Though you had stuck to exploring Downtown, you had squeezed quite a bit into your first full day. You were still a little jet lagged though, and your mood was deteriorating as the day went on.
Occasionally, doubt would wiggle into your mind - the big "I'm leaving for LA to be a free woman" speech had felt good at the time...but that bravado was steadily wearing off. So you were glad to hear that the owner of the hotel would be hosting a party tonight.
Apparently he didn't do that often, and it would be a distraction for you, something different. As a guest of the hotel, you were automatically invited. In fact, your own personal invitation had arrived in the form of a small, golden envelope that afternoon. It was hand written from 'Mr James Patrick March'.
It was seven-thirty when you finished up in the shower. You didn't have anything that emulated the old-timey feel of the building, so you settled on a dress you'd bought once - but would never wear infront of your parents. It was a white slip dress with feathers lining the edge of the bust, it hung mid thigh on you but only lightly hugged your waist, preserving the modesty of the loose style.
There wasn't a minibar in your room, so you would have to enter a little nervous, but it was the confines of your comfort zone that you had ran away from afterall.
With a final glance in the mirror, and an inhale of confidence, you left for the party.
You decided to take the elevator, and you were damn glad you did. The entire groundfloor was heaving with people, and you were able to arrive quite unannounced in the midst of them all. Groups of mostly well-dressed men stood chatting in various parts of the room, muffled by the smooth jazz, with glasses of champagne in hand. It was low-lit, as usual, and the chandeliers seemed to focus on the middle of the floor, where the lobby chairs had been cleared, and a circular dance floor had been created in their place. You wove your way through the groups towards the bar, smiling when you finally spotted Liz, the only familiar face.
She hadn't noticed you yet - busy shaking up a cocktail, and you pulled out a stool at the bar.
As she handed the lady to your right her drink, and jammed the cash into the draw, you waved at her.
"I heard the owner could throw a party...but I didn't expect this" you laughed nervously, gesturing to the buzzing life behind you.
Her head shot up at your words, Cleopatra eyes finding your face immediately, and her mouth popped open into a perfect 'o'.
Liz was surprised to see you - alive.
"Yes" seemed to be all she could manage.
"Right I'm definitely ordering something strong, I wanna make sure I mingle tonight !" you grinned "can I please get a....ah- Singapore Sling."
"Coming right up" she murmered.
Liz was pouring in the cherry brandy when her gaze flickered back up to you.
"Did you...sleep well?"
"Yeah I was out stone cold, I think that martini last night hit me harder than usual, I mean, I don't really drink so..."
"Oh good" she smiled, setting the drink down infront of you, though her eyes still didn't meet yours.
"Oh no" you cringed "was I drunk? I do remember telling you my life story..."
"Not at all love, if you were drunk it wasn't noticeable...I've heard some guests complain about the quality of comfort in this place, that's all" she shrugged.
You couldn't imagine that, sure the rooms probably needed updating, but the mattress had been as comfortable as any.
"That's too bad, I bet they'd change their minds if they saw this party!"
Liz sighed heavily at your enthusiasm, closing her eyes for a few seconds. Before you could ask what was wrong, she was spinning back around to face you. She leaned forward, both elbows on the bar and captured you in a steady, serious gaze.
"Y/N this hotel...it isn't what you-"
"Liz!" a theatric voice boomed behind you.
You turned your head to see a man striding in your direction, he stopped to the left of your seat and leaned forward against the bar. The gleam off the handle of his long cane caught your eye as he tapped it merrily into the ground.
Liz sighed. "Another glass of champagne James?"
"Precisely" the man grinned, flashing a set of pearly-white teeth. "Although Liz, I would have expected to see a serving tray being offered at my soirée.."
Liz raised an eyebrow at him before refilling his narrow glass "butler service is more Miss Evers' forte..."
You were still staring at the man as he took a sip of his new drink. He was like something from an old movie - dark pinstripe suit, maroon cravat, the most expensive looking shoes you'd ever seen and slick parted hair to match. He even wore a pencil moustache.
He turned his gaze to you, and you rose quickly from your seat. You felt oddly compelled to with his eyes on you now.
"Well!" He beamed, dark eyes swallowing you whole "aren't you a vision!"
You were taken back by the full weight of the hotel owner's attention, made heavier by the theatrics of his tone.
"Um, thanks."
"Oh my dear, I must apologise, where are my manners!" He stuck his hand out towards you "I'm James Patrick March, owner of the hotel Cortez."
"I'm Y/N..a guest" you smiled warmly, taking his hand. As your skin met his, you flinched at the coldness but he kept hold of you and dipped his head to press equally cold lips to your knuckles. You were flustered by such an uncommon gesture, but you tried to compose yourself.
"I've gotta say, this place is really something - makes all the other hotels around here look boring."
"How kind of you to say. I always wanted my guests to have a truly unique experience. So what brings you to my Cortez, young lady?"
"Well, I wanted something different - 'unique' as you say...that word definitely pops up a lot in the reviews! I'm not from LA, I'm actually just here, er, exploring."
"And you came here, to the 'City of Angels', alone?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
This man, though he was incredibly pale and possibly hadn't seen a good night's sleep in months, was very handsome. So you 'erred' on the side of new adventures and decided not to mention your boyfriend-turned-ex-boyfriend.
You nodded and took a sip of your cerise cocktail.
His eyes followed your lips as you drank.
"Will you not try the champagne? It's Dom Pérignon, 1963 I believe."
You nearly spat your mouthful.
"That's worth thousands!" you'd breathed the words before you could stop yourself. James raised his brow and, for a moment, you were worried your surprise would be insulting, but he simply chuckled.
"You can't put a price on a fine wine dear."
"Thanks, but I feel like it would be really wasted on me.. "
"Nonsense!" He gasped, and this time, he did look insulted.
"No no" you spoke nervously "I mean, honestly, I don't really like champagne..."
Really Y/N? Digging yourself a hole much?
"Ah yes I see. I did not have a taste for it myself at your age you know. No matter. Drink what you please of course, even if it is..."
He squinted at your glass.
"Singapore Sling." You murmered. It was a vintage cocktail, but you still felt a little embarrassed revealing it to this man of clearly more expensive taste. "Um, it's got cherry and sweet syrup in..."
As if that makes it better.
James' face seemed to darken at this, the delighted glint in his eye creating a mesmerising contrast.
"You like sweet things" he observed, lip twitching ever so slightly.
You were suddenly aware of Sally, seeming to have appeared out of thin air, slouching on the stall to your right. She was watching you both with an amused expression, chin rested in her hand. You blinked at her. As you stood in the middle of these strangers, you felt almost suffocated by the swell of the combined energy emanating from them. A darker blue lense now, almost black. But something stayed you - an intruige. No, more than that. A calling. To be right where you were...
"What is that?" James enquired, snapping you back to reality as his eyes narrowed down on your fingers.
You had been mindlessly stroking the pendant of your necklace.
"Oh! it's my St Christopher - my mom gave me it on my eighteenth birthday. Supposed to keep you safe and all that..." you pulled your hand away to let him see the round silver, the figure of a saint carrying a child carved into the face.
James mouth pulled down into a frown, and he reached his hand out, fingers hovering over the pendant on your chest. His finger hooked underneath the frail chain, and for a strange moment, you felt he might tear it right off your neck.
But he withdrew his hand.
"Good" he praised, voice thick with a tone you didn't recognise.
Sally cackled to your right.
"I would like to get to know you better miss Y/N, I find you most intruiging" he said and he pressed his hand to your upper back, turning you away from the bar with him "but let us become better acquainted somewhere less crowded."
You didn't miss the look he shot Sally.
"You don't like Sally much do you" you guessed as he guided you to a quieter spot on the floor.
"Nor is that slackumtrance woman particularly fond of me."
You blinked at his odd word, unsure of what it meant, but the way he spat it sounded like an insult.
"I like her." you contested.
"Yes" he drew the word out in a manner that was far older than he looked, his eyes lifted heavenward "you would."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well my dear you've been here a day and you've already befriended the only transvestite in the building, and he likes you.."
"She's transgender." you corrected, narrowing your eyes at him "and what does it matter?"
He raised his brow as he appraised you, a light smile on his face "I did not mean to offend you my dear, I only meant to draw attention to the fact that you are...accepting, aren't you? Of even the most obscure folk."
"Well I don't find Liz obscure. Sally either. But yeah, I guess I am. I don't judge others based on appearance, people are people. And to be different is beautiful I think."
James hummed at this, the excited glint returning to his eyes.
"But clearly the drapes match the carpet for you Mr March.."
"Ha! Yes, well, true I am a man of my time. But perhaps I could learn to take a leaf out of your book."
"You probably ought to" you murmered, taking another sip of your drink.
"Ha! I like you. So fair and yet...." his finger lifted to your face, he stroked your cheek once with the back of it and you shifted a little at how fast the gesture was "you are a feisty thing aren't you? Come now, let us not get off on the wrong footing."
You hesitated - James March seemed like a bit of dick so far, so why did you have to find him so stupidly attractive?
The atmosphere seemed to slow as you stood considering him and a gentle, jazz-inflected song filled the room.
James straightened up, squaring his shoulders and extended his palm to you "Would you do me the pleasure of having this dance?"
You had barely nodded before he was leading you to the dancefloor, and as Etta James' 'At Last' registered in your mind, and various pairs of eyes were now fixed on the two of you as you parted the crowds, that stab of self consciousness hit you again.
James led you out into the middle of two couples, who had already begun swaying to the music, and lifted your hand to shoulder height. His other hand placed on your left shoulder blade, he held you in a closed frame.
At Last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you
You followed his lead across the floor naturally - being no stranger to the Viennese Waltz. The nervousness you'd felt before seemed to melt away with every movement.
It was a passion of yours that seemed lost on this modern culture - no boys your age danced.
His eyes widened as you spun effortlessly in his arms.
"You're a natural." he murmered, lifting you lightly and spinning with you.
You smiled wider, a flirtatious glint in your eye, uncommon for you "this isn't my first Waltz."
You could see in your peripheral that some guests had paused their activities to watch you, but you didn't care anymore. James was a brilliant dancer, and being in his arms had a way of making you feel untouchable.
I found a dream that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I've never known
You smiled, you smiled
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in Heaven
For you are mine at last
When he finally set you down, you had forgotten about everything but him.
"I must admit, I was not expecting that." he breathed. His voice sounded different than before, less theatrical by far, with a raw quality to it.
"I've been into ballroom for a few years now." you shrugged, fluttering your eyelashes in mock modesty.
"Mr March" a large man behind him called merrily, slapping a hand on his shoulder, and you took a few steps back from the men.
"Who's your lady friend?" the man asked as James turned to him, giving you a friendly smile.
"This is miss Y/N, Y/N this is Theo. A colleague of mine."
"Nice to meet you Y/N. You should come down and see the new construction project, and maybe you can convince James to actually leave this place for once and see his work!"
Your eyes snapped up to James who was watching you with a proud smile. You hoped he'd tell his colleague that, actually, the two of you had only just met, and you didn't have a clue what Theo was talking about. But as you grew more awkward, James only smiled wider.
"Er...ok" you replied finally, earning a laugh from the two men.
"Ah. As the French say - business should not be discussed at parties. Alas, I am not French!" James squeezed your shoulder "my dear, I don't want to bore you with the finer details of my work. It was a pleasure to meet you, I will find you again in a while. Go, have fun, 'mingle'."
"It was nice to meet you too Mr March" you replied, confused at your sudden dismissal.
As you left, the two men resumed their discussion behind you.
"Seriously James, you design all this great stuff and you never come out and see it! The lads have their suspicions..." Theo's words were the last you heard of the conversation as you made your way back to the bar.
You baught another drink from Liz, a glass of red wine this time, but you didn't see James again after that.
As you became acquainted with a group of women who admired your dancing, your eyes flickered around the room every so often, searching for the man, but he was nowhere to be found.
After another hour of chatting, dancing and hoping James March would return, the butterflies of anticipation had dulled, and you grew tired. You returned to your room some time later, tipsy, surprisingly liberated and trying to make your mind up about the mysterious hotel owner.