Chapter Two
The maître d'hôtel had perceptibly wrinkled his nose ever so slightly at her when he escorted Sakura through the establishment to a private room overlooking the central atrium's fountain of carrera marble. It was all gloriously upholstered in burgundy silk-velvet, touched with gold-leaf on the elaborate wainscoting and on the walnut furniture. Fresh-cut sterling roses were indiscriminately scattered throughout the room, but their very randomness hinted at an expert flower-arranger. Their scent deliciously filled the room.
Evening light flooded from the ceiling, which instead of skylights of clear glass used stained windows depicting the four seasons revolving around the sun and moon with star motifs around it all. A man sat seated at the piano, playing a selection of Chopin's dreamy works. Sakura suppressed a desire to smile at him politely, because one does not smile at the hired help, she reminded herself. It would be rude and awkward to invite presumptuousness.
She straightened her sundress nervously, wondering if plain white cotton was too much or not enough or too much of something else or not enough of the same thing. . . Not that she knew what it was too much or too little of. Sayuri's pointedly vague comments were beginning to rule her life, as soft laughter drifted up the hall and the door opened.
Li Syaoran, he had introduced himself. But she saw to her dismay he had brought some friends, a very tall blond young man with a short, slender, dark-haired girl on his arm. Another girl entered with a cascade of diamonds, holding hands with a man of medium height but the air of wealth.
Syaoran smiled at her as he made introductions. His foreign friends from America were brought forward with a discreet boldness from the Cristal and Dom Perignon they had drunk in the Rolls. He propelled her forward to the table, and seated her with panache, asking inevitable questions about her day, her stay here, etc. But he knew she was a personal assistant, and perhaps he didn't know what to make of that, and very politely refrained from even alluding to it.
The tall blond to his left was named David, Nordic pale with hair that was not blond but golden, and pale blue eyes like a husky dog of the north and intensely pale freckled skin only magnified by a casual black suit sans tie. His wife was introduced as Isobel, reed-slender with unusually almond shaped dark eyes, wreathed in a fringe of large peacock-green pearls that glowed with an inner light around a crown of shimmering cacao-colored hair. Her dress flowed over her so effortlessly that it was obviously the work of a designer, if not both designer and custom made, shimmering from a light teal to pale green with varying light. The pearls she wore, simultaneously shouted and whispered their wealth; they shimmered darkly peacock green and aqua-grey, seemingly illuminated from within by a soft light that was turquoise-colored, the turquoise matching the dress exactly.
The girl who was the youngest laughed with a frivolous voice; her name was Winter and she was roped with diamonds hanging like pale cascades of light, and a spotless white dress that was almost but not quite sheer, embroidered with pearls strategically. Upon seeing Sakura with her white cotton dress, she had raised a frosty pale eyebrow and disdained looking at her again from her clear, pale grey eyes. Her face was so delicate it seemed made of bone-china, a fine thin-bridged nose and high forehead that hinted at aristocratic breeding. She was on the arm of Hunt, short for Huntington, who looked so sure that he could buy anything that he disdained much more than a glance at her and a civil nod.
Sakura, being the guest of honor, sat at one end of the long banqueting table, large enough for three dozen, plus the head and end of the table. She politely chatted with David, every so often eliciting a laugh from Isobel where she hadn't meant to be funny.
"So I mean, I really didn't
Syaoran, at the far end, was making another witty joke to the delight of Winter. Something about her voice was frivolous, careless, heartless yet so utterly fascinating that Sakura had never met anyone quite like her. Isobel, too, possessed an undefinable something that made you want to look at her again, an imperial tilt of the head, a gracefully practiced aloofness, a soft voice that seemed to reverberate through the room.
As the evening wore on, however, Winter giggling every time that Sakura said the word 'money' was really beginning to pall, as she couldn't even see Syaoran. A long row of three-foot tall candelabras curving with outrageous golden ornamentation marched with soldierly precision down the table, and between the lush profusion of the white orchid arrangements –in their own matching gold rococo bowls with lion's feet- she tilted sideways to make eye-contact with her date. The topic was kept purposely light and teasing, and there was a profusion that hinted, subtly and not so subtly, as to why certain pairs of people within the room were not married. Sakura ventured another joke, too, and teasingly asked why Syaoran had come to Monte Carlo alone.
"Now why did you not bring a date to Monte Carlo?"
Dead silence met her sally, a raised eyebrow from the girls, with the guys politely staring at anywhere but her.
"Oh…I'm terribly sorry, was there something I said?"
Syaoran smiled distantly.
"No, my dear, it is just that my wife has been dead for nearly a year now…"
Isobel turned her head ever so slightly and looked at her, a startling and direct look from eyes like deep, dark pools. She then turned to make some light remark on the waiter's unfortunate service, and the conversation resumed its buoyancy.
Questions and Comments Welcome!
Well, I'm sure glad that you know how to find the best Tahitian pearls, now. :) If I think like Sayuri, then I look and will behave very much like Isobel. She is an amalgam of myself and a best friend of mine, Camille. Her first and middle names are Camille Faye, isn't that pretty? Isobel's middle name will be Faye.
And yes, green is my undisputed color I am known for, that I claim among my friends as my own. The young girl with the frivolous voice is my friend Astrid (no I am not making up that name) who wants to name her daughter Winter. She is old French and German aristocracy, and she looks like it. Not many people look like that, fragile and easy to break and beautiful in that very thin-chiselled way. Also Winter's sister that comes in will be based on my friends Tessa and Ann-Katrin, one from Winchester in Britain and the other from Schleisswig-Holstein in Germany near Immensee. They are both strawberry blonds, so that's why I wanted to make them one character.
David is actually David in real life, who belongs to "the crew." They call themselves that because they are on the crew team, and they wear J. Crew, and they look like a walking advertisement for it. It's very cute, and they've spoiled me for anybody who doesn't look like that. Hunt is based off Astrid's boyfriend Carey, that's short for Carrington. No kidding, those are seriously their names: Carrington and Astrid. Crazy, isn't it? David and I are not involved, though, and neither are he and Camille.
So here are the names of the characters, first and middle:
Isobel Faye
Huntington Brenton
David Alistair
Winter Adelaide
Adelaide is Astrid's middle name; it's medieval French. Alistair is David's middle name, and I used Brenton because I would love to name somebody that and their nickname would be Brent.
My friend's names:
Camille Faye
Brittany Dawn
Astrid Adelaide
David Alistair
Carrington…?
Ann-Katrin von Eschenbach (not her last name, only the first last name from the mother)
Tessa D'Oberville (first and middle name—she's named after the novel "Tess of the D'Obervilles"—that is just so cool)
I know, I know, and I didn't make it up. I just thought it was time to share my life, instead of clamming up. It's therapeutic. And on I can say anything I want without thinking about it much.
Well, I hope everybody is still interested in this social commentary that kind of mirrors my life in the lifestyle and the people.