“That’s pretty late, are you sure?’
“Please! Gabriel chose the club, and he says it doesn’t even open until nine. We’re going to be early as it is. Just spend some time getting ready, and we’ll see you tonight. You’re going to look hot!”
And with that Julia ended her phone call and began to admire her beautiful new dress. Rachel shared her mother’s generous and charitable spirit. It was too bad some of that spirit hadn’t rubbed off on Gabriel…
She wondered how she was ever going to be able to dance in those sexy and dangerous shoes. She contemplated the exciting and slightly frightening prospect of dancing with a certain Professor.
But Rachel said he doesn’t dance. Figures.
In a fit of inspiration, Julia walked over to her dresser and cautiously opened her underwear drawer. Without looking at the photograph that was hidden at the back, she quickly withdrew a small and sexy string of cloth that could charitably be termed underwear if and only if one thought that anything worn underneath one’s clothes counted as underwear.
Julia held the string in the palm of her hand (for that is how tiny it was) and meditated on it as if it were an image of the Buddha. And in a snap decision, she decided that she would wear it, hoping that like a talisman or a charm it would give her the courage and the confidence to do what she needed to do. What she wanted to do. And that was to remind Dante of how much he had lost when he abandoned her.
There was to be no more lacrimosa for Beatrice.
Chapter 9
Lobby was an upscale martini bar and lounge on Bloor Street. Gabriel, in true Dantean fashion, always referred to the club as The Vestibule, because he deluded himself that its inhabitants resembled the virtuous pagans who spent eternity in Dante’s vision of Limbo. In reality, however, Lobby and its patrons had far more in common with the various circles of Hell.
Gabriel did not want to bring Julianne there, let alone Rachel, for Lobby was his hunting ground, the place he always went to feed his hungers. Too many people knew him there, or knew of him, and he was afraid of what they might say—of what might slip unbidden from blood-red lips.
But he felt comfortable at Lobby, confident that he could control the environment. There was no way in hell he was taking Rachel and Julianne into an environment that he could not control. For this one night, he would be Beowulf instead of Dante, warrior instead of poet. He would carry his sword unsheathed in his hand, and he would slay Grendel and all of his relatives if they even looked in the direction of his precious charges. Although he saw the sheer hypocrisy of it, he swallowed it whole to make Rachel happy.
When Rachel and Julia dutifully followed him out of the cab and toward the front door of Lobby, they were met by a long line of people who were waiting to get into the club. Gabriel disdained the line and approached the bouncer, a large, bald African-Canadian, who wore diamonds in his ears. He shook Gabriel’s hand and greeted him formally. “Mr. Emerson.”
“Ethan, I’d like you to meet my sister, Rachel, and her friend, Julianne.” Gabriel gestured to the young women, and Ethan smiled and nodded, stepping aside to let them in.
“What was that about?” Julia whispered to Rachel as they entered a modern and tastefully decorated black-and-white space.
“Gabriel is on the VIP list, apparently. Don’t ask.” Rachel wrinkled her nose.
Gabriel led them to the back of the club, to an exclusive area he had reserved known as the White Lounge, imaginatively named because of its monochromatic decor. The two friends sat on a low, white banquette, lounging comfortably on the ermine covered cushions. From their perch, they could see the dance floor that was located like a hub at the entrances to the private lounges. At the moment, no one was dancing.
Rachel gave her protégé an admiring glance. “Julia looks beautiful, doesn’t she, Gabriel? Really gorgeous.”
Julia blushed an abnormal shade of crimson and began fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Rachel, please,” she whispered.
“What? Isn’t she beautiful?” Rachel frowned over at her brother, who was shooting her a warning glance.
“You both look fine,” he said, admitting nothing and shifting his legs as if he were in pain.
Julia shook her head minutely and cursed under her breath, wondering why she cared so much about his opinions and why it was so difficult for him to be nice. Next to her, Rachel shrugged. It was Gabriel’s money. And if he didn’t worry about throwing away almost two thousand dollars to make Julia look fine, who was she to object? Except that his obvious lack of enthusiasm was an indictment of her ability to elicit a reaction from him. So she rose to the challenge.
“Hey, Julia…” she began, making sure Gabriel was listening and watching him out of the corner of her gray eyes, “how was your date with Paul?”