Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,78
Not in the slightest.
“So?” she prompts me.
“You look fantastic,” I say, looking away.
“Good,” she says as she steps close and rests a finger on my chest. “Now, let's go some place where I can show you what happens when you put a woman like me in a dress like this.” She curls her finger as she walks toward the door of the room, beckoning me to follow her.
I do, watching her as we walk the length of the hall. There is none of the clumsiness in her gait that I saw on the boat, even though she's wearing much less sensible shoes. I've walked in heels before—Louis XIV insisted courtiers wear red-heeled shoes—but it was never a fashion statement I cared much for. Possibly because I kept snapping heels off my shoes.
The elevator arrives and Mere walks in, pivoting smoothly and placing her back against the wall of the elevator car. In the warm light reflecting off the gold paneling, she appears to float, suspended off the floor by a host of butterflies swarming around her toes.
I push the button for the ground floor, and spend the ride down staring at the yellow shards of fire that lie around the base of her neck. She watches the numbers descend on the elevator readout, her lips curving into a tiny smile.
* * *
The cab drops us off at the edge of a sculpted square, complete with a fancy fountain and decorative hedges that glisten from water saturation. Our destination is a tall building that starts with a rose-colored marble facade at the street level and transforms into a spire of glittering glass and steel as it goes up several dozen floors. Intricate patterns are engraved in the marble—Pre-Columbian, probably Incan or Aztec in origin.
A well-proportioned bouncer gets the door for us, his eyes lingering on Mere as she passes, and she gets the same treatment from the pair in the spacious lobby. The reliance on marble continues inside, huge blocks that create a veritable maze. The stone is sculpted with more of the same symbols as the exterior, though figures start breaking up the endless mosaics. Incan, I decide, idly wondering about the design choice. Santiago seems a little south of the heart of the Incan empire.
We follow a wide, winding staircase that takes us to a mezzanine that looks down on the marble display. Mere leaves me to look at the sculpture while she talks to the hostess who is standing behind a podium beside a marble archway.
Distantly, I hear the thump-thump of an electronic beat, dance music drifting down through layers of sound-proofing. How convenient. Dinner and dancing at the same location.
One of the two security guards in the lobby is looking up at me. His hand is pulling at his lapel and his lips are moving.
Who's he talking to?
I hear my name being called and I look away from the security guard. Mere gestures for me to join her. I'm less smitten than I was five minutes ago, and I appraise her more coldly as I walk across the mezzanine. What is she up to?
The hostess takes us through the arch and into the restaurant. The ambient thunder of the dance club upstairs fades to a distant echo beneath the melodic etude coming from the white grand piano set up in the center of the room. A dozen stage lights are trained on the piano, and the reflected light provides most of the illumination in the room. The rest comes from small mushroom-shaped lamps that sit in the center of each table, shedding just enough illumination for the diners to see their plates and each other, if they lean close. On my left, lines of blue light illuminate the bottles on the shelves behind the bar.
The hostess takes us to a small booth that is neither in the center nor near the walls. Each booth is separate from its neighbors, a rounded three-quarter shell of plush leather around a lacquered table. Mere slides halfway around the booth and I slip in next to her. She leans over after the hostess leaves, her shoulder bumping mine. “It's rated as the most romantic restaurant in all of Santiago,” she says.
“I can't imagine why,” I say, looking at her. I nod toward the ceiling. “Let me guess: the hottest dance club is upstairs?”
She smiles, showing me her teeth. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“How did you know I was going to bring back a dress?”