I’m scheduling this on Saturday, so I hope that by the time it posts, I’ll be much further along. I’m a good 21,000 words behind my NaNoWriMo goal, but determined to finish this, even if I don’t finish it by the NaNo deadline. The plot is really coming together in my head and I’m liking what I’m writing, although I’m sure I’ll need to find a good group of fellow writers to help with editing and to critique for me (any volunteers? she asks hopefully).
“Mr. Abbot?” her voice was soft.
“Looks like you found me,” he said, wondering where she came from. “I haven’t sent you more flowers.” His tone was light, joking. Diane flashed a dirty look in Cleopatra’s direction and moved to reclaim her place on Abbot’s arm. Abbot dismissed Diane with a nonchalant sweep of his hand and she slinked off to join a group of women who were the closest thing Diane had to friends.
Cleopatra nodded. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. Her expression remained stoic as she regarded the man standing in front of her.
Up close, the dancer was more beautiful than Abbot could have imagined. She was tall, about five-foot-nine, and so slender he was certain she could fit through a crack in the wall. She wore her hair down tonight, the midnight black tresses falling in soft waves that ended where Abbot imagined must be the middle of Cleopatra’s thighs, had he been able to tell for sure through the skirt of her ball gown.
She looked like a medieval princess in her floor-length, silk gown. It flowed around her like the wings of a butterfly, and was just as colorful. Blues, greens and pinks of countless shades swirled across the fabric in broad paint-brushed strokes. There was no obvious pattern, which seemed to fit Cleopatra perfectly, from Abbot’s perspective. He felt as though he knew her better than she knew herself. It was presumptuous and arrogant to think so, but Abbot was nothing if not presumptuous and arrogant.
Cleopatra had been studying Abbot for several minutes, silent. He dared not say anything for fear of scaring her away. She seemed fragile and a bit skittish. Abbot imagined the words “handle with care” stamped on Cleopatra’s forehead and he intended to do so.
After several more seconds of awkward silence, during which Abbot felt like an animal on display at a zoo, he spoke. “You were wonderful tonight. I very much enjoyed the show.”
“No, you didn’t.” There was no teasing in her tone. She was simply stating a fact.
“Why would you say that?” Abbot asked, incredulous at Cleopatra’s audacity.
“You hate the ballet,” she answered.
Her attitude was, quite frankly, pissing Abbot off. “How could you possibly know that?” he asked, a tinge of anger behind his words. How dare she!
“You deny it?”
This was turning into possibly the strangest conversation in which Abbot had taken part in his entire life. He was intrigued.
“Well,” he paused, deciding how to answer. “I don’t hate it. But I often find it trite and dull.”
Cleopatra nodded, and for a second so brief Abbot wasn’t even certain it happened, a faint smile crossed Cleopatra’s lips. “It serves its purpose,” she answered. There was no emotion behind the words.
“I suppose it does,” Abbot said. “A lot of people enjoy it very much. It’s entertainment and an opportunity to pretend to be cultured. And for rich guys like me to throw around some extra money and impress a few people.”
He chuckled, impressed with himself. This could only lead to a normal conversation, he was certain.
Cleopatra raised an eyebrow. “It is all of those things,” she said, “and so much more.”
She stared at Abbot again, her bright green eyes boring into his, searching and seeking. Everything about Cleopatra was intense. Abbot’s usual smoothness with women, so ingrained, seemed to flee from his body and leave him a quivering jellyfish. He was surprised he could even stand. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, take her home, marry her. None of this made any sense to Abbot. He didn’t even know her. He wasn’t sure he liked her. But he was in love with her. She had the sexiest collarbones he’d ever seen.
“That’s enough for now,” Cleopatra said, then turned on her heal and floated away. Abbot tried to see where she went so he could find her later, but she seemed to disappear into nowhere.
Abbot stood, transfixed. Since the moment Cleopatra entered his space, he hadn’t even noticed the chatter of the crowd or the soft classical music playing over the ballroom’s sound system. The tinkle of glasses on waiters’ trays faded into the background. None of it came back to him until Diane was once again at his side, hooking her elbow to his and whispering into his ear.
“Mr. Abbot?” her voice was soft.
“Looks like you found me,” he said, wondering where she came from. “I haven’t sent you more flowers.” His tone was light, joking. Diane flashed a dirty look in Cleopatra’s direction and moved to reclaim her place on Abbot’s arm. Abbot dismissed Diane with a nonchalant sweep of his hand and she slinked off to join a group of women who were the closest thing Diane had to friends.
Cleopatra nodded. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. Her expression remained stoic as she regarded the man standing in front of her.
Up close, the dancer was more beautiful than Abbot could have imagined. She was tall, about five-foot-nine, and so slender he was certain she could fit through a crack in the wall. She wore her hair down tonight, the midnight black tresses falling in soft waves that ended where Abbot imagined must be the middle of Cleopatra’s thighs, had he been able to tell for sure through the skirt of her ball gown.
She looked like a medieval princess in her floor-length, silk gown. It flowed around her like the wings of a butterfly, and was just as colorful. Blues, greens and pinks of countless shades swirled across the fabric in broad paint-brushed strokes. There was no obvious pattern, which seemed to fit Cleopatra perfectly, from Abbot’s perspective. He felt as though he knew her better than she knew herself. It was presumptuous and arrogant to think so, but Abbot was nothing if not presumptuous and arrogant.
Cleopatra had been studying Abbot for several minutes, silent. He dared not say anything for fear of scaring her away. She seemed fragile and a bit skittish. Abbot imagined the words “handle with care” stamped on Cleopatra’s forehead and he intended to do so.
After several more seconds of awkward silence, during which Abbot felt like an animal on display at a zoo, he spoke. “You were wonderful tonight. I very much enjoyed the show.”
“No, you didn’t.” There was no teasing in her tone. She was simply stating a fact.
“Why would you say that?” Abbot asked, incredulous at Cleopatra’s audacity.
“You hate the ballet,” she answered.
Her attitude was, quite frankly, pissing Abbot off. “How could you possibly know that?” he asked, a tinge of anger behind his words. How dare she!
“You deny it?”
This was turning into possibly the strangest conversation in which Abbot had taken part in his entire life. He was intrigued.
“Well,” he paused, deciding how to answer. “I don’t hate it. But I often find it trite and dull.”
Cleopatra nodded, and for a second so brief Abbot wasn’t even certain it happened, a faint smile crossed Cleopatra’s lips. “It serves its purpose,” she answered. There was no emotion behind the words.
“I suppose it does,” Abbot said. “A lot of people enjoy it very much. It’s entertainment and an opportunity to pretend to be cultured. And for rich guys like me to throw around some extra money and impress a few people.”
He chuckled, impressed with himself. This could only lead to a normal conversation, he was certain.
Cleopatra raised an eyebrow. “It is all of those things,” she said, “and so much more.”
She stared at Abbot again, her bright green eyes boring into his, searching and seeking. Everything about Cleopatra was intense. Abbot’s usual smoothness with women, so ingrained, seemed to flee from his body and leave him a quivering jellyfish. He was surprised he could even stand. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, take her home, marry her. None of this made any sense to Abbot. He didn’t even know her. He wasn’t sure he liked her. But he was in love with her. She had the sexiest collarbones he’d ever seen.
“That’s enough for now,” Cleopatra said, then turned on her heal and floated away. Abbot tried to see where she went so he could find her later, but she seemed to disappear into nowhere.
Abbot stood, transfixed. Since the moment Cleopatra entered his space, he hadn’t even noticed the chatter of the crowd or the soft classical music playing over the ballroom’s sound system. The tinkle of glasses on waiters’ trays faded into the background. None of it came back to him until Diane was once again at his side, hooking her elbow to his and whispering into his ear.
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