My weekend update! I might have more on Sunday... we will see. :) R&R! (04/04/2012 - This has been updated and re-edited. Thanks!)
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Friday night at 6:45 found Sarah in a daring strapless confection of the slinkiest, whisper-soft, silk-satin she'd ever seen in her life. Criss-crossing her breasts and flowing downward in a spiral of scarlet shades, she had never felt so exposed in her life. And yet, so absolutely desirable or bold. Her matching silver and scarlet 'opening festivities mask', as she thought to call it, was placed firmly atop her perfectly made up features, hiding her identity for better or worse.
After two days of "Returning to her Womanly Roots Academy" (name courtesy of Stella) with her dearest daytime receptionist Stella, Sarah had re-mastered the subtle application of full make-up, perfected the art of the push up bra, and re-styled her chocolate brown locks into a more manageable mane of glory. Details of course were attended to as necessary – eyebrow plucking, shaving, confirmation of the contractual agreements.
She was a woman with a mission – who despised high heels. But Stella had been insistent she practice walking in heeled shoes, boots, and wedges for the past 3 days. Sarah's feet ached, even now, as she stood silently and very still in her red silk two inch heels. She looked heavenward and sent a prayer of thanks that Madame Fay had in fact listened to her requests for comfort. The dress, overall, was like a beautiful waterfall – the color of Goblin red she admitted to herself – shades of darkly tinted scarlet that glimmered in the evening twilight.
She had been deposited at the entrance to the Park Plaza by the limousine service a few moments earlier, her personal bags for the weekend being brought to the suite she would be sharing with Mr. Rey, this very moment.
Sarah stood, a bit overwhelmed by the clean-lined Neo-Gothic stone building in front of her. Built in the early 1920's it bespoke of an elegance of days gone by; awesome stone angels adorned literally ever corner outside. The delicate Gothic archways and ornaments screaming this to be a Gothic Revival architecture gave her a sense of foreboding. The stone marquee above the fifty-some feet tall glass entrance wall that read, "All Things Whatsoever Ye Would That Men Should Do To you Do Ye Even So To Them" gave her pause also.
She shivered a bit - whether from trepidation or the very slight chill she didn't know. Her thin color-coordinated wrapper just enough to brush against the goosebumps forming on her upper arms. "This is what happens when you put your hair up," she grumbled, you lose all the warmth it contains! Her intricate coiffure had been lightly sprayed as it sat in gently waving curls atop her head, spun through with a beautiful silver wire and crystals; Madame Fay had assured her they were not real crystals after all in the note sent with the dress yesterday evening.
"Oh I'm not so blind, you meddling old Madame," Sarah had said outright after gasping at the thousands of dollars worth of jewelry in her hands. "Insanity! Absolute insanity." The memory of the peach dream – her hair ornaments – flitted through her mind, similar and yet... not.
How much less paranoid she would be if she had been able to reach Jareth – or even Hoggle, or Ludo or Diddy, she couldn't say; she rubbed her arms to bring warmth, hunkering down a bit in her wrap. The air was growing cooler as the sun descended the horizon and her thoughts turned to the unheeded mirror communication of the past few days.
"Jareth, I need you."
It had taken all of her willpower to open her eyes and await his kingly presence. And then... nothing. She peered at her reflection and blinked owlishly to make sure she was really seeing what she was... well, seeing. Just herself. No one else. No locks of blond or jacket of leather with sparkles or crystals. Not even a dash of glitter. It was just – and only – her reflection. Dammit! Just when she had plucked up the courage to reach out for answers, the man wouldn't or couldn't answer her summons.
Maybe the mirror was broken? "Hoggle, I need you!" she exclaimed, fearful and hopeful all at once.
She waited for the whorl of glimmer to shine on the surface, to magically show her friend. Nothing. Not a damn spark.
"Well, shit," she had replied to her reflection in horror, then stomped off screeching, "But that's not fair!"
She had tried to call upon Ludo and Diddy too, both to no avail. Sarah had repeated the process every afternoon for the past few days when she had time. The only thing that came to mind was that when Jareth closed the portal last time, he'd essentially left her mirror off the hook – so to speak, which was why she couldn't send out communique. Damn that man, was her mantra until last night. She decided that she was going to psyche herself up for whatever her client needed – whether he be as she suspected in her fabulous paranoia, Jareth of the Well Hung Goblin Kings – or a regular human.
She was a professional by all means, and whomever had paid the ten thousand dollars for her weekend was in for a big surprise.
A gust of summer breeze gently flapped the gown around her ankles, wisps of hair floating around her face as she watched the other guests arriving by car and limousine. The gowns were beautiful – in every shade of the rainbow and the men's attire didn't disappoint either. Each person nodded to her as they passed in acknowledgement and continued on into the hotel, straight to the ballroom she assumed. Sarah had been instructed to wait within the portico on the velvet entrance bench. She checked her delicate and discreet silver filigreed watch; it was now 6:58, and sighed. Time to start playing her part and earning her way; she steeled herself and took a seat on the gilded bench, arranging her gown carefully so as not to crush it.
By the time she was at ease with her dress, she saw it to be 7:01 on the watch.
"He's late," she murmured, and leaned over carefully, to adjust the strap of her scarlet pump under her skirts.
A shadow fell across her as she was wrangling with it; she started out of momentary fright. And let her eyes wander slowly up from the tips of his toes – black knee high leather boots that seemed to be well-worn, up the breathtakingly tight tights that had her blood humming the tune "we're men, we're manly men, we're men in tights, tight tights".
Her heart almost sat up and begged as she noticed the spectacular black – not blue! - glittered frock coat with long formal tails, and the silken looking pristine white poet shirt that lay open at his throat, the ties undone the last few inches. She sat up fully, her spine straight as a board, to look into two mis-matched eyes – one cerulean blue, and the other brown as mud.
His black crystal encrusted mask covered his face from eyebrow to below his nose, but she would know those wicked, up-tilted eyebrows anywhere. His hair, while still long and a bit wild, was tied back in some sort of queue from what she could ascertain.
She drew in a breath and waited for the passwords they had agreed upon. Normally, a phrase was agreed upon - of the client's choosing. The escort generally knew the second half of the phrase - as was the case here. But now she understood why her client had chosen the quote that he did.
"My dear lady," he offered his hand, "Has no one told you to keep your friends close..." His voice seemed deeper, smoother, and just as proper British as ever. She had the overwhelming urge to tell him, 'Bugger off, ye git! Eejit!' - but alas, she swallowed the anger and paranoia down to confront the fact: Fuckin' A it was HIM.
She sighed mentally and gathered all her strength and wits about her to respond with a whispered, "...And your enemies closer," upon which, she placed her manicured hand within his and felt the stars align and sparks throughout her nervous system.
This weekend would be heaven and be pure hell rolled together with a bit of chipotle pepper on top, she decided. She promised herself one thing though: her mission would be completed.
Little did she know how well Jareth agreed with her internal sentiments.