
This year's dress was a red custom number and she was wrapped into it. Off the shoulder, something that she knows he's always loved, and it just sticks to her and her body until it reaches her hips and flares out just enough to be comfortable for dancing, yet maintains her thinness as she stands still. The traffic is strangely soothing as it goes by, as the minutes give way to the end of one year and to the next. She's been watching the traffic now for a while and only has to look up to see his reflection in the window. Charlie doesn't bother to turn her around; he just rests his head on her bare shoulder, chin to her neck. One of his arms tangles around her waist, the other finds itself across her collarbone.
Her hands hang off the arm that's across her chest and she dares to look in the window to see before closing her eyes. Time, again, there is no accounting for it. They don't need to because in a few brief moments, the city comes alive with a soft roar and car horns and faint strands of music mingling together. He lets go of her slowly as she turns towards him, his thumbs tracing her shoulders as she makes the turn. One of his thumbs eventually finds her chin and tilts her face up to his.
It's not chaste, their kiss, they never are. One of her arms finds his waist and the other wraps around his shoulder. For his part, one of his arms snakes around to the small of her back and the other hand is soft against her cheek. They know each other's secrets, they always have and this single moment of the year they are reminded of that. That they choose to acknowledge all of the things that happened in the past; recent and not so recent. They are intense this year, it was a miserable year on so many fronts and they know it, their exchange shows. It was difficult on so many levels for her and for him and this kiss is an acknowledgement, an apology, a prayer and installation of hope.
Just as quickly as the passion burst, it's over because the moment is passing and they both pull away at the same time, a strange synchronicity. Charlie's looking down at her now he traces the line of her shoulders down to the side of her arms, familiar, friendly, safe. "Happy New Year my Lovely Leona," he says softly.
She flattens imaginary wrinkles from his jacket, her hands resting on his chest, close to his heart. "Happy New Year my Charming Charlie," With that said, she turns from him, looks back out at the window where traffic, which had stopped for the sound of the clock for the passing of another year. Reality was slowly coming back to life and she didn't look at the reflection now as he disappeared from it and walked out of her room.
He scooped up his jacket from the bed in the other room and leaves, door clicking behind.
She stays in her room another hour only because she loses track of time.