One Look At You

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Any and all product names referenced within this book are the trademarks of their respective owners. None of these owners have sponsored, authorized, endorsed, or approved this book.

I open my eyes a little at a time, unable to stand the streaming light. My mouth feels so dry and my head throbs like a dozen drums are being pounded right next to me. I try to focus on my surroundings and, as I look around me slowly, I realize I’m not at home. This room seems like it’s ten times the size of my bedroom.
Where am I?
A surge of panic engulfs me as I struggle to remember. I raise my hands to rub my temples but the exertion proves useless because the dull pain in my head won’t go away.

I scan the well-decorated room. There’s an expanse of glass to my left and the curtains are drawn to the side. I can see the city skyline, so I know I’m high up in a building. A few feet in front of me is a soft white sofa and a small coffee table with two armchairs. Beside them is a tall baroque-inspired walnut armoire. This must be a hotel suite.

I jolt upright as I see a man sleeping right next to me and my heartbeat thuds from alarm. I put a hand to my mouth to keep myself from screaming. He looks vaguely familiar, but my mind isn’t processing well. This is bad. This is really bad. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who this man is. I don’t know why I’m in this place. I’m freaking out – big time.
How did I get here?

The man stirs and turns his back on me. That’s when I carefully lift the duvet so I won’t wake him up. I quickly realize that I’m only in my beige top and panties.
Don’t think about it. Just breathe. You can’t think about it now.
My eyes flit around and I see my slacks hanging over a chair.

Slowly, I get out of bed. The room spins and I latch onto the nightstand beside me. The dizziness goes away after a minute or two, and I grab the pants and put them on while holding onto the chair for support. Right next to the bed are my black pumps, and I waste no time shoving my feet into them.
What happened to me?

My purse. Where’s my damn purse? I look all over the room again and my relief is palpable when I see my tiny bag on the bedside table next to the stranger. On tiptoe, I walk to his side of the bed. For a brief instant, I stare at his face, trying to summon up some memory of how I ended up in his room.
Who is he?
Where…when… how did I meet him?
I draw a blank, and my head aches even more from the effort of trying to remember.

What do I do? What do I do?
There’s only one thing to do really and I knew that right from the beginning.
I must get out of here now
. Before he wakes up. Before my complete humiliation sets in. So I snatch my purse and dash out the door, my nerves absolutely shattered.

I’m in a hallway and I see the room numbers on the doors. My suspicions are confirmed. I’m in a hotel, a very upscale one. My thumping headache won’t go away, but I disregard it. I walk as fast as I can to the elevators. I repeatedly push the down button.
C’mon, c’mon
. The elevators are taking the longest time to get to this floor. Finally, the door opens and I press the button for the lobby.

While inside, I pray that no one else joins me. Right now, I don’t want to have to deal with anyone, all that going through the niceties and pretending to be polite. Not when I’m in this disoriented state of mind.
I just want to get out of here
. Mercifully, no one from the other floors tries to get in and, after what seems like an eternity, the elevator door opens.

I half-run towards the exit door. Once outside the hotel, I notice the valet looking at me curiously, waiting for me to hand him my ticket, but I nervously shake my head. I walk to the side of the building and open my purse with trembling hands. I don’t have my wallet or car keys, so I take the only thing inside and start to speed dial. While waiting for a response, I see the logo on the valet’s lectern. The
Rembrandt
.

The Rembrandt? Yes, that’s right. There was an event at the Sapphire Ballroom last night and I was there with my friends. It was a celebration for Mark’s cousin. A graduation party to end all parties. The details are hazy and, at the moment, my mind is pretty much a chaotic mess, but I know where I was. The thing is, I don’t know how I ended up in that man’s suite on the fifteenth floor.

Oh God,
w
hy can’t I recall anything? Think, Livie. Try to remember.

“Coming!” I shout out as I hurriedly put on a robe and rush to see who’s banging at the door.

“Why doesn’t your doorbell work?” Melanie says with exasperation as she and Mark come inside.

“The landlord hasn’t gotten around to fixing it. Why are you so impatient?” I reply grumpily. Mark gives me a ‘don’t look at me’ look and Melanie just plops herself onto the living room couch. I sit on the other end.

“Why are you in your robe? Did you just wake up?” Mel makes me sound like the laziest person in the world.

“If you must know, I was busy reorganizing my room this morning and haven’t had the time to dress up in my usual ball gown and tiara,” I say in my most pleasant tone.

“Hmph,” is all I get from her.

“Where’s Jen?” Mark asks, oblivious to my sparring with Melanie.

Jennifer is my roommate. She and I met at UC San Diego, where she majored in Computer Science while I was an Economics major. Ironically, she grew up in Glendale and I was born and raised in Sun Valley, just city ten miles away, and yet our paths crossed only when we went to college – three hours and 140 miles down south of where we’d grown up.

We became friends when we simultaneously reached for the last muffin at the campus cafeteria in the Student Life Pavilion. Our sophomore year, we rented an apartment over there with two other students. After graduating, I had to come back to L.A. because a job was waiting for me here. Jen was lucky enough to get a job in Northridge. So, we decided to share this tiny duplex apartment in Studio City. It’s ten miles from my office and quite close to where Jen works.

“In her room. Leave her alone, guys,” I say like a mama bear protecting her cub.

“Livie, we’re not the enemy here,” Melanie says in a tone of annoyance.

“I get it. You want to comfort her. So do I. But, right now, what she needs is space.”

“Actually, Liv, what she needs is a distraction,” Mark says drily. “Nothing good can come from holing yourself up in your room and listening to sappy break-up songs.”

“I agree. But that’s her way of grieving,” I respond.

“And what good does that do exactly?”

Melanie means well, but her insensitivity irks me at this moment. Mark puts a restraining hand on her shoulder and says, “Look, Jen’s gonna go through all the so-called five stages, no matter what. But, I do think she’ll welcome the chance to get some fresh air and hang out with us tonight.”

I look at him with doubt. “What do you have in mind?” I ask.

“Remember my cousin Joseph? He graduated top of his class with a law degree. He’s having the party to end all parties tonight. At the
Rembrandt
. He told me to bring along all my friends,” Mark says with a huge smile.

“Oh, Mark. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

“Why not? She’ll be surrounded by eligible men, flowing booze, party music. She won’t have the chance to mope,” he declares.

Melanie moves close to me and grabs the lapels of my robe. “Livie, don’t say no! Don’t be all ‘Party? I’d rather read a book,’” she says in a ‘brook-no-argument’ voice.

“Fine. I still think it’s a bad idea. Just go persuade her then, if you can,” I say with finality.

“And if she says yes, you’re coming with us?” Mark asks eagerly.

I sigh audibly and nod my head, just to get them off my case. Needing no further encouragement, they both hurriedly go to Jen’s room. In the meantime, I go to my bedroom to change into my standard t-shirt and leggings get-up. It’s a Saturday, and I need to catch up with all the boring chores. I bring the clothes hamper to the kitchen and start loading the washing machine. While my first batch is churning, I grab the bucket of cleaning supplies and head for the bathroom. A smiling Mark, followed by Melanie, comes out of Jen’s bedroom.

“Start dressing up, Liv,” Mark gleefully tells me, and I raise my eyebrow.

“I’m serious. Jen said yes,” he says.

“I guess if you bamboozled her, she’d have no choice,” I say with some annoyance.

“Oh, c’mon! She said yes because she’s all cried out and she’s smart enough to know that she has to jump into the dating pool again, sooner or later,” Melanie says with her characteristic tactlessness.

“Fine. I still think it’s a bad idea, but it’s her call. Give me an hour to finish up on my chores and I’ll get ready,” I say to both of them.

“It’s five-thirty, so don’t get carried away with the scrubbing and washing,” Mark warns me. “We’ll pick you up at seven.” I nod and they both leave. I get on with cleaning the bathroom, going through the toilet, sink, and tub. And when I’m done, I knock softly on Jen’s door.

“Come in,” she calmly says.

She’s busy examining three cocktail dresses on her bed. “Which one do you think?” she asks.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” I wait for her to confirm she’s truly decided on attending the event.

“Mark means well and Melanie… well, Mel’s Mel.”

I know what she means. “Yes, but you don’t have to give in just because you have no energy left to refuse.”

“No, no, I actually want to go. It’s clear that Jonathan and I are over. He was seeing someone else even before he had the guts to break it off,” she says, her eyes threatening to turn misty again.

I go closer to her and hug her tightly. “So, I mean, what’s the point of going into mourning about it?” she continues.

“Well, if you’re absolutely certain, then yeah, we should go,” I say emphatically. I have serious misgivings, but now is not the time to voice them out. “The black one, if you ask me,” I say as I point to the black halter dress with slight beading.

“I was thinking that, as well,” she says with a half-smile, as if all her cares in the world are about to go away with the right choice of an outfit.

“Okay, I’m gonna have to start dressing up myself. Queen Melanie hates to be kept waiting,” I say with a grimace. I hastily go to my room and start laying out the possible outfits on the bed, just like Jen did.

There’s a short gray boatneck lace sheath dress, a lavender flare dress, and a floral shift. Still, I decide to dress simply in black satin crepe pants and a sleeveless embroidered flowing spaghetti-strapped top. I don’t even really want to go, so I see no point in trying too hard. Powder, some blush, mascara, and pale lip gloss. Not much to my routine. I hate that my dark brown hair is wavy and hard to manage, so I just do a half up-half down, allowing tendrils to fall on the side. I just need to grab my tiny evening cross-body purse.

I go over to Jen’s room and find her applying a second coat of mascara on her lashes. “Jen, do you have room for my wallet in your purse?”

“Seriously, Liv. Why did you even buy a purse that small?” she asks as she willingly puts my wallet in her clutch.

“Well, it can carry my phone so it does have some use. Plus, it was a steal at twenty bucks,” I say with a smile. “By the way, you look amazing!”

“Thanks. You look great too,” she says. I know she’s just being her usual sweet self, so I smile in reply. Jen is always the belle of the ball, with her perfect oval face, sultry green eyes, and long, shiny blonde hair. Men fall over her in droves, but somehow she always ends up with the jerks who break her heart.

“Well, they’re not here yet, so let’s go to the living room and watch the episode of
Allsopp Court
we missed.” Jen and I adore this British TV series about the goings-on at a famous castle. She readily nods her head and we hie off to the couch to put on the streaming service.