she needed to do. What she wanted to do. And that was to remind Dante of how much he had lost when he abandoned her.
There was to be no more lacrimosa for Beatrice.
Chapter 9
Lobby was an upscale martini bar and lounge on Bloor Street. Gabriel, in true Dantean fashion, always referred to the club as The Vestibule, because he deluded himself that its inhabitants resembled the virtuous pagans who spent eternity in Dante’s vision of Limbo. In reality, however, Lobby and its patrons had far more in common with the various circles of Hell.
Gabriel did not want to bring Julianne there, let alone Rachel, for Lobby was his hunting ground, the place he always went to feed his hungers. Too many people knew him there, or knew of him, and he was afraid of what they might say—of what might slip unbidden from blood-red lips.
But he felt comfortable at Lobby, confident that he could control the environment. There was no way in hell he was taking Rachel and Julianne into an environment that he could not control. For this one night, he would be Beowulf instead of Dante, warrior instead of poet. He would carry his sword unsheathed in his hand, and he would slay Grendel and all of his relatives if they even looked in the direction of his precious charges. Although he saw the sheer hypocrisy of it, he swallowed it whole to make Rachel happy.
When Rachel and Julia dutifully followed him out of the cab and toward the front door of Lobby, they were met by a long line of people who were waiting to get into the club. Gabriel disdained the line and approached the bouncer, a large, bald African-Canadian, who wore diamonds in his ears. He shook Gabriel’s hand and greeted him formally. “Mr. Emerson.”
“Ethan, I’d like you to meet my sister, Rachel, and her friend, Julianne.” Gabriel gestured to the young women, and Ethan smiled and nodded, stepping aside to let them in.
“What was that about?” Julia whispered to Rachel as they entered a modern and tastefully decorated black-and-white space.
“Gabriel is on the VIP list, apparently. Don’t ask.” Rachel wrinkled her nose.
Gabriel led them to the back of the club, to an exclusive area he had reserved known as the White Lounge, imaginatively named because of its monochromatic decor. The two friends sat on a low, white banquette, lounging comfortably on the ermine covered cushions. From their perch, they could see the dance floor that was located like a hub at the entrances to the private lounges. At the moment, no one was dancing.
Rachel gave her protégé an admiring glance. “Julia looks beautiful, doesn’t she, Gabriel? Really gorgeous.”
Julia blushed an abnormal shade of crimson and began fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Rachel, please,” she whispered.
“What? Isn’t she beautiful?” Rachel frowned over at her brother, who was shooting her a warning glance.
“You both look fine,” he said, admitting nothing and shifting his legs as if he were in pain.
Julia shook her head minutely and cursed under her breath, wondering why she cared so much about his opinions and why it was so difficult for him to be nice. Next to her, Rachel shrugged. It was Gabriel’s money. And if he didn’t worry about throwing away almost two thousand dollars to make Julia look fine, who was she to object? Except that his obvious lack of enthusiasm was an indictment of her ability to elicit a reaction from him. So she rose to the challenge.
“Hey, Julia…” she began, making sure Gabriel was listening and watching him out of the corner of her gray eyes, “how was your date with Paul?”
Julia’s skin maintained its current shade of red. “It was very nice. He’s a real gentleman. Very old-fashioned.”
She resisted the urge to turn to Gabriel to see if he was listening. She needn’t have bothered. Rachel was doing enough watching for both of them.
“And he took you to dinner?”
“Yes. To The Nataraj, his favorite Indian restaurant. Tomorrow he’s taking me to a double-feature at the Film Festival and afterward to Chinatown.”
“Is he cute?”
Julia squirmed. “If a rugby player could be termed cute. But he’s handsome and kind. He treats me like a princess.”
“Angelfucker.”
Rachel and Julia turned to Gabriel, not quite sure they heard what they thought they heard. Julia’s eyebrows went up, and frowning, she looked away.
Satisfied that she’d provoked a reaction from her brother commensurate with his most recent infraction, Rachel turned in her seat to check her makeup in the mirror behind them.