I stared at the platter then moved my stare to Celeste. “Sam told me not to eat, there’d be a spread.”
“Indeed,” she inclined her head, “but a lady does not arrive at a party famished, and, chérie, you’ve had no lunch,” she reminded me then went on, “and then commence in devouring every morsel available to her all the while drinking and becoming intoxicated quickly because she has nothing in her stomach. She sips champagne. She nibbles. Food, she can take or leave. Champagne, she drinks like its nothing more than water. She is beautiful and enchanting because she’s beautiful and enchanting and gorging on hors d’ouevres and guzzling champagne are not beautiful or enchanting.” She tipped her head to the platter. “Eat, Kia, every bit.”
I saw the wisdom in this and ate every bit while drinking champagne. This wasn’t easy either since my stomach was tied up in knots but I knew one thing for certain, Celeste had it going on and she was sharing her worldly ways with me so I did it.
The hair dresser and makeup artist showed when the hotel guy took away the empty plates. This, Celeste also arranged. I did not quibble mainly because I had to admit that I wasn’t all that hot with doing either. I didn’t look like a clown or skank when I was done with my makeup and I could make my hair look decent but I had one way to go, the blowout. Sam had seen that twice and my dress was not a dress you wore with your hair blown straight, it was a dress you wore with your hair looking hot.
It took an hour but was worth every minute when the stylist curled every strand of hair then pulled it softly back from my face and arranged it at my nape in a thick, wide, beautiful mess of tucked and pinned curls. The makeup artist went golden, more than likely at Celeste’s command, including dusting a hint of gold powder along my collarbone. Her handiwork highlighted my tan in a way I never would have been able to pull off if I was doing it myself; I wouldn’t have even thought to try.
Then they left, I put on my white, lace panties (another Parisian purchase, they cost more than the contents of my whole underwear drawer at home and they weren’t the only pair I bought) and Celeste instructed me on the proper use of perfume.
“Your scent does not precede you, it also doesn’t define you. Any scent you wear is a discovery.”
This made no sense to me so I asked, “A discovery?”
She smiled a small, very cool smile and said softly, “Yes, Kia, a discovery. The kind of discovery your partner, if he is very fortunate, makes when his nose encounters the flesh the scent adorns.” At her imparting this nugget of wisdom, a nugget I not only processed in my brain but three other parts of my body besides, I made not a peep and stared at her so she went on, “A touch behind the ears, at the wrists, behind the knees and at the cleavage… a touch, half a spray if it is spray or just a dab if it is not.”
My mind became consumed with Sam’s nose being in any of those places so it took Celeste’s rich, cultured laughter to snap me out of it.
I did the half the spray route for that was all that was available to me.
Then I pulled on my dress. It was white, one shoulder bare, it fit like it was made for me down my torso to the very tops of my thighs then it dropped into a full skirt to my ankles, the clingy, silk jersey hanging and moving beautifully around my legs but, the best part, it had a deep slit just to one side and up to the upper thigh that exposed my legs in an awesome way when I moved and, better, the inside hem was embroidered intricately and subtly with gold thread.
Told you it was awesome.
I strapped on my shoes and Celeste pulled a pristine white evening clutch with a gold clasp out of her bag and tossed it on the bed beside me. Then she lifted my right hand and slid a dozen very slim gold bangles on my wrist. Then she handed me a pair of tiered gold earrings sprinkled with tiny pearls.
After I put them in my ears, her hand came out, she gently touched my earlobe with the tip of her finger, my head went back, my eyes went to her and she spoke softly.
“Nothing at your neck, your lovely collarbone is enough. A touch, only a hint, of everything. An intriguing woman does not share her secrets in any way. She does not speak of them, she does not give them away through her manner and she definitely does not make the mistake of giving them away through her appearance.”
Well, if that was the case, blurting the information about Cooter being murdered within a few minutes of knowing Sam was an even bigger mistake than I thought it was and I already thought it was a doozie.