She and Britt used to call their movie nights galas. As in, I’ll bring the popcorn, you bring the three buck Chuck to the gala. Their galas involved yoga pants and some very sexist comments about Channing Tatum and Scott Eastwood. This, however, was a real gala with higher quality alcoholic beverages and a much stricter code of conduct, no doubt. Marj booked an appointment with a stylist who could come tot eh suite to coif her updo. She wasn’t taking chances with bobby pins in the dry heat that seemed to anger her already bouncy curls.
When she returned to the hotel, the concierge caught up to her before she reached the elevator and informed Marj that she had a spa appointment on the thirtieth floor for a massage and facial. She lay perfectly still in a cool room with pan flute music playing as an aesthetician shaped her brows and extracted clogged pores and used some kind of oxygenating serum to rejuvenate her skin. Then a massage got the last semblance of stress to seep out of her body. She nearly fell asleep on the deep terrycloth covering of the table. When it was time to depart, she did so reluctantly, and only after lolling about in the lounge with a wedge of grapefruit and some spring water by the fountain.
Refreshed and hydrated and feeling very fresh-scrubbed and beautiful, Marj returned to the suite for her hair appointment. Again, she sat passively by as she was pampered and styled. She popped in her ear buds and listened to her favorite music while inch-wide locks of red hair were treated with serum and flat ironed and twisted and pinned up into place.
When the woman was finished, a delicate upsweep framed Marj’s pretty face, twisted tendrils pinned back with seeming unconcern, as if Marj were not a former marketing analyst but instead some tree nymph about to gambol through the forest of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Her hair seemed both elegant and whimsical as if she could draw out two pins and let it tumble down her back as she dove naked into a crystalline forest pool by moonlight.
The rose-colored dress arrived on time, and Marj put it on as reverentially as if it were ceremonial attire. She applied her makeup painstakingly to keep from mussing her hair or soiling her dress. When Brandon arrived back at the suite, he found her in full regalia.
“Hello, darling husband,” she said with a big grin.
“You have the most beautiful smile, darling wife.”
“Well, I have this thing for gorgeous men in black tuxedos,” she said.
His intense stare made her stomach flutter. He took her gloved hand and kissed it, all courtly manners.
“You are absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous,” he said.
“Thank you. And you’re looking ridiculously handsome. Not to mention, all that confidence you’re sporting looks extremely sexy on you.”
“Come on, Cinderella. We have a ball to attend.”
Marj couldn’t stop grinning. He placed her hand on his arm. He conducted her down in the elevator and to their private car.
At the venue, Marj and Brandon entered an elegant space, lit softly with gold and crystal chandeliers, sheer creamy draperies hung at intervals creating a dreamy, lavish ambience. A soft, fragrant breeze, frangipani perhaps, lifted the edges of the tablecloths and ruffled the draperies ever so slightly.
“Okay, I realize pretty much all of Dubai has been wow but this is incredible. It’s so beautiful, and it’s like…the JC Penney White Sale gone high class,” she said with a nervous giggle.
“You’re nervous,” he teased.
“Am I like them?”
“Not at all.” He winked. “You’re way less boring.”
“Why am I so excited?”
“Perhaps you’re slightly more dazzled, but only because you’re new to all of this.”
She let out a long breath. “Okay, as long as I fit in.”
“You do. Now, would you like a drink?”
“Boy, would I ever.” She grabbed his arm. “But wait. I shouldn’t have too many. With my track record, I might marry another billionaire. And there’s lots here to choose from.”
He chuckled as he went to get her a glass of champagne.
***
What followed was a glittering evening of which Marj understood very little. It wasn’t an awards presentation or a charity benefit, and it didn’t seem to be in honor of anyone particular. It was nothing more or less than a lot of very wealthy fashionable people mingling in an extremely swank setting. The atmosphere was divine, the people lovely but distant. Brandon introduced her to distinguished guests of several nationalities, and she shook hands, even curtsied once, always with a smile that was equal parts disbelief and delight.
She tasted figs wrapped in prosciutto and some kind of rich, crumbly cheese. She ate walnuts drenched in honey. She vowed to go to the gym twice tomorrow to make up for all the honey and cheese. When the orchestra moved aside, and the lights dropped for another musician to play, she clutched Brandon’s sleeve.