Guests are already arriving, and many of them seem to loiter in the halls or roam throughout the mansion. It seems like whoever owns the magnificent Greek home has opened up every single room, even the bedrooms. My stomach tingles with the thought of getting Rhett alone in one of the rooms, or dancing with him the way we danced at the club in Los Angeles.
Above the giant auction room there is a balcony that leads to the upper level hall, and a few couples stand there overlooking the glamorous event.
A few men come strolling up, and I stand, flattening my hands over my dress. Rhett’s eyes grow wide, and by the fraction his brows raise I’m able to read that this is someone he both knows and is surprised to see.
“Allison, meet my father, Louis Cortez,” he says, and then motions to the other two. “Andy Long and Tobias Rosi.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance,” Louis leans forward and reaches for my hand.
I can tell that as a young man he would have been attractive. He’s graying at the edges of his scalp but has no shortage of thick black hair, and it’s slicked back in a similar fashion to Rhett’s. He seems like a ladies’ man with the way his eyes wander over me and drink me in as if I’m an alcoholic beverage. He’s dressed in a relaxed suit, and he smiles as charmingly as a devil. The other two reach out to take my hand as well, each one planting sour kisses on my skin.
Andy Long is of Asian descent, and Tobias Rosi is a fat old Greek man with oiled hair and a massive protruding belly.
“I’ve been telling Mr. Clark we need to get him out here for a few days. The stock is piling up and patrons love him,” Tobias says with a grin, revealing cigar-yellowed teeth.
“With his connections and ours we bring together quite the party, eh?” Andy says and chuckles warmly, patting Rhett on the shoulder. “If no one’s fighting over art by the end of the night we didn’t do our job right.”
I laugh along with him, pretending that I’m one of them and I can laugh at things like this. Pretending that I fit in. I probably look like I do in this getup, but inside I’m still the lonely homeless girl I always was. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just makes me feel disconnected, like these aren’t my people. Do I even want them to be?
“I’m sure it’ll be a big success,” I say, and Rhett smirks as he reaches out and shakes each of their hands.
“I’m counting on it,” Rhett states.
Andy pulls him in to whisper in his ear and he gives me a glance and an “I’ll be right back” lift of his finger. Tobias follows behind them, leaving his father and me alone.
I recall what Rhett told me about him, that he is, or was, in the cartel business in Puerto Rico, making him an uncomfortable person to be around. Should I ask him how the drug business is going? Another reason I’m repulsed by him is remembering that Rhett told me this man was the one who normalized drug addiction. Can I judge? I’ve done drugs before but battling the patterns of substance abuse as a disorder is a whole other ballpark. Rhett doesn’t need anyone pressuring him to “just have fun” or “live a little.” Because it’s those mentalities that’ll kill you.
“Rhett’s a lucky man,” Mr. Cortez says.
“Why doesn’t Mr. Clark have your last name?” I ask, trying to dig into Rhett’s past while this man is soft to me, as any man is soft when he has that gooberish smiley façade plastered on his features.
“My son took his mother’s name. Betty Clark was quite the lady,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “A bleach blonde model I met on the beach in the eighties. We were soulmates; we just never felt the need to get married. She never wanted none of the fussy stuff.”
“Sounds romantic,” I offer him a thin smile, crossing my arms over the rough crystals on my chest.
“She still comes down to the family home whenever she wants to have some fun,” he shrugs, the same chestnut eyes as Rhett’s, attempting to charm me. So they don’t live together. I wonder what Rhett feels seeing him now and how long it’s been. One year? Three? Five? How can I be supportive? What does he need from me?
The mansion becomes thicker with people, and you can tell that the venue is filling based on the swell of noise. I search around for Rhett. My heart pumps adrenaline into my body when I can’t find him in the sea of people. Women are dressed up in lovely gowns. It almost looks like prom, every couple cohesively formal.
“If my son doesn’t give you what you need, let me know,” he winks, and bile rises in my throat. “Sometimes the son lacks the same expertise as the father.”
“I’ll be sure to have a good laugh with him about that after I scream his name in one of these bedrooms later,” I say, tone frosty. The man seems undeterred, and his lips flatten into smugness.
I still can’t see him. My heart is pounding and my skin becomes clammy as I search—but then a gathering of people shift away and I see him in an animated conversation with Andy, Tobias, and a few other stern looking men. I breathe a sigh of relief, wiping a hand across my forehead.
“I look forward to hearing it,” his father says, yanking me back to reality again. “If I don’t, I’ll know that you need…some attention.”
“Fuck off,” I snap, and I garner glances from a few of the guests around me. An old woman grants me a “goodness gracious” look, and I ignore her and slip past Louis Cortez, vomit nearly slopping out and piling up in front of me.
Rhett’s eyes catch on me as I walk through the crowds of people, and I lift my dress slightly so that I don’t trip.
A flow of jazzy music starts and then the stage at the front of the hall is lit up with spotlights. In the corner, I see men assembling all of the art pieces. Next to them, there are bodyguards protecting the precious items. Rhett’s eyes find me again, and he nudges his head towards the table. But I head straight for the bar at the edge of the room instead, needing a stiff drink to calm my nerves.
“Fucking bastard…” I utter under my breath, hating Rhett’s father that much more.
The event starts just as I hop up onto a bar stool, resting my elbows on the shiny black counter.
Rhett is introduced by Andy Long, and he raises a hand to the crowds. He’s smooth. Everything about him is dripping in confidence and charisma. I bite my lip, my eyes wandering down his tall body, illuminated in the spotlight. Imagining him whisking me away into a closet somewhere is far too easy. Maybe I am as dirty as Shawn says.
I order a drink, a lemon martini, and finger the glass as I watch Rhett tell the guests a little about the event, how it will work, and touch on a few of the pieces they’re offering. He builds everything up efficiently, making the collections seem highly coveted. It doesn’t take long before the auctioneer is called to the stage, and Rhett slips off to the side. Immediately, he is walking towards me.
“Couldn’t wait, could you?” he says, and looks off wryly at the stage as he seats himself beside me.
“I needed a minute,” I say, hoping he doesn’t guess that something happened between his father and me. That’s the last thing he needs in a moment like this.
“Did you need it? Or did you just want it?” he says, not looking at me.
I remain silent, thinking back to the conversation we had about the difference between wanting and needing drugs. Well touché, Mr. Clark.