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Who conveniently arrives in the elevator right as I make my way toward the entryway, slipping my own mask over my face.
I catch a fleeting glimpse of myself in the window as I pass, and a thrill shivers up my spine. The gown Evan picked is unreal. Along with my own reasonable skill at wrangling my curly mane of hair into a cascade of gold threaded rivulets down my back, my makeup, and the gold-lined mask… maybe Evan was enjoying looking at me.
The ding to my left brings me back to attention as the doors ease open, revealing the wealthy couple, in their early forties at most, both dressed in their finest evening wear and both stunningly good-looking.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cormorant, welcome, on behalf of Halo and Wing. My name is Hellena, and I’m at your disposal for any and everything you might need. Right this way.” I gesture, and my two assistants-slash-cocktail waitresses swoop in to take their coats, vanishing as quietly as they emerged.
“Thank you, Madam.” Mr. Cormorant dips a tiny bit at the waist, reaching for my hand to kiss. I let him, maintaining a pleasant expression as he does so. His eyes drag slowly back upward, pausing at my chest.
I almost forget to avoid making eye contact, another one of Evan’s rules for the night. Tilting my head to the side, I smile demurely, dipping in a subtle curtsy. I’m supposed to be alluring, but not available.
Sensual, but I am not to engage with the guests myself.
The list of specifics on my behavior tonight was pretty much a novel I had to memorize.
Additionally, I realize offering “everything they might need” may have been a mistake.
Mr. Cormorant looks like he’d like to devour my hand as he releases it and resumes his walk to the bar along the side of the lounge area. “Macallan 30. Neat. Dom Perignon for my wife.”
“Charles, ask if they can… spice it up a bit, will you?” Mrs. Cormorant is already making her way to the balcony, exploring the interior of the penthouse with a middling interest that makes me wonder what kind of mansion they live in.
“Yes, darling.” And he sounds even more bored. From everything Evan told me, they seem to be a longstanding, relatively happy couple. However, since their son left for France to study abroad, they seem to have fallen into the rut of an empty nest.
Thus, a night of extravagant entertainment and indulgence.
An attempt to rekindle their desires.
Mr. Cormorant tilts his head toward me, a clear gesture to meet his wife’s request.
Slipping behind the bar, I smoothly pop the outrageously priced bottle of champagne myself, dropping a tiny tablet into the glass as I pour the bubbling, crystalline liquid.
Evan didn’t fill me in on the… specific ingredients they requested, but my best guess says she’ll be feeling pretty bubbly herself in a matter of minutes with this concoction.
Mr. Cormorant only lifts his eyebrows behind his mask once as he takes their drinks and joins his wife on the balcony. A breath of relief huffs out of me as he does. I’ve made it through the greeting without a hiccup.
And I’ve gotten his attention off me and back to his wife.
The rest should be a simple matter of guiding them to the theater room for the show once they’ve had their fill of hors d'oeuvres and booze. And getting them comfortably changed into their viewing attire.
Minutes zip by as I make a lap, ensuring the silk robes are folded neatly in the changing rooms. The serving staff has already seen them to the dining area, and I can tell they are both loosening up considerably.
Mrs. has a wispy, lilting laugh, thoroughly enjoying whatever it is her husband is muttering into her ear as she nibbles on a caviar topped something or other. He’s got his hand in her lap, and I blink rapidly as I realize one of my servers is leaned over her other side, nibbling at her ear, kissing her neck.
The bartender pours another drink for each of them, then lingers, running his hands over Mr. Cormorant’s shoulders, massaging his neck. The client’s hungry eyes follow me as I cross the room, smiling and running his hand down the server’s back, squeezing her ass through the fabric of her dress.
That’s as good a cue as any that it’s time to get them into the performance.
Evan already dimmed the lights in the hallway to signal the crew being set whenever the ‘audience’ was ready. And I need to put dancers in front of them before Mr. Cormorant gets any ideas about my joining their “meal”.
Telling them ‘no’ isn’t part of the arrangement, so I have to keep them from asking the question.
Drawing up to the opposite side of the table, I lean in just enough to be heard without raising my voice.
“At your leisure, the show will begin momentarily.” I’m well aware they know the show will only start when they feel like watching it, but herding them along doesn’t hurt anything. Our guests rise, following me toward the changing rooms. The mood is relaxed, but there’s a suspense in the air that I can’t deny.
Evan really knows how to rekindle a marriage, I guess.
While they change, I wait in the theater room, the full wall screen displaying a swirl of color matching the light show slowly moving around the stage. Two comfortable chairs center the room, facing the screen and stage, curtained in black on both sides.
