The interior is a riot of color in Art Nouveau style. It's jarring at first to see neon with the gentle designs of the prohibition era. But once you get used to it, it's pretty cool. Today, it's a party. The music is loud and there are plenty of people dancing. A lot of people are already well on their way to being drunk and it's still early. I see Clay holding court at the bar and give him a wave. He enthusiastically waves me over, but I'm not quite ready for that. I motion to the bathroom, and head in that direction. When you get pulled into Clay's circle, there's often shots and more shots, and I have more than one conversation that I need to be at least mostly sober for tonight.
I take up a position near the wall where I can see the whole club, or at least most of it. I try to ignore the way my eyes keep checking the door, but I need to know if he's coming. He surprised me with his admission earlier. Maybe he's not as angry as I thought he was? Maybe. There are too many maybes and I know that I'm going to feel so much better after we talk. If I'm honest, I'm hoping that this evening is going to lead to more than talking, because even though it's only been like three days since we slept together, I need more.
It's like I had gotten clean of an addiction and the first taste of him I get I'm craving him constantly. I'm sure it will wear off after a while, but I don't know if I want it to. Granted, that depends a lot on whether we decide we're going to be together. I want to be, and based on what he said a few hours ago, I think he wants to too. I just need to apologize, and maybe beg a little. Tell him how stupid I was to pull the plug so quickly.
I don't think I was wrong to be concerned, but we could have worked on it together instead of me freaking out. He's still not at the door. Come on, Peter. I bite my lip before remembering that I have dark lipstick on and it’s probably all over my teeth now. I'll fix it in a minute. Looking out over the dance floor I see Gloria dancing with a cute lighting technician from the show. She thinks no one has noticed the way she keeps eyeing him, but I've noticed, and the way they're dancing now, I would be shocked if they don't go home together.
I laugh to myself. I'll have to keep an eye on her now, make sure she's not sneaking off to have sex at work. That's not exactly fair. Gloria is a professional. But considering the fact that I never thought I'd do it and then definitely had sex in the wardrobe closet, I'm not going to count anything out. I bite my lip again. Dammit, Amber.
Ducking into the bathroom, I lean into the mirror to see, and yeah, there's an absurd amount of lipstick on my teeth. And that's when I hear the moan. I freeze. All the stall doors are shut behind me, but there's a shuffling, and more breathing and another moan and I blush. There are people having sex. Here. Now. I don't move. Did they hear me come in? Do they know that I'm here?
There's a low grunt of effort and a slap of skin, and no, they have no idea that I'm here. Probably for the best. I scrub the lipstick from my teeth and quickly pull mine out of my bag to re-apply. The sounds of sex get louder, the distinct sound of thrusting, and the girl saying yes, over and over again, a bigger blush covers my cheeks. I put on my lipstick quickly and exit the bathroom as quietly as I can. I don't want to be there for the grand finale.
I don't care if Peter's not here yet, I need a drink. I'm walking to the bar when he's suddenly there. So close that I almost run into him. "Hi," I say.
"Hello." He smirks. "You're blushing. Why?"
"No reason."
He's smiling, and God I love that smile. "That's a lie."
"I just heard something a little scandalous, nothing major."
Peter raises his eyebrow, like he wants to know more, but he doesn't ask. But then it’s like he sees me. He takes me in, looks up and down my body, and I watch as his eyes darken. This doesn’t do anything to help the state of my blush. Words. I need words. "I was just going to get a drink," I say.
"I'll get it for you. I have a table reserved in the back. I thought since we were planning to talk, as much privacy as we can have here would be a good idea."
"Yeah," I say. "Thanks."
"What would you like to drink?"
I shake my head. I honestly don't care. "Surprise me."
There's that little half-smile that makes me weak in the knees and wet in the panties. "I'll try."
Over where he pointed, there is a table with both of our names listed, Michael and Clay's too, so we'll have to be conscious of visitors, but the staff member making sure only those who reserved the tables sit there smiles and lets me through.
The alcove the table is sitting in is dark and cozy, the back of the circular bench seat lined with velvet that feels good on my skin. I wore a dress tonight because I wanted to look sexy for Peter, and I don't know for sure if it's working but I think that it is. The dress has a swooping low back and a plunging front that makes it clear that I'm not wearing a bra. Only a small strap on the back of my shoulders is keeping both sides of the dress from slipping down and causing a fashion faux pas. The lower half of the dress is knee-length and flowing. I thought it would fit the feel of Fantasia. It leaves something to the imagination, and this place is all about imagination.
It takes a few minutes for Peter to navigate the crowds at the bar with our drinks, but he comes back with a drink that's an amazing shade of purple and hands that to me. His drink looks like a classic tumbler of whiskey or something darker. He settles in beside me, and I notice the deliberate way he's looking at my face and not lower. So he has noticed then. He's noticed and doesn't want to let himself look until we've talked, ever the gentleman.
I take a sip of the purple drink and holy shit that’s good. “What is in this? It’s amazing!”
“White rum is the main ingredient, I think. Simple syrup, Pineapple, and a couple other things.”
“I think you just created my new favorite drink,” I say, laughing.
He takes a sip of his own drink. “I hope so.”
"So you wanted to talk."
"You did too," he says immediately.
"Yeah, I did."
He takes another sip of his drink in a sharp movement. "I want to know why you thought I was quitting the show. You honestly thought I'm so unprofessional that I'd quit the best thing that's happened to both of us in our careers over a fight?"
"I found your script in the hall. You'd just said that if I wanted you gone then you'd go. I didn't know if you would ever come back, and you didn't answer my phone calls for two days. What was I supposed to think?"
Peter grimaces. "I was angry and frustrated. I threw it down because it was the only thing I had to throw. I didn't mean for it to be a bad omen."
"It scared the shit out of me," I say, emotion suddenly welling up. "I knew that I fucked up the minute you were out the door. You were gone. I went after you, but you weren't there. I'm sorry, Peter. I really am. I was so scared that you and I would lose everything that I wasn't thinking straight. We could have worked everything out if I had just stayed calmer, not assumed anything."
"I'm sorry too, but just saying that we're sorry to each other isn't going to be enough," he says, voice low.