Garrett opened the door moments after Celia had knocked. His smile had been big to start and grew even broader when he saw Celia.
"Oh, my, my! You're absolutely stunning! I see Reagan took good care of you. Come in, come in." His excitement was enveloping.
Celia stepped into the suite and twirled in front of Garrett. Leaning in, she kissed him on the cheek.
Placing her hand on his bicep, she said, "I can't thank you enough! This is all so generous. The trip, the clothes; I am stunned that you could be so kind. Thank you, thank you, thank you." Her excitement filled the room.
Garrett laughed and said, "I love it when a plan comes together."
Garrett wore a traditional 19th-century tailcoat, vest, and slacks. It defined his persona with perfection.
"And look at you! Rhett Butler couldn't pull off that jacket any smoother," Celia cooed.
Garrett's master suite dwarfed Celia's junior suite the way an NBA player towers over a jockey. The living room's boundaries were defined by a white sectional sofa that could easily seat ten. A small kitchen with a wet bar and four stools sat over to the left. In the center of the room, a giant circular staircase rose up to a loft area and the bedroom. All that was missing was a white grand piano. "This is gorgeous. Oh, and a spiral staircase. Stairway to heaven, eh?" A sly smile escaped her lips as her eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
You're feeling it, aren't you? I'm cracking myself up!
Wooden French doors led to the balcony. They were open, letting the cool, early evening air freshen the suite.
Garrett gestured to the balcony. With a smile, Celia flowed in that direction. Stepping out, she saw an open bottle of Zinfandel. The wine rested in an aluminum cylinder, condensation dripping down the side.
"I see you've zeroed in on my taste in reds. I appreciate that," Celia said with a grin.
"It's not hard when you have good taste. You don't have much of an education concerning wines, but you sure as shoot know the good stuff from the bad." Pulling the bottle from the cylinder, Garrett poured two glasses and handed one to Celia.
"Why, thank you, but consequently, I don't think I'll be drinking anything out of a box ever again. This wine education could turn out to be an expensive lesson for me." She took a sip and rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, this is so much better than what I'm used to."
The balcony had met every expectation she could have imagined. Black wrought-iron railing overlooking a bustling French Quarter, coral honeysuckle crawling up the pale blue walls, and worn, weathered wooden slats beneath her feet.
Welcome to N'Orleans, girl.
Garrett walked around Celia to one of the three chairs that sat by the railing.
She looked down over Carondelet Street. The smell of honeysuckle filled the air. On the boulevard below, people moved to and fro in anticipation of the impending evening's activities. She leaned over and rested her elbows on the railing as a slight breeze cooled her face.
"This is just like in the movies. I've always wanted to be the person on the balcony."
She stood up and held her arms out, pretending to be Eva Perón. "Hello peasants, don't you wish you were me?"
Garrett laughed as she began to spin. The dress flared and the stockings glistened. Celia had never been so happy.
Coming out of the spin, she sighed, "Oh boy, this is amazing. Thank you again for making all of this happen."
Garrett gestured, and Celia took the chair to his right.
"Believe me, it is entirely my pleasure." Celia caught him admiring the view.
A small table with a round marble top sat between the two chairs. She set down her glass, looking at Garrett.
"So, tell me, how was your day? Were you working the entire time?" Celia asked.
Garrett cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, I hung up the phone just as you knocked. I feel guilty inviting you down here and not spending any time with you. But when things pop up, I have to deal with them. At least we have tonight to get to know each other a little bit better." He reached out and squeezed her hand. She did not pull away.
"Can you tell me what your project is, or is it veiled in secrecy steeped in nefarious back-room dealings?" she teased.
Garrett laughed. "Nothing quite so intriguing. I think the night we met, I had just started talking with the Yankees about their luxury suites. That's right, isn't it?"
Celia nodded. "Yes, and how devastated you were that there wasn't a famous gourmet chef on the flight home."
"Right, I've been meaning to talk with him about that. Turns out the deal is moving forward. That's kept me on Zoom calls with them all weekend. It's wreaked havoc on my regular meeting schedule. But it's looking promising. Maybe you can come to a game with me sometime?"
"In New York? That would be a hoot. We could watch the Rangers kick their ass."
Garrett laughed. "Have you always been such a baseball fan?"
Celia took a sip of wine, closed her eyes, and savored it before answering. "Gave me and my dad something to do. My mom has always been a bit of a handful. Taking me to games was a convenient way to get out of the house. By the time I was in high school, I was a baseball junkie. My first husband played shortstop and spent a season in the minors. Unfortunately, the curveball sent him to trade school, and he became a plumber."
"That must have been exciting at the time, though. Having your husband so close to a professional career in the sport you love."
Celia crossed her legs; the gown fell to the side, exposing her thigh just above the knee. The tattoo stockings sparkled again under the balcony light. Instead of covering her knees, she ran her hand over the stockings and savored the smooth, soft texture.
"For a while. But I could tell pretty early on that it wasn't going to happen. He had great lateral movement, which is vital for infield play, but lacked real speed and couldn't hit for power. That left hitting for average, and when you can't read the spin on the pitch, it didn't take long. He was so frustrated all the time. It made it hard on both of us. Plus, the travel. I mean, you know. It wears on you."
"I know that story all too well." They both picked up their glasses and drank. Celia asked, "So, what is this dinner tonight that I had to get all gussied up?"
Garrett nodded, sucked in his bottom lip, then looked at Celia. "It's at a mansion on the other side of town. Old money. They throw this party every year, and I just happened to be here this time. I'm not sure of the guest list or how large it might be. I think it'll be fun."
"I've been embracing new experiences, as I'm sure you've noticed. I'm here, right? I'm excited to go." She took another sip. "Are we meeting Reagan downstairs, or is she coming here?"
Garrett checked his watch. "We should head out. She'll be in the car." He stood up and took the wine bottle and his glass into the room. Celia grabbed her glass and followed, swigging down the last gulp along the way. As she crossed to the door, Garrett reached out and took her arm, stopping her. He looked into her eyes and said, "I'm so delighted you're here. I hope this evening is fun for you."
He gave her an affectionate squeeze, held her gaze for a few seconds, then gestured toward the door.
The two walked to the elevator, his hand resting on the small of her back.
Look at me!
Being dressed to the nines, with an older gentleman escorting her to the elevator, a limo waiting downstairs, and a very chic party to attend, it seemed to define what it meant to be an actual grown-up. A shiver ran up her spine. She couldn't help but smile.