Now it was his turn to don a look of disbelief. “Um, I don’t know, maybe to the huge, once-in-a-lifetime celebratory ball we’re required to attend next week at our place of employment?”
Shit. In all the madness of my investigation and Sebastian, I’d completely forgotten about the upcomingLusterparty — and the fact that I had yet to purchase a dress.
“Centennial,” I muttered.
“There’s the lightbulb!” Simon grinned and pulled me from my perch on the end of his bed. Leading me over to stand before his full-length mirror, he circled around behind me and held the dress to my front.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered.
I stared at the dress in the mirror, picturing the frost-blue against my porcelain skin and my hair twisted up in an elegant knot. I’d look like Cinderella — a sluttier version, perhaps, but a princess nonetheless. If not for Simon, I’d have been attending in whatever I could find last minute at Macy’s.
“I’ll never be able to pay you back. This must’ve cost a fortune,” I murmured, thinking it was worth every penny even as I mentally reconfigured funds in my bank accounts to cover the expense.
Simon simply chuckled.
“Where’d you get this?” I asked, breathless as I examined the gown more closely. “It’s amazing.”
“I made it,” he said, shrugging as though itwas no big deal. “Figured I should put all those skills I learned at Parsons to good use. It’s not like I use them atLuster.”
“Simon!” I exclaimed. “Are you serious? This is an incredible dress! It should be on a model, walking down a runway somewhere.”
“I know,” he huffed. “Took me freaking forever to get the draping right. But every incredible girl needs an incredible dress to match.”
“Thanks, Si.” Our eyes caught in the mirror and I reached up to squeeze his hand.
“Anytime, baby girl.” He grinned at me. “Plus, a model totally wouldn’t have the boobs to fill out this top, let alone the booty needed to hold up that train.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.”
Careful not to wrinkle the dress, I turned to face him and wrapped my arms around his frame. “Love you.”
“As you should,” he repeated.
I laughed into the crook of his neck until he complained that I was messing up his new bow-tie and pushed me away.
***
When I got back to my apartment, still glowing happily from my visit to Simon’s, it was past ten but I knew I’d be up for quite a while. I changed into comfortable clothes, grabbed my laptop from my desk, and climbed into bed. First, I updated my blog. It had been over a week since my lastGeorgia on My Mindposting, and my followers were likely wondering if I’d fallen into a manhole or been hit by a train. After posting an apology for my absence, responding to a week’s worth of backlogged comments, and composing a brief anecdotal story about my first time in a citywide blackout, I logged off and pulled up a blank word document.
It was time to catch up on my typicalLustercolumn for Jeanine. I had deadlines rapidly approaching and I’d been procrastinating, as was often the case when I was confronted with writing about a topic I had little interest in. This month, it was juice cleanses. I laughed to myself as I wrote about the latest, greatest cleanse that promised to keep you full for days, drinking only a unique blend of lemon juice, honey, and cayenne pepper. I wasn’t sure what women out there could possibly be satisfied by a diet of pure liquid, but I didn’t ever want to meet them. Personally, I got pretty damn grouchy if I didn’t eat every four hours — after a week, I’d be ready to commit double homicide for a doughnut.
Thankfully, I’d done all the research for the piece already, so it was written and ready for edits within two hours. I emailed it off to Jeanine for her inevitable critical feedback, pulled up a Google page, and typed “NYC Labyrinth” into the search bar.
Nothing. Not one credible result popped up.
There was a company out of Jersey called Labyrinth Fences, but their website boasted a poppy-red logo and pictures of a family-run, small-time business. There was a story about a prostitute who’d legally changed her name to “Labyrinth” after ten years working the streets. There were countless movie credits and photos from the set ofPan’s Labyrinth. But there was absolutely nothing that would help my investigation.
My eyes grew tired as I scrolled through page after page of Google results. I’d been searching for hours, growing more frustrated with each dead-end I clicked on, and was ready to call it quits for the night when something caught my eye. A single link to a forum of questions about New York City’s best-kept secrets. A conspiracy theorist’s paradise.
I clicked it and scanned the screen with raised brows.
There, at the bottom of the page, was a thread of comments from anonymous posters. My eyes devoured their words, and I felt my heartbeat begin to race.
StarGazer86: Anyone on here ever heard ofLabyrinth? On weekends, I bartend at this bar on the Upper East Side. Over the past few years, I’ve heard some patrons whispering the name, but I’ve never been able to figure out what it is.
PinkySwear91: Supposedly, it’s a club. Caters to the elite, members-only. Lots of rumors about backdoor deals and political alliances being made there, but no one knows for sure. It’s all speculation.