Acting 101 Ch. 07-08: Double-Header

"Oh, we are going to show off tonight!" I breathed, drinking her in. Even though there was no music, I took her in my arms and led her through a few steps, a turn in and back, and finally a deep dip. She laughed the whole time.

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, we are!"

And with that, we were off. I had reclaimed the role as driver and we were soon gliding to a halt at the valet entrance for the Capital Club. I popped right out and hustled around to get the door for Meredith, but the second valet had already opened it. He was the lucky guy who got to watch Meredith unfold her legs from the Tesla, putting the slit in that dress to maximum effect.

As we entered, Claude the guardian greeted us. He raised an eyebrow at my return engagement, but he actually spoke to me directly this time, after exchanging the usual pleasantries with Meredith of course. "Good evening Mr. Talbott," he said in his cavernous voice. "It is good to have you with us again. How are things in Winston-Salem?"

That caught me off guard. How the hell did he know that I was, if only peripherally, one of those Talbots? As we moved off toward dinner, I asked Meredith, "Did you drop by at lunch since last time and tell him about my family?"

But Meredith, in addition to being amused, was just as surprised as I. "I did not!" she replied quietly. "Claude is a legend around here. I guess the rumors that he has a crystal ball behind that counter somewhere must be true," she laughed. "Seriously, I guess he had you checked out. I should be touched that he was impressed enough with you to think you might stick around."

Dinner was again delicious. As we ate, I produced the small wrapped box I had in my pocket. "Merry Christmas," I said, sliding it across the table to her. Merediths' eyebrows shot up at the box, which was pretty obviously a jewelry case.

"Scott! I..." she started to object, but I shushed.

"They are not fancy, and they are not expensive," I said quickly. "But I thought of you when I saw them."

Meredith looked at the box, then shrugged. "Well, then if we are doing gifts, then you should have yours, too." With that, she reached into her purse and produced a flat package just larger than a paperback book, wrapped in much finer quality paper than the roll of Target-bought paper I had used on my gift to her.

I stared hard at the box, then realized, "That is a lot larger purse than you've carried with you before tonight. Did you choose it just to carry that?" Meredith just smiled and slid the box toward me. "Oh, no," I said. "You first." Honestly, I had no idea what she'd gotten me, and I didn't want mine to look too fine or too lame.

Meredith unwrapped my box, revealing it was indeed a jewelry box. She flipped it open and cooed happily. Inside were two silver earrings. They bore no stones, just elegant sweeps of gleaming metal. "I noticed that you don't seem to wear dangling earrings," I said.

"You are right, I don't," said Meredith as she looked the earrings over happily. "And you also noticed I mostly don't wear yellow metals either!" She set the box down, leaving it open so that she could still look at the earrings. "I think I love them," she said happily. "In a few minutes, I am going to excuse myself so I can swap them out for what I'm wearing and get a look at them on me."

But first, it was my turn. I lifted the package, which had surprising weight to it. The very heavy-duty paper seemed too fine just to tear off, so I carefully loosened each piece of tape, letting the paper slide free still whole, revealing a plain box. When I opened that, I found a simple but iconic black Moleskine writer's notebook with my name emblazoned on the hard cover. I am one of those people who always carries a notebook or two with him. I even had a smaller Moleskine in my jacket pocket at that very moment. Alongside it was a smaller box with an Italian name on it. It was much too small for a tie. I lifted it and opened it, and my eyes twitched. It was a silver and purple enameled pen. It looked like a Mont Blanc, but with indefinably sleeker lines. I uncapped it and saw that, rather than a cool but impractical fountain pen, it sported a stainless-steel roller-ball nib. I lifted it. It was comfortably heavy in my hand.

With a flourish, I opened the Moleskine to the first page and began to write. After a moment, I spun the notebook around to let her see: "Then Meredith rose in her elegant way and went to see how her earrings would look gracing her elegant features."

"Thank you," I said simply, as she did indeed rise and stepped away with her earring case.

In a few minutes, she returned. She had actually swapped out the gorgeous sapphire studs she had worn for our date and was wearing my gift instead. That was flattering and gratifying. "Wow, Meredith," I exclaimed. "You make them look amazing." She just smiled.

I'll admit, I really wanted a piece of the Baked Alaska I saw being delivered to the diners at the table next to us, but it was time to dance, and all that ice cream would have weighed me down.

Instead, we rose and went upstairs once we were finished with our mains. We paused outside the ballroom, chatting for a moment about nothing much. I heard the song inside end, and Meredith turned and let me lead her into the main room. She had been waiting to make an entrance, the stinker.

If entrance she wanted, then entrance she would get. I immediately led her off across the dance floor. We knew each other well this time, and I led her through a much more extravagant series of steps and turns than we had started with two weeks before. We clearly trusted each other enough to make those flashy steps work as we Foxtrotted our way across and around the entire parquet dance floor.

It was, of course, glorious. At first, I could simply lose myself in this woman in my arms, and gaze into her eyes, trusting my peripheral vision to ensure that we collided with no one. After the first few songs, Meredith started expanding her awareness to the other members around us. This time, I followed suit, curious to see for myself how these people were receiving a return appearance by Meredith's 'toy boy'.

That thought brought me up short for a moment. Where had that come from? Was I a Toy Boy? Was that why Claude had checked me out? Was he checking to see if I was some kind of adventurer who needed to be barred from the club?

Oddly, I was more insulted that he would think that of Meredith that that he might have suspected it of me. Then Meredith's eyes met mine happily, and we danced on as my silly turmoil receded.

But I continued to pay much more attention to the people around us. Most, of course, were simply concentrating on their partner and their own feet. But here and there, it was clear that there were some dancers at least as good as us, beyond the instructors Piotr and Maria. Those two were spending most of the evening dancing with various members, but they left us alone this time. One older guy was particularly good, and flashy too, though his young, lissome partner seemed barely able to keep up. "That's Claudio Barreles," Meredith told me as I watched the pair sweep by near us. "He's the billionaire I told you about... the best dancer here."

In between the dancers who only had eyes for themselves, there were a few who were still giving Meredith and me the eye, however.

"I'm paying a bit more attention tonight," I observed during a quiet moment in the music. "There are still a number of people here who disapprove of your current life choices."

"I know," smiled Meredith with an expression like a cat who got the canary. "I hope you don't mind that I find their blue-nosed disapproval as delicious as that creme brûlée that I passed on earlier."

"Of course not!" I replied, realizing as I said it that I might have been lying just a little.

As the song neared its conclusion, I was surprised to find that the Barreles dude had maneuvered his partner and himself right next to us. As the music paused, he turned, partially releasing his partner and bowed to Meredith. "Ms. Chisholm," he said in a velvety rumbling voice. "It is good to see you after such a long time." He turned to me, eyes boring into mine. "May I ask that we cut in?" he said to me. "It has been too long since Meredith and I have, eh, cut a rug?" he said, as if he didn't know his idiomatic English as well as I.

I was already furious with myself as my lips replied, "Of course," and I relinquished my arm from around Meredith. I was mad to grasp that I had genuinely had no choice. This bastard was bigger than me, better-looking than me, more confident than me, and richer by at least four orders of magnitude than me. I had literally never encountered an Alpha like Claudio Barreles, and I hid well my inner cursing at how I had instantly complied like the most pathetic of underlings.

I hadn't even asked Meredith. He hadn't asked her. But she just winked at me happily and let herself be swept into his arms. His big, talented, fucking arms.

I turned to his date, and she smiled at me as if I had not just been humiliated. Had I been humiliated? Cutting in was a simple, common thing. It made dancing sociable. I really had not been humiliated.

It just felt that way.

I turned to his lovely date, bowed and let her into a waltz. As consolation prizes went, she was a hell of a lot better than the game show tradition of Rice-a-Roni. She was graceful and elegant as a gazelle... if gazelles had tasty, ample, very well-displayed cans, a wasp-like waist, and legs that went on for days. And she could indeed dance, though she was utterly passive.

"I'm Scott," I said with a polite smile, and turned her into an inside clinch, then back out.

"I am Chantale," she replied. "I take it our dates know each other well?"

I shrugged. "They are the members here."

We danced on, and I could hardly complain about the tasty armful she made. Her voice was smooth and unremarkable, but I could just pick out the faint but unmistakeable patterns of a fruity, upper-crust Boston accent. Why she'd let such an undeniably aristocratic voice fade was beyond me. I tried to find out. "How long since you were last in Boston?" I asked, bring to impress the beautiful woman with my perceptive nature, as men are wont to do.

Her eyes flashed, but not pleasantly. "I'm not from Boston," she replied, all trace of the accent erased. Curiously, she made no effort to make the obvious lie sound believable. It was more of a firm, collegial warning.

"How long have you been dating Claudio?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"This is our first weekend together," she answered easily. "He brought me here with him on his private jet from San Francisco."

A private jet weekend for a first date? It must be good to be a billionaire. And good to catch his eye.

Then it clicked.

As we danced on, Chantale asked me how long I had been with Meredith, and I told her a few weeks. "Very nice," she said.

And that clicked.

I'll admit, my dancing was desultory. I was processing the lovely, well-bred... woman I was dancing with, while keeping an eagle eye on Meredith and the billionaire at the same time. Fortunately, after only two songs, I was close enough to them to cut back in and restore order.

Meredith waved off Barreles and we danced our separate ways.

"Did you enjoy your dance with the billionaire?" I asked airily, hiding my testiness well.

"Of course," Meredith said happily. "Claudio is a very charming man." She looked at me. "And while I much prefer to be in your arms than his... well... I did tell you he a better dancer than you," she finished, both embarrassed and teasing at once. "I don't know why he was so set on maneuvering over to dance with me, though."

"He probably just wanted to dance with the most beautiful woman here," I snorted absently.

"Flatterer," Meredith snorted right back. "That young woman on his arm is stunning."

"She's a hooker," I said flatly.

"She is nota hooker," said Meredith mildly. Before I could argue, she went on. "If, as is quite likely, she is 'hired help', she is certainly a world-class escort, not a 'hooker'."

"And, she seemed to think that she and I were talking shop... that we were colleagues," I added, still miffed.

Meredith snorted, but her eyes flashed. "Claudio Barreles, you rat bastard," she mused. "He has some real stones to think that you are a gigolo." I puffed up my chest in indignation. "Oh relax, Scott. If you were a gigolo, you would be world-class, too."

I wanted to be insulted all over again, I really did. But Meredith paused thoughtfully. "Come to think of it," she said, her hand brushing over my ass as if by accident, and as if we weren't in the middle of the dance floor with good chunk of Atlanta's Old Money surrounding us. "Come to think of it, that might not be a bad game to play some time," she finished, eyes twinkling.

That was certainly a distracting thought.

But I was not to be derailed, even by that suggestion. "I don't get it," I went on. Meredith may have neatly defused any bristling at their ideas about me, but I was still disturbed by Chantal. "She tries pretty successfully to hide it, but her accent is unmistakeable if you hear it. How does that aristocratic of a Bostonian, end up... like that?"

"And you are such an expert of the Bostonian aristocracy?" asked Meredith.

"I went to prep school, Meredith," I replied drily. "I was constantly up to my ass in old money Bostonians. None of them had bluer blood than that girl. And here she is on a weekend 'date' with..." I paused and affected the very Boston Blue accent that 'Chantal' was hiding, "... a South American."

Meredith laughed, then sobered. She rested her head on my shoulder and said quietly, "Old Money, doesn't always mean Much Money, Scott."

We danced on.

"Still," Meredith said, circling back to her earlier question. "Why was he so intent on dancing with me? I haven't seen him in over a year..." She bit the lower of her expressive lips. "Matthew's old client is still on the books as mine now. I think we are still on retainer. I need to check and see if there is something up."

I just looked at her, puzzled.

"I met Barreles three years ago," said Meredith thoughtfully, suddenly referring to him by his bare last name. "Matthew was suing a subsidiary of a subsidiary of one of his companies. Barreles invited himself to our table one night here at dinner and charmed the pants off of us. Never brought up the case at all. We decided he just wanted to demonstrate that the whole matter was too minor for him to hold against Matthew."

"Matthew won, too. Though in the end, we could have used a grown-up Stephanie..." she added absently.

"Steff?" I asked, confused. "A grown up who?"

"We ended up losing on appeal, of course," Meredith said. "The firm could have used the kind force Stephanie is going to be." I just looked at her, confused. I looked confused around both of these women more often than I was comfortable with. "You know she is going to end up at Harvard Law, right?" She asked me.

"I think some gorgeous half-naked woman told me that earlier this week," I replied, pulling her tightly against me. Meredith paused her story to simply enjoy being held. Then she went on. "Harvard, Yale, those outfits don't produce litigators like me or Stephanie's father. We are worker bees. You go there to be an appellate lawyer. Or an appellate judge... or Justice."

Whoa.

"She is smarter than me, you know. Smarter than her father was, too," went on Meredith. "Maybe not the hunter I am, or the courtroom brawler her father was, but she is already more the legal intellectual than I'll ever be, or would really want to be. She is going to be a star," she finished, surprisingly smugly.

I reflected that while Meredith might not call Steff her daughter, and while Steff absolutely refused to call her her mother, Meredith truly loved Steff. And Steff clearly returned the emotion. I smiled briefly to myself at that. Very briefly. The problem was that it reminded me that I was living life on the most physically enjoyable tightrope in history....

We danced until they stopped playing music.

We waved at Claude as we went out to the valet entrance. Since it was so late, they had already brought round my car. I slipped in front of the second valet to hold the door for Meredith myself. No way I was letting that guy do it and ogle Meredith's leg pushing that slit in her dress apart as she got in. That was my leg to ogle.

Little bastard just stood beside me and watched anyway.

As I slid in to the driver's seat, Meredith leaned over and pointed to the right. "Do me a favor. Take us over to the Westin. I'd like a drink in the bar up top."

I shrugged. I'd only eaten at the rotating restaurant on the top floor, but never even been in the bar. I knew the view would be spectacular though. The hotel had been the tallest hotel in the world when it was built. Even sitting with Meredith, I might still look out the window occasionally.

After we shot up the elevator to the top of the building, we were given a table right up against the outside windows. Like the restaurant, the bar rotated too, and we were just coming around to a view of Midtown as we sat. There were two facing couches with our little table, and I had to decide whether to cuddle beside Meredith or to sit opposite where I could look into her eyes... and other parts. I sat opposite.

The server was right there, and Meredith ordered us each Martinis made with a gin I'd never heard of before I could say anything. As we watched him sail off to the bar to place our order, I turned and looked at Meredith. "So you got us a room here," I accused.

"Excuse me?" laughed Meredith.

"I'm happy to excuse you," I chuckled in reply. "You know how much I don't like to drive right after a strong cocktail, and at a place like this, the Martinis are probably huge, in addition to being strong," I said, ticking off points on my fingers. "You are a planner, so you likely already have a room reserved." Channeling Meredith's own courtroom schtick, I went on. "The witness has an excellent poker face, but my evidence is sufficient and beyond a reasonable doubt. You are trying to get me drunk." I leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "Are you trying to take advantage of me, Ms. Chisholm?"

"You are mighty presumptuous, aren't you?" replied Meredith with arched eyebrow. "Its just one cocktail and... Oh the Hell with it," she interrupted herself, reached into her purse and slapped a black room key card with the words Peachtree Plaza on it down onto the table.

"You checked in already?" I said in surprise. "Now who is presumptuous? It is a good thing for you that while I'm not a gigolo, I'm still pretty much a sure thing." We laughed together and actually looked out the window for a moment or two. When the Martinis came, we lifted them and toasted. "To sure things," murmured Meredith, just barely loud enough to make sure I could hear.

I held my glass by its stem and watched Meredith. She lifted hers to her always complexly crooked lips. Her lovely, wide, uneven mouth was central to her always mysterious appeal. At the moment, her two simultaneous expressions were both smiles, one of satisfaction, one ruefully wry. Her wide, large eyes gleamed happily at me, her soft brown irises sparkled with the spots of yellow sprinkled through them like flecks of gold at the bottom of a pristine mountain stream. The yellow was seldom visible in her eyes, but that evening, given the color and angle of the bar's lighting, its sparkle was magically apparent.

Her corona of wavy blonde hair was enchanting as always, wreathing her face in gold. There was a sheen of dampness at the roots, testimony to the vigor of our exertions on the dance floor. I idly wondered how wet and messy I could make her hair with exertions yet to come.