A creaking sounded through the deathly stillness as Darien swiveled to and fro in the dark, office chair, a chair that had come to represent everything Andrew hated about the business. His office was dark and life-less, created to be rid of any distractions apart from success, distractions like sunlight.
"I like the plant," Darien chuckled, "There's finally something in here that we know for sure is alive. Not like you and me; we're half dead already."
Andrew frowned, mentally equating his friend with a child, quickly amused by the movements of a seat. He had called him in here for a purpose, and now, looking at him, he nearly forgot what it was. Or maybe, he didn't want to remember. He had had to reevaluate himself in the past few days. Whose good was he doing all this for? The last thing Darien needed was to be tied down. He wasn't in a relationship because he wasn't fit for a relationship. In some ways, he was still eighteen…
"What would you say…" he started, speaking slowly and with caution, "What would you say if I told you I had a plan?"
"I would say for what, and keep me out of it."
Andrew shook his head, his words tumbling out of his mouth in spite of himself, "Darien, you need to find a wife."
"Tell me something I haven't heard," he mumbled, "What is it this time Andrew? Is she blond? Or a brunette? Better yet, how about a red head. I could use some variety."
"All of them."
Darien raised an eyebrow at his unexpected answer, and despite his practiced indifference, his curiosity perked its ears, "In case you haven't gotten the memo Einstein, polygamy is illegal. I wouldn't object to starting a harem of my own, but…"
"Shut-up," he interrupted, "Hear me out. This plan is fool-proof. It can't fail. Not even with you in the picture."
"Thanks."
Andrew continued, ignoring his comment, "You're going to hate me, but I guarantee you'll find somebody. It's like putting a buffet in front of a starving man. There's no way you'll pass up any of these women. They're beautiful, intelligent, cultured."
Darien chuckled, slowly catching on, "You're going to parade hoards of women in front of me, and hope that I choose one in a couple of hours." He pushed himself up out of the chair and crossed the desk to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder in mock sympathy. "Let me tell you what you're doing Andrew; you're putting entirely too much faith into something that doesn't exist."
"And what is that?" he retorted.
"Love at first sight."
"You underestimate me Darien," he said affectionately, "I'm counting on lust at first sight, not love. I know how your head works."
Darien smiled, enjoying the friendly verbal contestation, "Let's go back to the metaphor for a second…" he paused, "You put a buffet in front of a starving man and expect him to take just one?"
"You're hardly lacking in women," Andrew pointed out, "You can't equate yourself to a starving man."
"But you forget," a playful gleam shone in his eye, "I'm Italian."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Increased libido," he winked.
Andrew watched him as a frown threatened to tug at the corners of mouth. He was quickly sobering to the unlikelihood that Darien would choose a woman to join in holy matrimony. In some ways, it felt like he had played himself right into a trap—unwittingly given him what he wanted. He had pictured a grand procession of women and one extraordinary one that would catch his eye; they would meet and fall maddeningly in love. The end. But looking at Darien, he could tell the night would probably go quite differently. He mentally saw him pulling along a young girl to go tastelessly fuck in the backseat of his car, leaving the remainder of the guests wondering where he had gone off to, and by first light the next day, she would be abandoned, shooed out of his apartment like the morning garbage.
"Darien," he said, "promise me you'll give these women a chance. I didn't set this up to find you another one night stand." He stopped, watching his friend situate himself back down to the leather seating of the chair, scowling at the change in atmosphere. "I want you to be happy…"
"Bull shit!" he exploded, "You want the money. I never know whether or not I can trust you anymore Andrew. It seems like every time we argue, every time we even get together and talk, it all turns to the money!"
Andrew sighed, letting his arms fall loosely at his sides in exhaustion. He had been through this millions of times, and it seemed to get worse and worse with each confrontation. But whether out of perseverance or stupidity, he pushed on, throwing woman after woman, plan after plan at him, only to have them all fail. After years of this, it had become almost a mechanical act; he did things, easily able to predict the ill-fated outcome, but he did them anyways. And lately, it had begun to rap on his conscience, what was his real intention? He didn't even know anymore.
"Do you really think that's all I'm about? The money? We've been best friends since we were in diapers. Is it a sin to want to see you happy and in love?" he paused, studying the accusatory glint in the eye of his friend, "But you don't trust me…How long has it been Darien? How long has it been since you've trusted anybody? You've let this destroy you."
"I'm not the only one," he shot back, "Can you honestly tell me that you planned your party with purely good intentions? That you didn't let my damn inheritance creep into your thoughts, not once? I doubt you could say you don't think of that money and how fucking close you are to losing it everyday. I mention something remotely sexual, and you go crazy, afraid that I won't be taking this seriously."
"You won't"
"Damn right I won't! It's ridiculous—like Cinder-fucking-ella all over again. Is that how you thought this would work out? Like Cinderella? We don't live in a fairy-tale world Andrew, and Disney is one big scam. Happily-ever-afters are for fools like you who can't get their heads out of the clouds." Darien had, without even realizing, begun shouting with such vigor that the pen he held in his clenched hand had broken in half. Nearly red in the face, he viciously kicked the chair out from beneath him in one swift movement, and started towards the door in a blind, heated stupor, bringing his fist into contact with the nearest wall.
Andrew watched him, trying desperately to retain his calm demeanor, his stiff countenance that had taken years to cultivate. What he was seeing was the destruction of a man—of his friend. The Greek hero was being brought down to earth, a final humbling that would devastate his spirit, and this money was proving to be his ruin.
"That's not what you used to think," he said softly, "If I remember correctly, it was quite the opposite. You—the hopeless romantic. Wasn't it you who insisted we ornate ourselves with soda can armor to go save our damsels in distress?"
Darien shook his head, giving a broken chuckle at the resurfaced memory. Slowly, he brought the torn skin of his fist to his body, "And they slapped us in reward, for slaying their dragon boyfriends." He turned towards his friend, collapsing against the wall with a defeated sigh, "I can't keep this up Andrew, and I don't know what to do. I feel like the past few months have been years. I'm running out of time, and I don't know what to do." He shut his eyes, feeling the familiar tightening strain on his chest, and the heat rise up his neck, through his nose. The moisture began to well at the corners of his eyes, slowly dripping down in great rivulets as he vainly willed them not to. "It's overwhelming sometimes…when everything rests on you, when so much depends on you."
Andrew shook his head sympathetically, "We can go on even without the money."
Darien gave a dry chuckle, "Then why place so much importance on it?" He picked himself up from the ground, regaining his composure. He looked just as he had ten minutes ago—calm with his signature cool confidence, like nothing had ever gone wrong and nothing ever would. He ran a casual hand through his deep black hair, "No, I'll go to your party Andrew, and maybe give fairy tales another try." He paused, studying his window reflection, "Still friends?"
Andrew nodded. "Always," he replied.
"Then it'll be all right."
************************
An Autumn breeze rustled tree leaves in Central Park, whirling some about, bringing some of them down to the ground into a frenzy of color, starkly contrasting the pale, dead tone of the grass, and two blondes—a man and a woman, one considerably taller than the other walked side by side, in stride with each other. An early glance told them to be lovers, but closer examination would reveal their bond to be of an understanding and compassion that only brothers and sisters can share, and this bond, struck up within literal minutes was that of rare and extraordinary consideration.
Andrew reached up, plucking a lone leaf, hued several different colors from a branch, "This is pretty."
Serena nodded, "mm hmm," her eyes sparkling, "This whole place is gorgeous. You know, I've never been here before. It makes me completely reevaluate my opinion of New York."
"Oh really? And what's that?"
She made a face, "That it stinks."
He laughed, "Come back here in the spring time. The blossoms are gorgeous, but I think New York is beautiful year round. There's no place like it in the world."
She shook her head slightly, so that it seemed as if she wasn't sure whether or not she truly disagreed, "No, I'd give anything to be back home…" her voice trailed off, taking on a quiet, reminiscing quality, "There used to be a stream that ran behind my house and trees all around it. In the spring time, there was nothing like it. A wooded area lied across, and I would swing to the other side and pretend I could escape to another world. During the first week of spring, the branches would be so filled with blossoms, it almost looked like a white winter, and when the wind blew…they'd all come down." She smiled, remembering, her face taking on a happy calm that nearly glowed.
Andrew grinned looking down on her, "sounds nice."
"It was"
They walked along, speaking no further, and occasionally, like a giddy young girl, Serena would stop and stoop to pick out a leaf that would catch her eye, by the time they had made their rounds through the park, and their car was in distant view, she had had quite a collection.
"What are you planning to do with all those?" he laughed.
"Well…" she paused, considering, "I don't know. Drop them, I guess."
"Drop them! But we spent so long."
"The fun is in the collecting, not the leaves," she interrupted, "The stream was beautiful in Autumn too. I used to pick up leaves and actually keep them, but leaves fade after a while. The picking…that's where the goods are," she laughed, "I played little games around that stream a lot. It gave me a good escape."
"If you don't mind," Andrew said, after a period of deep thought, he gingerly plucked a simple brown leaf from a branch, "That's the second time you've used the word escape. What was it exactly you were trying to escape from?"
Serena stopped, her face turning an ashen white, but almost as suddenly as it had, she smiled with a slightly forced vigor. However, her laugh curved with such exuberance that Andrew grinned as well, dismissing it to the imagination.
"I was a creative child," she chuckled, "I had to escape from everything: fire breathing dragons, wicked stepmothers, and dastardly villains. The only thing missing was a Prince Charming."
"An idealist," he nodded.
"And proud of it."
Andrew laughed, "I know the feeling. I spent half my childhood being dragged around on melodramatic missions to save all the wrong damsels, I'm afraid." He reached for the door handle, pulling open an entrance to the car.
Serena stepped in, the expression on her face amusedly surprised, "I wouldn't have expected you to be the hopeless romantic type."
"I'm not," he grinned, "Notice the word 'dragged.' I was the unwilling knight in shining armor."
She gave a small chuckle once the car started up, "Who dragged you?"
"My partner, Darien," he said, pausing, "—my friend. You'll be meeting him at my gala," he added as an afterthought.
Serena stopped, a look of slight alarm crossing her face, "About your gala…"
He smiled gently, perceiving her worries, "I'll take care of everything. My driver will retrieve you at seven and bring you over."
"I feel like such a bother," she interjected quietly. She looked down, feeling sheepish, knowing that she was here, out with him already—already a bother. In the morning, he had taken the initiative to call her, thinking that perhaps, it would do her good to go out. He knew just as well as she did that she would have done less than nothing with the number he had given her.
"Don't worry about anything. I'm glad you decided to come. It'll be nice to have you there. We're friends already aren't we?"
She smiled at the cordiality and warmth that radiated from his voice.
"I feel like I've known you for years," He continued, "You have such a comfortable demeanor."
"Then," she grinned, "I'm sure you'll be good to tell me where we're headed." Her eyes locked on the window, which had been recently obscured by dark, alley walls. She had noticed they made several turns, all of which took them deeper and deeper into a maze of dark passages.
He chuckled, lowering his voice mysteriously, "My secret weapon."
Serena giggled as he wiggled his brow up and down, "You look ridiculous."
He laughed along with her in high spirits while succinctly pointing out that they had arrived at the appointed destination.
"It's my very own diamond in the rough," he said, guiding her by hand onto the street, "Every one of her dresses are designed and crafted exclusively. She has years, some decades worth of work in that shop."
Serena nodded, struggling to find words to say, but it seemed the store said it all. In front of her stood a page from a storybook, a small Victorian painted a blinding chartreuse with almost random accents of color. "It's almost a shock to the senses."
"Yes, but in the most endearing way. Don't you think?"
She voiced her agreement, thanking him as he held open the door. "These dresses," she breathed, fighting to take it all in, "There must be dozens of these."
"Ninety-nine. She makes sure to always keep ninety-nine on display."
Serena turned, curious, "Why?"
He shrugged, and she focused her attention back to the walls, the expression of her face giddy, like an exuberant child. "Amazing," she whispered. Her fingers advanced cautiously, as if a touch from her would soil the dress, and at the slightest touch, the delicate hem swayed gently, almost as it would in the wind.
She craned her neck to face him, delighted at what she had seen, "It's glowing!" she exclaimed, "I've never seen anything like it."
"Why, thank-you."
Serena froze, struck by the low musicality, the sheer femininity of the voice that told her it wasn't Andrew's. The sound was graceful, and the tone—magical. It seemed to paint pictures in her mind, pictures of impossible elegance, impossible poise, pictures of the carrier, which matched perfectly the woman that stood beside her. She seemed to move with no effort, making her actions flow with an almost unnatural fluidity as her voice had. Her cheekbones were high and beautiful, and her almond eyes slanted into a flawless mystique. As she held out her hand, evidence of age that had been so well hidden in her face demonstrated itself with perfect grace.
"This," Andrew announced, placing his hand in hers, "Is the well acclaimed Diana, otherwise known as my secret weapon."
She laughed, bell like laughter, "He gives entirely too much flattery for an old woman like me." She leaned into Serena as if to tell a secret, "I'm really much older than I look. Don't tell Andrew, or he might take his business elsewhere." She laughed again, but this time, explosively. Her smile was wonderfully infectious.
"I never bring the special ones anywhere but here Diana," he grinned.
"He's trying to bribe me, is what he's doing. He knows perfectly well there's only two reasons why he comes back."
Andrew chuckled, friendly fire dancing in his eyes, "And what might those be?"
She cocked her brow, "Mina," and suddenly, almost as soon as the name had escaped the barrier of her lips, her smile took on another quality. It became the beam of sympathy that a mother gives to an injured child. Serena's eyes traveled to Andrew, fascinated as if a scene were taking place. His face did not betray him, but his eyes held a look that seemed despondent. Lost.
His voice lowered, the levity gone, "Was she here?"
"Earlier this afternoon."
"To buy a dress?"
She shook her head, "No, just to chat," she paused, "We spoke of you."
His eyebrows rose, "And?"
She smiled warmly, "I can't divulge everything."
Serena watched as his face fell, and he nodded dumbly, "Of course." He swallowed heavily and then grinned forcedly—a quickened heartache recovery, "And the second reason?"
Diana laughed, batting her eyelashes furiously, "My beauty."
He raised his hands smiling and admitting defeat, "Another given, but I'm afraid…" he stopped, looking at Serena, "that we've neglected my guest."
"Oh!" she cried, her eyes widening, "I believe we have." She took her hand gently into her delicate fingers, "You must be Serena." She chuckled again, noting the startled expression on her face, and perceiving her question, she said, "Andrew told me your name."
"You were right," she smiled, turning to him, "She is special."
Serena laughed a modest laugh, looking down as she felt a flush creep into her face, "Your store is amazing. I've never seen such beautiful dresses in my life."
She looked her over, her eyes seeming to flash with a light that seared her inside and out. Serena noticed their color—a deep, pale brown, so light they were almost yellow—almost gold, and they shone with an ethereal glow. It looked through her, straight through to her core and seemed to know everything. They were spellbinding.
She lifted her arm in a grand gesture, sweeping over the dresses that hung on the wall, "These, my dear," she said, beaming, "are not yours."
Serena stared, confusion clear in the lines of her face. "Yes," she stammered, "Of course not." She gave a nervous chuckle, "Silly me."
Diana smiled, the corners of her thin mouth curving mysteriously. Looking over the petite blond, she crooked a finger, "Come with me."
Serena looked back at Andrew, slightly reluctant, and as she opened her mouth to respond, Diana interjected, "I have something for you."
Andrew gestured encouragingly. "Trust her," he mouthed. His face reflected an expression so enthused that with no further dispute, she followed her to a small, back room. She sniffed the air, trying to make out the scent that seemed faintly familiar, and her nose twitched vainly, discernment right at its tip. Past a certain point, the room was unlit, and while she moved along, slightly groping at the walls to keep her balance and direction, she noticed that the empty space before her seemed thick and heavy as if it were intercepted by some mist. The smell grew as she moved forward and it caught in her mouth and throat so that she could almost taste it. The atmosphere was highly mystical, reminding her of an old fortuneteller's booth she had visited once with chokingly thick incense smoke. She strained to hear Diana's footsteps as she walked further along, but she could barely see or hear anything. She only relied on her touch as the wall led her unobstructed to seemingly nowhere.
Steadily becoming more and more distressed, she called out, "Diana?" and almost as if by instinct, she halted immediately although the wall continued in its smooth expanse.
"Serena, my dear," came her voice. It sauntered out into the air almost as smooth and quick as the heavy smell had left. Serena noticed a balanced growing of light around them. The mystique was so completely gone that she wondered to herself if she had not imagined it all, "I believe we have reached the end of our walk. I apologize. It's quite a long way, especially in such darkness; I know."
She chuckled, once again nervously, "It's all right, really. I'm fine."
"Well then," she said, gingerly pulling a smooth bundle from a slight pedestal with her gracefully curved wrist, "This," she paused, looking up dramatically, "is for you." In her hand was a simple, white dress, flowing and beautiful but far from spectacular. Serena fought not to allow her face to fall too severely. It lacked the magnificent element of the others, the fairy-tale quality, not glowing or seeming special in any way.
"Take it," she whispered, her eyes wide, her smile broad and peculiar. She extended her arms gently as if they held a living form, "I saw this for you. I made this—for you."
Still beaming, she pulled a bag from a wall mount and delicately folded the dress inside. Never looking up from her task, she said, "You don't like it." There was no evil or malice, hurt or anger in her voice. It was stated as simply and nonchalantly as one might ask for a dish or the morning paper.
"N—no," Serena stammered, her voice suddenly hoarse. She was struck by the oddness of the scene, the strangeness with which she had responded, and she had little if any clue as to how to react. She swallowed, preparing the flagrant lie, "I love it Diana—my favorite."
Diana smiled, pressing the bag into the palm of her hand. "Trust me," she whispered, "Trust it. It will bring you out by the light of the moon." Serena stared, unable to pull her eyes away from the golden gaze that locked on her. Slowly, she felt her fingers loosen their grip on her hand and consequently, the bag, and her own hand closed tightly around it. She left, fully disappearing into the darkness of the room, and all of it—the smell, the pitch black, the air of mystery—all of it had come again.
********************
I've had a terrible case of writer's block. This past week has been me forcing out this chapter and editing and editing and editing and editing…and after the end result, I'm almost afraid I haven't edited enough.
What do you guys think of Diana? I think I let her character slip a bit…too friendly hmm? I also tried to get further into the minds of Darien and Andrew because I noticed you don't get much of that in fanfics. It's dominantly Serena isn't it? And plus…I think they're interesting. :o)
I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible! Expect two weeks or so.