Chapter Nine: The Trial Run
Author's Note: For Nita and her 'light encouragement.' I owe it all to The System. *nods* Without it, TMOAL would be... *dramatic* Dead.
* * *
Christian decided straightaway that he definitely did not like the look on Satine's face as she climbed into the car. But he decided the polite thing to do would be not to say anything about it.
In retrospect, perhaps he should have.
Or, more than that, he should have expected something from her. But her change of appearance threw him. She looked like a lady. Therefore, she should act like a lady. Right?
To put it simply, he had never been more wrong.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smoothed deep red lipstick over her full lips before checking her appearance in the mirror. It was amazing how different she looked without her usual overabundance of makeup. The effect was rather...
He returned his gaze to the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. The road, Christian. Pay attention to the road. Ignore the fact that the thin strap on her left side was beginning to slide off her pale shoulder. Just ignore it. The road was far more important than that. It was also more important than the way that tendril of hair was falling across her sparkling eyes. Much more important, definitely.
"So, where are we going?"
Her voice startled him. "Well, we are stopping by my friend's apartment first to pick up him and his potential date. He will guide us from there."
"To a mystery location, I guess?"
"To a mystery location, you *presume,*" he corrected.
"Whatever," she sighed, brushing absentmindedly at a strand of hair and staring out the window.
"No, Satine. You will learn to speak properly. You do not say 'I guess.' Teenagers, most of whom do not care enough for English to wince as they butcher it, use such words. English professors... and I needn't remind you that you are from this point on an English professor, do not speak in such ways. Your façade will be seen through in mere seconds if you say such a thing at the Conference."
"And I presume," she shot back, overly exaggerating her last word, "that we do not wish for that tremendous horror to occur. Am I correct, Professor?"
He scowled at her mocking smile. "It is not humorous."
Her smile only increased. "It kindof is."
"The last time I checked my Webster's Dictionary, 'kindof' was not a word."
She rolled her eyes. "Can't you ever just relax? We're supposed to have fun tonight. And, believe it or not, having you constantly correct everything I say is not my idea of fun. Just an fyi."
He stared at the road for a moment before he dared to ask. "What does 'fyi' mean?"
She burst out laughing. "Are you serious?" A smirk played on her face when she decided that he was indeed serious. "Oh my God... you really don't get out much, do ya? It means 'for your information.'"
"I see." He parked outside the apartment complex and turned off the car, feeling rather... dumb. He had been worried that it would have stood for something... sexual. For once, it hadn't. Surprising. Just when he had gotten use to the blatantly sexual remarks too.
"Are we both going up?"
"That would be the polite thing to do."
"And the ladylike thing, I gu... presume."
"Precisely." He opened his door and got out, bending down a moment later to peer in at her. "Are you coming?"
"I was waiting for the gentleman of our group to assist me as I exit the vehicle," she said, her nose tilted upwards and her voice distinctly nasally and elitist. She was mocking him. Again. He moved to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Then he stepped up on the curb and walked swiftly towards the door to the apartment building, ringing for Paul. She made an angry noise in her throat that he, of course, did not hear, and climbed out of the car, slamming the door closed a bit harder than necessary.
Christian cringed. "Miss Campbell, if you please, attempt not to damage my car."
"Sorry," she snapped back before moving to lean against the side of the building. He frowned at her, and she straightened, cussing under her breath. A moment later, the buzzer rang, signaling that they were now allowed passage upstairs. Christian mounted the stairs inside, Satine trailing behind him.
"Here we are," he announced once they had reached apartment 27C, and he raised his hand to knock on the door. The Spaniard was faster. The door opened before Christian could rap against it, and the both were greeted by the overly enthusiastic professor.
He pulled Christian into a hug, exclaiming, "So good to see you again, mi amigo! You're late, but don't look so stuffy! Appointments are made to be broken. Now come, come, introduce me to this ravishing young woman before she thinks you rude!" He winked at Satine, who smiled coyly back.
"Er, yes, of course. This is Miss Satine Campbell, an English professor at... one of the local colleges. Miss Campbell, this is Paul Martinez, my friend and Spanish professor at the university."
She graciously, as he had taught her, extended her hand to him. He took it, turned it over, and raised it to his lips. After kissing the back of her hand, the edges of his mustache brushing her skin, he raised his eyes to her. "Call me Paul, mi diamante."
She tilted her head in a play at shyness. "Thank you."
"Now, vamos, mis amigos! We must be going! The night is still young!" He bustled out of the room, his suit jacket draped over his shoulders like some imitation of a matador's cape, not bothering to close the door behind him. Christian did so for him with a roll of his eyes and quickly followed the retreating figure.
* * *
Paul climbed from the backseat of the car fifteen minutes later and opened Satine's door with a flourish, offering his hand to help her up onto the curb. He gestured at the building before them as Christian gave the valet the keys. "The Red Elephant, senorita. One of the finest clubs on this side of New York... at least, out of the ones you can get into without reservations and a black tie."
It was a stunning building. The head of an elephant, as red as blood, protruded from the front of the building, it's elegant tusk curling upwards to connect in the middle of its marble forehead. Ivory tusks descended on either side of the door.
"Goddamn..." she breathed, and Christian began to cough violently at her side.
Paul looked down at her. "Did you say something?"
"Yes," she responded with a wide grin. "I said, 'it's lovely.'"
"It is, isn't it?" He offered his arm to her, and she hooked her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Shall we?"
"Of course." She sauntered into the club on the professor's arm, leaving Christian to walk incredulously behind them. He should have known better than to let Paul and Satine near each other. He really should have.
He frowned as he followed them, disapproving of the swing of her hips beneath her snug dress, of the girlish laughter that bubbled to her lips as Paul said something to her. She shouldn't be acting like that with him. She should know better. Hadn't she listened to a thing he'd drilled into her head the past week and a half? The Conference would be a scandal if she acted like this there.
He could just see it, with Satine in her black mini-skirt and a tube top and propositioning the Head of Department... He shook his head. No. He didn't want to picture it. He didn't need to. He would be living it in a little under three weeks. That would be enough torture.
But he still didn't like the way the two were acting together.
Paul needlessly assisted Satine onto a stool at the bar... in her heels, it was barely a stretch for her, and quickly took the seat next to her, leaving Christian next to Paul, the ladies' man of the entire Eastern sea border.
When Paul lit her cigarette for her, Christian decided that he'd had enough. He tapped his friend on the shoulder. The man was still indulged in getting an ashtray for Satine and ignored Christian. He tapped him again, more insistently, this time leaning over and adding, "Look over there... isn't that Mary-Beth Sandritz?"
Abruptly, Paul dropped the ashtray, consequently spilling old ashes across the counter. "What?" he exclaimed, nearly falling off of his stool in surprise. He glanced around wildly as Christian fought to maintain his composure. Mary-Beth had been a one-night tryst gone horribly wrong. It had turned out that the seemingly normal, flirty girl was actually a clingy horror of a woman who had followed Paul around for days, begging him to marry her and proclaiming that he was the love of her life to all who would listen.
Paul now refused to even talk to a girl once he found out that her name was Mary. Girls named Beth made him pale.
"I thought I saw her over there." He pointed vaguely to the most crowded section of the club in hopes that the Spanish playboy would become immensely paranoid and take his leave of the little party.
He did.
With an elaborate bow and a kiss on the cheek to Satine and a smile to Christian that was both apologetic and grateful, Paul jammed his had on his head and hurried out of the building, calling back that he would catch a cab back home.
Satine regarded him quizzically. "Who's Mary-Beth?"
He shrugged. "It's a long story."
"I see." She sipped her drink and glanced around. "So, what exactly are we doing here?"
"Seeing how well you fare out in the world."
Another drink, this one longer than the last. "Like a dog on a leash, whose master is seeing how well he behaves before deciding to lengthen the chain."
A frown crossed his face. "Well... I suppose..."
She turned and pressed a manicured finger to his lips, silencing him. "Shh. You don't always have to talk you know."
"I kn-"
The finger pressed down more firmly, as if to restate her previous sentence, before being removed and returning to cup the drink in her hand.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence, Satine nursing along her drink and Christian contemplating how many drinks it would take for him to ask...
"May I have this dance?"
Both turned as one to observe the speaker, and Satine nearly fell to the floor in surprise. Christian, however, smiled brightly and stood, offering his hand in greeting to the young man who had approached Satine. "Frederick! Frederick Duke!"
The blonde smiled and shook the professor's hand enthusiastically. "Christian Higgins! How many times have I asked you to call me Freddy?"
END CHAPTER NINE
Author's Note: For Nita and her 'light encouragement.' I owe it all to The System. *nods* Without it, TMOAL would be... *dramatic* Dead.
* * *
Christian decided straightaway that he definitely did not like the look on Satine's face as she climbed into the car. But he decided the polite thing to do would be not to say anything about it.
In retrospect, perhaps he should have.
Or, more than that, he should have expected something from her. But her change of appearance threw him. She looked like a lady. Therefore, she should act like a lady. Right?
To put it simply, he had never been more wrong.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smoothed deep red lipstick over her full lips before checking her appearance in the mirror. It was amazing how different she looked without her usual overabundance of makeup. The effect was rather...
He returned his gaze to the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. The road, Christian. Pay attention to the road. Ignore the fact that the thin strap on her left side was beginning to slide off her pale shoulder. Just ignore it. The road was far more important than that. It was also more important than the way that tendril of hair was falling across her sparkling eyes. Much more important, definitely.
"So, where are we going?"
Her voice startled him. "Well, we are stopping by my friend's apartment first to pick up him and his potential date. He will guide us from there."
"To a mystery location, I guess?"
"To a mystery location, you *presume,*" he corrected.
"Whatever," she sighed, brushing absentmindedly at a strand of hair and staring out the window.
"No, Satine. You will learn to speak properly. You do not say 'I guess.' Teenagers, most of whom do not care enough for English to wince as they butcher it, use such words. English professors... and I needn't remind you that you are from this point on an English professor, do not speak in such ways. Your façade will be seen through in mere seconds if you say such a thing at the Conference."
"And I presume," she shot back, overly exaggerating her last word, "that we do not wish for that tremendous horror to occur. Am I correct, Professor?"
He scowled at her mocking smile. "It is not humorous."
Her smile only increased. "It kindof is."
"The last time I checked my Webster's Dictionary, 'kindof' was not a word."
She rolled her eyes. "Can't you ever just relax? We're supposed to have fun tonight. And, believe it or not, having you constantly correct everything I say is not my idea of fun. Just an fyi."
He stared at the road for a moment before he dared to ask. "What does 'fyi' mean?"
She burst out laughing. "Are you serious?" A smirk played on her face when she decided that he was indeed serious. "Oh my God... you really don't get out much, do ya? It means 'for your information.'"
"I see." He parked outside the apartment complex and turned off the car, feeling rather... dumb. He had been worried that it would have stood for something... sexual. For once, it hadn't. Surprising. Just when he had gotten use to the blatantly sexual remarks too.
"Are we both going up?"
"That would be the polite thing to do."
"And the ladylike thing, I gu... presume."
"Precisely." He opened his door and got out, bending down a moment later to peer in at her. "Are you coming?"
"I was waiting for the gentleman of our group to assist me as I exit the vehicle," she said, her nose tilted upwards and her voice distinctly nasally and elitist. She was mocking him. Again. He moved to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Then he stepped up on the curb and walked swiftly towards the door to the apartment building, ringing for Paul. She made an angry noise in her throat that he, of course, did not hear, and climbed out of the car, slamming the door closed a bit harder than necessary.
Christian cringed. "Miss Campbell, if you please, attempt not to damage my car."
"Sorry," she snapped back before moving to lean against the side of the building. He frowned at her, and she straightened, cussing under her breath. A moment later, the buzzer rang, signaling that they were now allowed passage upstairs. Christian mounted the stairs inside, Satine trailing behind him.
"Here we are," he announced once they had reached apartment 27C, and he raised his hand to knock on the door. The Spaniard was faster. The door opened before Christian could rap against it, and the both were greeted by the overly enthusiastic professor.
He pulled Christian into a hug, exclaiming, "So good to see you again, mi amigo! You're late, but don't look so stuffy! Appointments are made to be broken. Now come, come, introduce me to this ravishing young woman before she thinks you rude!" He winked at Satine, who smiled coyly back.
"Er, yes, of course. This is Miss Satine Campbell, an English professor at... one of the local colleges. Miss Campbell, this is Paul Martinez, my friend and Spanish professor at the university."
She graciously, as he had taught her, extended her hand to him. He took it, turned it over, and raised it to his lips. After kissing the back of her hand, the edges of his mustache brushing her skin, he raised his eyes to her. "Call me Paul, mi diamante."
She tilted her head in a play at shyness. "Thank you."
"Now, vamos, mis amigos! We must be going! The night is still young!" He bustled out of the room, his suit jacket draped over his shoulders like some imitation of a matador's cape, not bothering to close the door behind him. Christian did so for him with a roll of his eyes and quickly followed the retreating figure.
* * *
Paul climbed from the backseat of the car fifteen minutes later and opened Satine's door with a flourish, offering his hand to help her up onto the curb. He gestured at the building before them as Christian gave the valet the keys. "The Red Elephant, senorita. One of the finest clubs on this side of New York... at least, out of the ones you can get into without reservations and a black tie."
It was a stunning building. The head of an elephant, as red as blood, protruded from the front of the building, it's elegant tusk curling upwards to connect in the middle of its marble forehead. Ivory tusks descended on either side of the door.
"Goddamn..." she breathed, and Christian began to cough violently at her side.
Paul looked down at her. "Did you say something?"
"Yes," she responded with a wide grin. "I said, 'it's lovely.'"
"It is, isn't it?" He offered his arm to her, and she hooked her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Shall we?"
"Of course." She sauntered into the club on the professor's arm, leaving Christian to walk incredulously behind them. He should have known better than to let Paul and Satine near each other. He really should have.
He frowned as he followed them, disapproving of the swing of her hips beneath her snug dress, of the girlish laughter that bubbled to her lips as Paul said something to her. She shouldn't be acting like that with him. She should know better. Hadn't she listened to a thing he'd drilled into her head the past week and a half? The Conference would be a scandal if she acted like this there.
He could just see it, with Satine in her black mini-skirt and a tube top and propositioning the Head of Department... He shook his head. No. He didn't want to picture it. He didn't need to. He would be living it in a little under three weeks. That would be enough torture.
But he still didn't like the way the two were acting together.
Paul needlessly assisted Satine onto a stool at the bar... in her heels, it was barely a stretch for her, and quickly took the seat next to her, leaving Christian next to Paul, the ladies' man of the entire Eastern sea border.
When Paul lit her cigarette for her, Christian decided that he'd had enough. He tapped his friend on the shoulder. The man was still indulged in getting an ashtray for Satine and ignored Christian. He tapped him again, more insistently, this time leaning over and adding, "Look over there... isn't that Mary-Beth Sandritz?"
Abruptly, Paul dropped the ashtray, consequently spilling old ashes across the counter. "What?" he exclaimed, nearly falling off of his stool in surprise. He glanced around wildly as Christian fought to maintain his composure. Mary-Beth had been a one-night tryst gone horribly wrong. It had turned out that the seemingly normal, flirty girl was actually a clingy horror of a woman who had followed Paul around for days, begging him to marry her and proclaiming that he was the love of her life to all who would listen.
Paul now refused to even talk to a girl once he found out that her name was Mary. Girls named Beth made him pale.
"I thought I saw her over there." He pointed vaguely to the most crowded section of the club in hopes that the Spanish playboy would become immensely paranoid and take his leave of the little party.
He did.
With an elaborate bow and a kiss on the cheek to Satine and a smile to Christian that was both apologetic and grateful, Paul jammed his had on his head and hurried out of the building, calling back that he would catch a cab back home.
Satine regarded him quizzically. "Who's Mary-Beth?"
He shrugged. "It's a long story."
"I see." She sipped her drink and glanced around. "So, what exactly are we doing here?"
"Seeing how well you fare out in the world."
Another drink, this one longer than the last. "Like a dog on a leash, whose master is seeing how well he behaves before deciding to lengthen the chain."
A frown crossed his face. "Well... I suppose..."
She turned and pressed a manicured finger to his lips, silencing him. "Shh. You don't always have to talk you know."
"I kn-"
The finger pressed down more firmly, as if to restate her previous sentence, before being removed and returning to cup the drink in her hand.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence, Satine nursing along her drink and Christian contemplating how many drinks it would take for him to ask...
"May I have this dance?"
Both turned as one to observe the speaker, and Satine nearly fell to the floor in surprise. Christian, however, smiled brightly and stood, offering his hand in greeting to the young man who had approached Satine. "Frederick! Frederick Duke!"
The blonde smiled and shook the professor's hand enthusiastically. "Christian Higgins! How many times have I asked you to call me Freddy?"
END CHAPTER NINE