A cold, white penthouse isn't the best place to find warmth when there's fog so thick outside that it reaches all the highest roof tops. Wearing my wool socks and a big t-shirt I sneaked into the kitchen where the white coldness changed into black, shiny marble and brushed metal. The paper and pen with the initials "A.V." on them seemed to have a blaming glow when I tried to decide what to write. I stared at the frosted window and the silhouette of New York and thought through the whole story that led up to this minute.
Christmas parties in the year 1973 were just as stylish as you could expect from the rich children of rich parents – so sophisticated and elegant that even those who were used to that kind of lifestyle felt almost uncomfortable. I came, partially forced by my friends, and now I was bored and mildly depressed. I was single for the first time in two years and even though that wasn't the case, I felt that the apartment was full of couples. With their champagne glasses and pearl necklaces two friends of mine came to sit on my both sides and giggled enthusiastically. They whispered eagerly that Adrian Veidt was coming; surely he would come before dinner. He was sophisticated, handsome, intelligent and reputedly "so my type". I took this enthusiasm with reservation and cynicism but decided to stay for a while.
Adrian arrived a little before we sat ourselves at the table. There was no denial that he was handsome, but there was something cold in his straight nose, the cool blue of his eyes and high cheekbones. He was sitting near the end of the table; I was on the other side in the middle section. From there I saw better his profile, and distractingly often I surprised myself by perusing it. A few times he looked at me and I looked away only after a few seconds. The conversation buzzed all around, until one certain son of a businessman, Charles Griffin, called me from three seats away.
"Hey Miller, how's your boyfriend doing?" Most of the guests continued their speaking, but some fell silent and kept their eyes on their plates and ears towards our little conversation. There was nothing like a good old humiliation.
"I can't say. I haven't seen him lately," I answered politely, but firmly.
"Really? I'm pretty sure that he came from your apartment yesterday with some boxes," he continued, face all reddish after drinking too much.
"Well, maybe. I was at work. You see, some of us do something for a living," I said a smile on my face. This caused some devilish grins and end of this conversation. I gazed at Adrian, who had just picked up his glass; he smiled a little and clearly raised the glass for me before drinking.
After the dinner we continued the party in the living room. All cream-colored decorations was the reason why no one wore white. I stood with a glass of soda and watched the flirting, talking, gossiping and laughing. I wasn't feeling very social; maybe the conflict with Charles had had its consequences after all.
Speak of the devil, Charles appeared. He wasn't that drunk, but his eyes were slightly off-focus and gleaming.
"So, all alone again?" he breathed. I smelled liquor and cigars. "Can't say I'm surprised…"
"Please Charles, walk away," I asked. I wasn't irritated but I was tired and did feel unsafe.
"Oh come on, I just want to know what your secret is, why you always end up alone…"
"Is there a problem?" asked someone. Adrian had come behind Charles, probably so quietly that not even I noticed.
"Listen pal…" Charles began, but when he turned and faced Adrian's chest, he shut up and looked at his face. I hadn't realized how tall he was - definitely over 6 feet! For a while the two just looked at each other. I couldn't see Charles's face, but Adrian was cool and calm. He didn't show any signs of threat, but somehow he radiated such strength and power that Charles finally walked away without a word.
"Right on time," I said to my saviour as if this had been planned.
"Who is he anyway?" Adrian asked, looking at Charles's back contemptuously.
"A son of a bank manager who is my father's colleague. He has probably been interested in me for a while but I don't share his emotions," I said. Immediately I was embarrassed – why had I said so much? But Adrian didn't seem to mind. He turned his face to me and just looked at me. My four-inch heels lifted my eyes near his chin; I would feel awfully small beside him barefooted.
"Adrian Veidt," he introduced himself, eyes still attached to mine, his hand in front of me.
"Alexandra Miller," I said. Some of these fake-noblemen would kiss my hand at this point even though it was against the etiquette. Adrian didn't do that nor kiss the air above my hand. He just kept his hand in mine, feeling the skin with this thumb. All this time our eyes were attached to each other.
Our conversation was light and polite, but not forced in any way. He asked most of the questions and answered my few questions shortly. I smiled widely, as it was natural for me, but Adrian's smile only twitched on his face occasionally. It didn't quite catch his eyes probably causing the overall coldness in his expressions. But still, he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen.
Adrian left the party just before midnight, shook my hand shortly and showed me a flash of his smile. Shortly after that I left too – I had no one to talk to, except my friends who eagerly wanted to know everything about our conversation. Unwilling to give any information of it – I was surprised myself, because there was nothing private in our sentences – I avoided further questionings and walked the frosted streets home.
My parents had a late Christmas lunch in January 1974, since they had been in Europe over the holidays. I was on my way home when the concierge stopped me and handed me a hand-written card.
I feel that we didn't have enough time last time. I want to know a little more. A car is waiting at 8 pm.
A.V.
I was astonished. I had thought I would never hear from Adrian again. Thanking the concierge, I walked to the elevators like a sleepwalker. During the journey upstairs I almost had time to drive myself crazy thinking of my hairdo, dress, jewellery, shoes and what I had already eaten that day. In the end I tried to shake away all those irrational and panicky thoughts. My wardrobe included a perfect dress for any situation, heels could be sky-high and I still wouldn't be taller than Adrian and a quick check from the elevator mirror told me that I looked just fine. I now knew that Adrian hadn't forgotten me and that I had made quite an impression on him. He was supposedly a perfectionist, but if I had passed his demands a month ago feeling cynical and derisive, I would definitely look better when confident and social. All that cleared my head so that when I was at my door, my heart raced with nothing but anticipation for the evening.
At eight, the elevator doors opened and I stepped to the hall. With a cream-colored light siffon dress, golden stilettos and some golden accessories topped with a bouffant but soft curls I hoped I would make the best impression. It was a silly thought because I had prepared myself for hours and knew that I looked glamorous but still fresh. A chauffeur rose from a leather chair and took his hat off.
"Mr Veidt is in the car," he announced to me, preceding to the doors. A limousine sat in front of the doors, silent and stylish. The chauffeur opened the back door and I slid in.
Adrian put down the handset of his phone and said softly, "Good evening, Alexandra."
"Good evening, Adrian. And please, call me Alex," I replied instinctively more quietly than usually.