Hello Again (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

May 2011: Fiances and Boyfriends

The charity event is more like a huge party.  There’s an open bar, music and dancing.  The entire first floor of the New York Contemporary Museum has been rented out for this event.  The museum is gorgeous, and as soon as I step inside, I wish that I had been able to bring Santos with me.  He would have loved the design and the space.  The main room is huge, wide and open with rich marble floors, and impossibly high ceilings.  A two tiered chandelier hangs from the middle of the room, and there are two rows of paintings in ornate wooden frames that line each wall.  I recognize one entire wall as artwork from my gallery, and it makes me swell with pride to see them there.  It’s not as if I painted them, but it’s so nice to see The Hudson Gallery represented.

The room is full, but not packed.  People stand in small groups, talking and laughing loudly as they sip expensive champagne.  The dance floor has already started to fill.  Some people stand at the cocktail tables, nibbling on tiny hors d’oeuvres.  It’s all rather fancy and civilized, and although I’m wearing an insanely expensive dress (I texted Santos the designer, and he responded with a lot of exclamation points), and I’ve actually done my hair and makeup for once, I still feel out of place. 

“May I get you a drink?” A pleasant voice to my side asks.  I turn, coming face to face with a waiter.  He looks young, though the tux he’s wearing makes him look at least of age.

“Champagne, please.” I smile, forcing it slightly.  The Cinderella effect has worn off slightly, and now that I’m here, all I can think about is getting back to the hotel, ordering room service and watching tv in bed.

“You must be Gracie Bell.” A voice from behind me seems to ring out through the room, and I turn around quickly.  A man, who looks to be in his forties, wearing an impeccable black tux, walks up to me, his large hand out.  I smile again, and shake his hand.

“Hello.” I manage.  I don’t know why Vera thought I would be good at this. I’m terrible at this.  I’m about as eloquent as a cactus. The man smiles, and I can’t help but notice the quick dart of his eyes as he looks me up and down. I press my lips together, crossing my arms over my front. I’m more than aware of the low v neckline of the dress, and the way his eyes linger.

“I’m Franklin Kordrol.  I’m the event planner here at the New York Contemporary.  I know Vera well.  She told me you would be coming in her stead.” He grins at me, his smile wide and full of large teeth. He’s a large man, with close set eyes and graying moustache. I take a step back. Has he heard of personal space? 

“Ah, Mr. Kordrol, yes.  So nice to meet you.” I say, my jaw clenched as I force a smile. 

“Please, young lady, call me Franklin.  Mr. Kordrol was my father.” He puts a hand at the small of my back and I try to be subtle as I take a few steps forward, just out of his reach.  I wonder if it would be rude to remind him that he is old enough to be my father.

“Let me show you around, and introduce you to a few people.  I want you to meet some people from the museum, and the charity, and there’s quite a few celebrities here. I sincerely hope you have a wonderful time.  No date?” He still has an arm extended, as if he wants to guide me around the room.  I grip my little clutch purse, my mind racing.

“No date. Just here strictly for business.” I say, my voice clipped.  The waiter returns with my champagne, and I take it, thanking him as I quickly throw back the cold, fizzy liquid.  Franklin watches me drink, somewhat mesmerized, but then smiles quickly and turns as he motions me to follow him.  I set the empty glass down on a nearby table, and I follow him through the large room.

“Vera sent some beautiful pieces.  We were thrilled to have them here.” Franklin walks me through the hall, smiling and waving at people as we move.  I try my best to take everything in, but it’s rather overwhelming.