The cool air felt good in my lungs. It helped to shift my mind away from my problems. I looked at Lily; she was worried about me, I could tell. But I knew I’d be fine. Today I was allowed to be down but tomorrow I would pick myself back up. Still, I wanted to ease her mind. With thoughts of the flick we had just watched, more specifically of the very hot, very sexy Captain America, slamming into my head, I decided to do something to convince Lily I was okay.
So I held my phone to my ear in mock conversation and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Hello, Marvel Studios, I really want to play the Black Widow in the next Captain America movie.”
She looped her arm through mine and her dirty-sounding chuckle was loud. “Gorgeous, all legs, and sexy vixen with a husky voice—yeah I’d say that part works for you.”
Flashing a smile at the bouncer, I stopped. “We’re Danny Capshaw’s guests, Phoebe St. Claire and Lily Monroe.”
He glanced down at his clipboard and nodded for us to pass.
Danny belonged to some entertainment circuit that had come to the city last year, called Jet Set. It was the hottest new thing—membership not only allowed exclusive weekend access into some of the city’s hottest clubs, it was the only way to gain VIP status. It was brilliant. Nothing the rich and famous valued more than exclusivity. And they were more than willing to pay—a lot. Membership fees were ridiculously high.
The soles of my high heels clicked on the red and white checked floor, and as soon as we entered the club, my vision blurred as the pink walls coated everything in my sight with a slight blush. I looked over to Lily. “By the way, I was thinking more like a pistol-toting badass, but I’ll take sexpot.”
Right in front of a fifteen-foot Rorschach print by Andy Warhol, Lily snorted, “You’d have to remove the cobwebs from your vagina to even remotely gain that title.”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What? It hasn’t. Just because when you and Preston are on, you do it morning, noon, and night doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”
She shrugged. “I can’t help it if I have an overactive libido.”
I had to laugh.
“And besides, most younger couples do it more than once a week.”
“Dawson and I did it more than that but even if we didn’t, I’m sure we’d be considered way more normal than you and Preston.”
With a tug of my hand, Lily led me toward our table. “Let’s see what everyone else has to say about it.”
“Oh God, let’s not.”
Everyone else was our four best friends. We had pledged growing up we wouldn’t turn into our parents but as of that very morning the last of us entered the ranks. Now, each and every one of us had joined our prospective family businesses. Making it official, we’ve broken the vow. And now we’re doing the only thing we can—gathering together to bury it.
Morbid yet true.
Making our way through the crowd, I noticed the way the glass shelves that towered over the bar seemed to shimmer with the aged scotches and exotic liquors. It was a Saturday night, and like most Saturday nights in every nightclub all around the world, the patrons were out to celebrate. But unlike everyone else, we were coming together to mourn the death of our young ideals.
Coincidence the burial was taking place on the same day as my canceled wedding?
I hardly thought so.
It had to have been a sign that it was time to put them both to rest.
The Rose Bar was the newest addition to Jet Set. Danny met the owner of Jet Set last year while he was partying in a club in Miami. Under its new management, the Rose Bar had been touted as one of America’s swankiest clubs. It even had a fleet of white cars, including Hummers, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porches, used to pick up and drop off Jet Set members.
The club was packed and brimming with wealthy men and women, some of whom I was sure would turn up on Page Six. Because the men and women inside weren’t just anyones, we were all someones—the great-granddaughter of Eisenhower, the great nephew of Ford, a great cousin of Kennedy. No one needed to know how many greats were before our name—it was irrelevant. The bloodlines were all that ever mattered.
I rolled my eyes at the thought and draped my leather jacket over my arm. My little black dress fell a few inches above my knees and the vertical lines of crystals gave it some shape. I preferred comfort to style in a way that seemed to separate me from my peers whose motto was all fashion.
Lily and I passed a brilliant red billiards table and a loud cackle of laughter caused me to look up. At the center booth, in the middle of the VIP section sat a bunch of guys. Even as Lily continued to pull me along, my eyes stayed locked where they were, as if some kind of magnetic force wouldn’t allow my gaze to shift.
The guys in the booth toasted one another and then slammed back their drinks, laughing boisterously. However, when a group of scantily clad women walked by their table, they all stopped talking. The women eyed the guys as languorously as they possibly could, hoping for an invitation to join them, I was sure. The guys stared back with equal vigor.