It’s for the best, I tell myself. But it makes me feel sad.
On Saturday, I wake feeling as if a thunderstorm is looming, then remember it’s the day of the ball. Oh God.
Lisa and Ria think I’m crazy. They don’t understand why I’m not embracing the billionaire lifestyle, and making the most of Kingi’s world, and his money.
It’s hard to describe why I feel so reticent. Part of it is terror at being found out, and as a result of that, fear at the thought of having to make it convincing, whatever that involves. The rest of it is just being so uncomfortable around all that money. Each time I’ve called in at Midnight to see Kingi, I’m consistently shocked at the wealth on display. The brand-new, flash cars; the clothing and jewelry the customers are wearing; even the food they consume on a daily basis. Have these guys ever eaten a burger and fries, or do they have caviar for breakfast?
I’m also repeatedly surprised by the attitude of these people. Their sense of entitlement is shocking. They make demands of the staff without a second thought and rarely say please or thank you. Even Kingi and Orson have a degree of expectation, although I suppose it’s slightly different for them because they own the club, so they anticipate that their staff will do as they ask. But it’s just such a different world for me.
I feel as if all these people live on a stage, in the glitter of the spotlights, heavy with theatrical makeup and costumes. And I live in the wings, aware of the pulleys and trapdoors, and the people waiting to give prompts, conscious of how fake everyone looks when they’re not in the limelight.
Unbeknown to Kingi, I haven’t invited anyone to the ball. Nobody I know could afford it, and even if they could, I don’t think they’d want to come. My father isn’t well enough, and my mother wouldn’t go without him. I know Kingi would like to meet Mark again, but I feel uncomfortable about him coming. He’s behaved oddly since I told him about my engagement to Kingi. I thought he’d be relieved to know Dad isn’t going to lose his house, and thrilled that all his debt could be paid off. But he’s been distant and quiet. I’m hoping beyond all hope that he’snot gambling again. Nina and I talked to him about seeing an addiction counselor, and he agreed it was necessary. I’ve made it very clear there will be no more money, and that he has to think about the mental health of his family. But did it sink in? I’m not an addict myself, so I don’t understand how the need to gamble can take over even the wellbeing of his wife, daughter, and close family.
But I don’t want to think about it today. I have other things on my mind.
I work in the morning, but at one p.m. I head home, have a light lunch, and take a shower. At 2:15 p.m., Ria and Lisa give me a hug and make me promise to tell them all about it later, and then they squeal as they look out of the window and see a black Mercedes-Benz S-Class pull up outside the house.
“Fuck,” Ria says, “who’s that driving? Does he have a chauffeur?”
“Um, yes, it’s his assistant.” I blush as they both squeal again. “Kingi insisted.”
“You’re really like Cinderella,” Lisa says, eyes wide.
“That makes us the ugly sisters,” Ria points out, and we all giggle.
I give them a final hug, then head out to the car. I’ve met Rob, his assistant, before, at Midnight, and when he gets out and opens the door for me, I give him a wry smile. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Part of the job, ma’am.”
“Oh God, call me Chessie, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I roll my eyes as he grins, get in the car, and he closes the door.
It’s beautiful, sleek and quiet, and the journey to the ferry is smooth and uneventful. On the ferry, I have a coffee in the cafe and try to read, but I’m too nervous. My stomach is bubblingwith nerves about the event and my outfit. What if I’ve picked the wrong sort of gown? Clara insisted it was perfect for the ball, but maybe everyone there will be in big meringue ballgowns, and mine is a much sleeker style. Oh well, it’s too late now.
I’m glad when the ferry pulls in, and that the shop is only a short drive. Rob drops me off outside and promises to pick me up at six, and heads off into the city.
First, I’m having my hair done, so I go into the hairdressers. She gives me a trim and blow dry, then spends the time curling my long tresses so they hang past my shoulders in waves.
Afterward, I go into the beauty spa and meet the beautician. She gives me a manicure and a pedicure, painting my toe and fingernails a shade that will match my dress, and then sets to work on my face.
I’ve never worn much makeup. I can’t afford it, and it seems pointless to worry about it when most of the time I’m on my own and up to my armpits in mud. “I don’t want anything too heavy,” I tell her. “But…” I hesitate and study my fresh face in the mirror, thinking about Kingi.
“But you want to knock his socks off?” she asks brightly. Clara has obviously told her that I’m getting engaged.
I give a short laugh, meeting her eyes. “Kinda.”
She grins. “We’ll stay mainly with earthy tones, but add a few extras because it’s a ball. How about that?”
“It sounds great.” Oh. My. God. What on earth have I got myself into?
*
I arrive at the Midnight Club a few minutes before seven.
Rob pulls up in front of the steps, behind the cars also dropping off their passengers.