Femme Empire

What The Heart Wants

For the first time in a month, I was relaxing. Or at least pretending to relax in my rooftop pool with a bowl of fruit salad that Stella had delivered and a glass of Crystal. The sun was setting across the LA skyline and the salty sea air was a healing balm to my headache. I watched the roaring waves of the Santa Monica beach from the 50 th floor. The people below were dots on the horizon.

The water lapped against my back as I lay my head against the marble bar countertop. I had never been swimming with Ethan in the pool, I realised. He would have enjoyed it, together with Josh.

But, I didn't dwell on that thought. I was drained and emotionally exhausted. Work was tiring and my boss was tiring. Everything felt like an exertion without Ethan's presence. I hadn't talked to him since our last call. I had deliberately resisted going to the hospital tonight. I needed some rest. The hospital couch was a poor excuse for a bed.

I had treated myself to a spa and a manicure-pedicure today. Though I hadn't wanted them badly, I knew I needed to balance myself. Me time had now become a necessity.

I floated around the water lazily, the gentle waves pillowing my head and providing solace. The rapidly darkening sky twinkled with stars. I kept staring into nothing.

Ethan was here somewhere, beneath the same sky, watching the same stars, drowning in the same currents. It gave me immense peace to know he was watching the same sky.

For the first time, in a long time, the separation didn't hurt. I accepted it. I welcomed it. The distance between us wasn't a painful reminder. It was just another hurdle in the path of love. I let it go. The water, miraculous and calming sung to me.

I knew he loved me. His love was as eternal as the sky and the stars. I knew that whatever might happen, he would always love me. Even if he died on that war ground, I would be the name whispered in his last breath, the last face in front of his amber-fire eyes. I knew that even death would be envious of our love.

"Ever since I became a slave at the door of love's tavern
sorrows come to me each moment with congratulations."

Ethan had quoted Hafiz, the famous Sufi lytic poet to me. I remembered that night, in the shroud of the stars when he had whispered them to me. In the empty silence, I could hear his voice as clear as water speaking to me.

And I knew in that moment, that I would never never love another as I loved him.

It was blissful acceptance. I kissed my fingers and pressed it to the sky.

"I love you, oak tree.", I whispered to the stars. He would know. The stars would give him my message.

"In sickness and in health.", I promised.

A star twinkled happily. God had listened to me.

I smiled and finished my wine.

____________

" Ma'am your phone is ringing.", Stella said and handed it over to me.

The caller ID registered an unknown number. I put on my robe and swiped my finger over the accept button.

"Hello?", I asked as I tied the sash and put the phone on loudspeaker.

" Sana. This is Emir.", said the voice on the line.

"Oh, hey! How did ya get my number?", I said pleasantly, now that I had had enough wine in my stomach.

"I am the boss. I know everyone's numbers. I am sorry to disturb you but I need to discuss something important with you.", he said politely.

" No, it's fine. It's no bother."

"Are you alright?", he asked. " You sound......unlike yourself."

"I'm tipsy. I don't have the energy or the inclination to be rude. So by all means....", I said flopping down on the feathery White bed.

It was so soft. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

''We have been invited to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for their annual gala.", he said.

I gasped and sat up, sleep evaporating from my eyes.

"You mean the.....the Met Gala?"

"Yes, I know their editor Ms. Heather very well. I would like you to be my plus one that evening. We need the world to see you settled in our house. What better way to do that but attending the Met Gala together as representatives of the brand.", he reasoned.

Apparently alcohol had killed my brain cells and so I blurted out,

"I don't have a dress."

"I think we will be able to get you a dress.", he said dryly.

"I mean....I don't have.....THE DRESS.....I can't go to the Met Gala in just any dress......No cotourier is going to be able to make a dress in a week.", I said animatedly.

The alcohol was affecting my common sense.

"Then it's a good thing you work at a fashion house.", he replied slightly amused.

"We might not be able to get you the dress of your dreams to wear on the Red Carpet but we can get you something even better.", he promised.

" I want a BIG dress.....lots of tulle and feathers and rainbows and unicorns and a hat. I want a hat. Or I could be a sleek Bond girl in a classic black dress.", I mused dreamily.

"I don't think we need rainbows and unicorns.", he replied.

"But otherwise it's so awfully boring. All the celebrities wearing the same dresses, the same colours. Can I wear a chandelier,like the one that singer wore?", I asked.

"Maybe. I need to see what we can get you.", he said sighing. He was probably tired of talking.

"I am trusting you with the dress. You better not disappoint me.", I warned.

" I think you are going to regret this conversation tomorrow morning, Miss Bianchi. But you're drunk by your own admission and I called you during your free time. So, I'll let it go. Have a good night."

"You too.", I mumbled and signed off.

Weird man!

I flopped on the bed and let out a delighted shriek like a teenager. Met Gala here I come!

                          __________

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