The Make-Up Artist: Part 2

Chapter Eleven: The After Party

"Everything ok back there?" Richard asks after you both are settled into the backseat of the dark SUV and riding to the hotel where the after party is being held. You are deep in thought, staring out the window, trying to figure out what just happened. It wasn't like Taron to be so...possessive, and you're not sure what had prompted it. You all probably had a little too much wine at the gala, but still, that's not really an excuse for his behavior. What bothers you even more, is that in a sick sort of way, you kind of liked it. Not enough to heed his warning of course, but there was something strangely exciting about him ordering you not to do something. Almost as if you were in a relationship with him, which even if that were the case, would still be unacceptable. Even so, it made you feel like you belonged to him, and there was a time where you would've given anything to be his. Maybe you still would. You realize that feeling this way is of course ridiculous, so you chalk it up to the libations you partook of and the exhilaration of the gala, knowing that if you were in your right mind, you would be furious at his behavior. "Hey", Richard prompts, touching your arm lightly and you snap yourself out of your thoughts, looking over at him.

"Hmm?" You say, now oblivious to whatever it was he just asked. He chuckles at you.

"I asked if everything was ok, back there?" He says, gesturing with his thumb back toward the direction of the museum which is now out of sight.

"Oh, yeah...fine", you lie. No point in explaining to him that Taron had all but ordered you not to go to the after party and you were slightly turned on by it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath at the memory of his body so close. Why does he still have this power over you?

"Ok, good. So, did you have fun at the gala?" He asks, changing the subject which you're thankful for.

"Oh yes. It was amazing. So much more fun than I thought it would be." He smiles and it now occurs to you that you haven't properly thanked him for the invitation. "Rich, thank you so much for tonight. The invite, the dress, the jewelry...all of it." His eyes flick to the jewels at your throat and you see him swallow and frown a bit, but you continue. "You were right, it really was just what I needed. So thank you again", you say sincerely and hope he knows how much you mean it.

"You're very welcome lass...but, I have a confession to make...", he trails off and your heart drops. What now?

"What?" You ask, feeling nervous about whatever he's about to confess.

"Well, it wasn't all me", he says, and you just stare at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?" You ask, searching his icy blues for some sort of answer. His eyes wander over your face, his eyebrows pulled together as if he's trying to ascertain just how to articulate what he's trying to say.

"I mean...I didn't..." He pauses. "The jewelry...", he stutters, looking at it again, "it's not from me." His eyes flick back up to yours, searching.

"Oh", you say, confused.

"Yeah, I wish I could take credit for it, but sadly I can't. I had actually completely forgotten about jewelry in the rush to um... make all the arrangements." His eyes bore into yours, almost as if he's trying to figure out if you believe him or not.

"Then who...", you trail off as you finger the jewels against your collarbone. Then your mind drifts to when Taron first saw you in front of the MET, and how he mentioned them specifically.

Richard continues to speak as your mind wanders. "You know what they remind me of though? That orange costume that T-" He stops abruptly and stares at you.

"Taron", you finish for him and he nods. You don't know how or why, but you are sure in this moment that Taron was the one who procured this glamorous jewelry for you to wear. Unfortunately there's no more time to think or speak about it however, because at that moment, the car has pulled up in front of The Standard Hotel and your car door is opening for you. You gather up your skirt and step out, and after thanking George, you let Richard guide you inside and through the lobby to the elevator. There are several more costumed party-goers waiting as well, and once the doors chime and open, you all pile in to ride up to the penthouse party. You feel the nerves creeping up again, but you figure if you can survive the fabulous Met Gala, you can survive anything. As soon as the elevator doors ding open, you are hit full force with a blast of music and the raucous sound of laughter and talking coming from beyond. Your eyes widen as you take in the scene of bodies packed tightly into the champagne colored overcrowded space, and the sight of even more outrageous costumes than before. You're pretty sure you didn't see some of these outfits earlier in the evening, so apparently some people found it necessary to actually change before this bash? This is definitely next level and once again, you feel ridiculously out of place. Richard leans close to you and practically yells in your ear to be heard over the noise.