Saving Grace

24

When the limo pulled up outside the fisherman's club, the sun was just beginning to drift toward the horizon, painting the rich oak dock in a fiery orange hue. Hundreds of gleaming couples, mostly wealthy old men and their pretty young things, poured out of limousines with their chins held high and bursts of fake laughter.

I glanced over at Grace, sitting beside me in her stunning dress. She looked like a midnight sky – her dress long and flowing, the darkest blue there was, dotted with millions of shining stars glistening in the fading light. However, her lovely eyes, winged in a jet black, darted timidly as she stared out the window and her forehead glistened with sweat. I smiled reassuringly and took her hand.

"Relax, will you? It's no different from all the parties you've attended."

"Those parties usually revolved around sex and cocaine, not champagne and small talk." She paused. "And they don't usually entertain a man who's trying to kill me."

"Nothing is going to happen," I promised. "Look, we're here, we're dolled up, and we're in a room full of witnesses. Everything will be fine."

She breathed in deep, cracked her neck.

"Alright. Let's do this."

The door swung open and Grace sauntered out, head held high, and whatever nerves there were could be seen only in her eyes and only if you looked long and hard.

"Names?"

The bouncer snapped me out of my daze and I stared up at his near seven foot frame, head barely reaching the bowtie on his thousand dollar suit.

"Richard Downing and Grace Upton," I managed. "We were invited by a Mr Campbell, but our limousine faced some mechanical difficulties so I'm afraid we're a little late."

"We don't have any plus ones listed for Mr Campbell," he said without even checking his papers.

"Ah, Susan must have forgotten to inform you of our invite. A terrible run of Parvo has been sweeping through the city and she's been terribly overworked as of late. But Mr Campbell suspected this might happen and gave me this as a way to prove to you our claims."

I held out the keyring with a confident smile, but inside I trembled. His tall frame was only the beginning of my reasons for fear – his muscular Middle-Eastern body and the way his brow arched in suspicion caused my legs to tense up, ready to run.

"This is no invitation," he said, throwing the keyring at my chest. "Who's next?"

"B-but wait," Grace chimed in. "At least let us in to return this to Mr Campbell. He gets upset if he goes without it too long." She stepped close to him, turned up her sultry eyes. "We'll only be a minute."

Grace pulled her lovely lips into the smallest and most mischievous of smirks; a look that was equal parts charming and dangerous. Even more, for a second, I saw a touch of lust in his eyes, a moment of weakness, before his guard flew back up.

"No name, no entry. Now get lost."

His hard eyes looked over us and whatever measurement of his attention we'd gained was lost to the glittering retired couple behind us. Grace's charm withered and sunk into anger.

"God dammit," she hissed, crossing her arms as we walked away.

"Don't stress," I said, "there has to be another way in."

"I can't believe he didn't let us in – what sort of man is he?"

I sighed, looked around on the dock. A fleet of beautiful yachts lined the boardwalk below, tipping and turning, struggling against the sea. With one hand on the cool black metal railing, I eyed the helicopter pads, the butlers, the smell of lobster being boiled in their kitchens, and thought of what I could've done with such immense wealth five years ago when I needed it.

A screech of unoiled hinges snapped me out of my trance and my head jerked instinctively. A woman dressed in black stood at the side of the great yellow building, fumbling around in the back of a catering van. She collected three enormous boxes, stacked on top of each other, in her able hands before making her way to the side entrance. A triumphant smile crept over my face.

"You know my father used to say, where there's a will," I pointed to the side door, "there's a way."

Grace uncrossed her arms, shifted her weight as she followed my gaze down the loading dock. That same mischievous grin swept over her lovely face.

"Richard, Richard," she mused. "I think you're becoming more like me every day."

© A.G. Travers 2018