The Black Door (16 page)

TOWN WAS
a stylish three-star restaurant adjacent to the lobby of the Chambers Hotel on West Fifty-sixth Street. The tony boutique hotel was tucked away on a quiet midtown Manhattan block and was inconspicuous from the outside, except for its enormous wooden lattice door. Unlike the generic exterior, the interior was grandiose, with lofty ceilings and plush seating arrangements, giving the lobby a living room—type feeling. The second-story lounge overlooked the lobby, providing a bird’s-eye view for those who perched on stools in the balcony-bar sipping vibrant-colored martinis and people-watching. And with the beautiful citizens of the city styling and profiling, as if on a photo shoot, there was plenty to observe.

Preston, the senator, and his wife arrived first and were immediately seated at a choice table near the back of the restaurant. Usually it took months in advance to secure a reservation, but with Preston’s connections, he was able to lock down a choice table with only a three-day notice.

“What an impressive menu,” commented Angelica. Angelica was in culinary school when she and Robert met at a social mixer on the Hill. Her father was a congressman and wanted his daughter to marry a promising young politician, and Robert Oglesby fit the bill perfectly. He was from a well-bred family with heavy political connections and destined to make a name for himself in Washington. Angelica, however, had no interest in politics or politicians; she was a creative type who envisioned her life abroad as a chef in a five-star Parisian restaurant, but the moment she met Robert all of that changed. He was strikingly handsome, smart and witty, and swept her off of her feet the first night they met; twenty-five years later they were still very much in love.

Robert put his arm around the back of her chair and leaned in closer so that he could read from her menu. “What looks good, my love?”

“The terrine of fried beets and goat cheese sounds absolutely delicious; maybe I’ll start with that and have the halibut with fresh fennel as an entrée.” She looked at her watch. “If we’re going to catch the opening of the show, I think we should order shortly,” she suggested.

Preston could feel the heat rising up through his collar.
Where the hell is Ariel?
he wondered. “When the waiter brings the Veuve, we can order, and I’ll order for Ariel, so you won’t miss the beginning of the play.” His eyes darted quickly around the cavernous room. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

They were each on their second glass of champagne by the time Ariel came rushing toward the table. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffed, “but the partners’ meeting ran over.”

Preston stood up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Honey, there you are,” he said calmly, trying to hide the angst brewing inside the pit of his stomach. “Ariel, this is Senator Robert Oglesby and his wife, Angelica.”

The senator stood up as well. “Ariel, I’ve heard great things about you.” He smiled warmly, extending his hand.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said, giving him a firm shake.
So this is the man who’s been interrupting my time with Preston,
she thought. Though she had seen him numerous times on C-SPAN, and in the
Times,
she had never met him in person and was struck by his commanding presence. The distinguished-looking senator was tall with graying temples, and his clean-shaven face was extremely handsome. He resembled a young Clint Eastwood, and could have easily been a movie star instead of a politician.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled broadly. “I was hoping to meet you in Washington a couple of weeks ago, but Preston said that you had to rush back to New York unexpectedly”

Ariel cringed at the memory of Michele intruding on
their
weekend and scheduling a series of time-consuming meetings. “Yes, it was quite unexpected.” She smiled politely. Switching from that unpleasant memory, she turned to the senator’s wife. “And please excuse my tardiness, Mrs. Oglesby.”

“Angelica, please.” She smiled. “I know how unpredictable meetings can be. Robert’s always running late for lunch, brunch, and dinner, so I’ve learned how to occupy my time.” She chuckled, lightening up the mood.

Ariel assumed the senator’s wife would be a buttoned-up, pearl-clad, gray-haired, bun-wearing matron, but Angelica was extremely stylish. Her platinum-blonde hair was cut short with wispy bangs swept over to one side, and instead of a single strand of Mikimotos, she wore a necklace of graduated diamonds. Dressed in a multicolored Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, she reminded Ariel of Meri, older but no less up-to-date with the latest fashion trends. For a second, Ariel wondered if Angelica was a card-carrying member of The Black Door. Ariel shook off the thought, thinking that it was ludicrous. Besides, she lived in Washington and was married to a high-powered politician. Ariel was so preoccupied with The Black Door that she immediately assumed that every woman she saw who had a touch of flair was a closet freak. Ariel’s reverie was interrupted by Angelica’s necklace, which sparkled in the candlelight like the illustrious Hope Diamond. Ariel blinked, and couldn’t help but stare; the “bling” was blinding. “Angelica, your necklace is stunning.”

She touched the center diamond, which must have been five carats or better, and said, “Thank you so much. An anniversary gift from Robert.”

What an extravagant present,
Ariel thought, but didn’t dare utter those words.

Robert noticed the look of awe registered on Ariel’s face. “Nothing’s too good for my wife.” He beamed, looking longingly at his spouse.

Ariel could clearly see the love that he had for his wife. It was visibly apparent that he absolutely adored her; their love was palpable. Suddenly, Ariel felt a tinge of jealousy creep up her spine. She knew that Preston loved her, but she wondered if he was her soul mate. It was clear that Robert and Angelica were made for each other, but Ariel had her doubts about herself and Preston. They were both preoccupied with their own interests; he had visions of his precious nomination to keep him warm at night and she had visions of her black-masked lover. Their last tryst was so incredibly hedonistic that she was getting wet just thinking about how her body melted into his, and how their rhythm was synchronized as if
they
were soul mates instead of she and Preston. The thought of him sucking her clit until she came made her want to run out of the restaurant, go home, put on her disguise, and rush to The Black Door for more fucking. But she couldn’t, because after seeing his face, she vowed that she would never return to the club again.

Ariel looked around the table and noticed that they were drinking Veuve Clicquot. Though she loved champagne, she wanted something stronger to take the edge off. But before she could order a vodka on the rocks with two limes, the waiter came over and poured her a flute of champagne. Once her glass was filled, Robert lifted his and toasted. “To Preston, the next Supreme Court justice.” They followed Robert’s lead and raised their flutes. “To Preston,” they sang in unison.

“Hey, why didn’t anyone invite me to the celebration?” asked a deep baritone voice approaching the table.

Preston turned around in his chair and faced his offspring. “Son.” He smiled proudly. “What are you doing here?” he asked, knowing it took months to get a reservation.

“I’m meeting Michele for dinner. The chef is a friend of mine, and I have an open reservation,” he said, looking around the table, waiting for an introduction.

Preston stood up and proudly put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Senator and Mrs. Oglesby, this is my one and only son, Preston III.”

Preston III was impressed. Senator Oglesby was a heavy-hitter in Washington, and could make or break a career. The mere fact that he was in New York having dinner with his father could only mean that he was helping his father achieve his lifelong dream. Until now, he had always thought that his father’s dream of sitting on the Supreme Court was far-fetched, but now he realized that that dream was closer to being realized than he thought.

“Preston III.” The senator smiled. He knew that Preston had a son, but had never met him. “It’s so nice to meet the chip off of the old man’s block,” he said, shaking the younger man’s hand.

“Please call me Trey,” he said, returning the shake. “Preston III sounds too formal.”

“Of course you know Ariel.” Preston nodded toward his fiancée.

Ariel’s heart was palpitating and her palms began to sweat as Trey smiled in her direction.

“Hi there, how are you?” Trey asked Ariel. The last time he had seen her was at the engagement party, and she’d been upset about being neglected by his overambitious father.

She looked at him quickly, then darted her eyes down to the table, and answered in a shy, mousy voice, as if speaking in a low tone would diminish her presence. “Fine, thanks.”

He noticed that she was avoiding eye contact with him.
She’s probably still embarrassed about sobbing on my shoulder.

“Well, Trey, why don’t you join us for dinner?” the senator asked. “Preston has bragged about you over the years, so now I finally have a chance to talk to his number-one son,” he said in jest.

“Well, since you put it that way, how could I possibly resist? I’m sure my date won’t mind.”

Preston motioned the waiter over and told him to bring two extra chairs and place settings.

Blood immediately rushed to Ariel’s head, and she began to feel faint. This was the moment that she had dreaded ever since her lover’s mask had fallen off during the fuck of her life, revealing someone she would have never expected in a trillion years—Trey. Her two worlds were colliding, and no one at the table was aware of the catastrophic collision but her. She tried to remain calm, but she was breaking out in a cold sweat. Trying to cool her jets, she picked up the champagne and drank it down in one smooth gulp. When the waiter returned with the extra chairs, she ordered a double Belvedere sans the rocks. She needed the extra shot of vodka to help her deal with the fact that she was about to have dinner with her fiance and his son—
her lover.

“So, Trey,” the senator said, pinning him with an inquisitive look. “What do you do for a living?”

Trey hesitated for a split second, as if contemplating the question, and then answered, “I just passed the Series Seven, and I’m going to try my hand at equity investing. I’m also into real estate investing.”

Listening to Trey speak, and seeing him sitting across the table from her, brought home the reality of what she had actually done. Her one saving grace was that he hadn’t seen her face. She tried to take comfort in that thought and remain calm, but after five minutes of watching Trey converse causally with the senator, she was unable to take the pressure any longer. Ariel abruptly said, “Excuse me.” She got up from the table and rushed toward the ladies’ room. She couldn’t bear to sit there another second. On the one hand, she still desired Trey, but on the other hand, she knew fucking him was practically incestuous.

In the ladies’ room, Ariel ran cold water and soaked some paper towels for a compress. As she patted her forehead with the cool towels, she silently cursed herself for being so naïve and getting into an impossible situation. But how could she have known that Preston’s son was a “server” at The Black Door? Her last memory of Trey was of him as a gangly young man barely out of his teens. She had no way of knowing that he would grow up to be a buffed stud. Besides, she would have never recognized him behind that mask. But one look at his face and she knew immediately that she had been fucking her future stepson. With that thought, she ran into the nearest stall and lost her lunch.

“WELL, HELLO EVERYONE,”
Michele said, as she approached the table.

Trey immediately stood up and pulled back her chair. “Hey there,” he said casually, as if greeting a platonic buddy. Ever since his last encounter with his mystery woman, he’d been standoffish with Michele. She was beautiful and a great lay, but she wasn’t the woman in the red mask.

Michele looked at the senator and his wife and knew exactly who they were. She’d seen enough press clippings to recognize the eminent power couple. But what she couldn’t figure out was why were they having dinner with Preston and she didn’t know a thing about it. After all, she was his personal assistant and should have set up the meeting in the first place.

“Judge Hendricks,” she said to Preston, “I didn’t know that Senator Oglesby and his wife were on your calendar this evening.”

Robert looked from Preston to Michele. Assuming she was merely Trey’s date, he wondered why she would be privy to Preston’s schedule.

Preston noticed the puzzled look on Robert’s face and knew exactly what he was thinking. “Michele is not only Trey’s girlfriend, she’s also my personal assistant. She’s the person you’ve been speaking with over the telephone these past few weeks, regarding my Washington itinerary,” he said, clarifying the issue.

“Oh, yes. It’s so nice to finally put a face with a name.”

Michele chimed right in. “I was with Preston in Washington.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oops, I mean, Judge Hendricks,” she said, correcting her slip. “But I didn’t get a chance to meet you, because I was locked away in a hotel room, shuffling his schedule around to accommodate a few impromptu meetings.”