Authors: Frances Vidakovic
“Gosh do
you see anyone you know here?” Markie asked nervously.
His
edginess was justified. When Serena said “Never, Ever Again’s” crew was made up
by no more than sixty people, Markie expected to see no more than sixty people.
What he got instead was about ten times that amount plus media frenzy and
shameless self-promotion at its worst. Everywhere they turned there was some
sad actor trying to get his or her picture taken by the tabloid photographers,
another giving his or her expert critique on the movie just completed, though
having never seen or read “Never Ever Again” script.
It was Hollywood away from Hollywood or so Serena thought.
“Better
get used to it,” she sighed. “These are the sort of people we’re gonna have as
our neighbors soon.”
“Perhaps
but who said anything about leaving the house?”
After a
quick initial scan with zero radar hits on Violet or Champagne, Serena and
Markie made their way to the buffet table and grabbed a plate, beginning to
fill it with all sorts of goodies. That was another thing the Ritz was famous
for – food prepared in the old grandeur style. Imagine appetizers like seared Sonoma foie gras, lobster salad and artisanal pasta with prosciutto. Then follow it up
with even more succulent mains like sautéed squid, salt baked scallops, roasted
squab breast and duck pot-au-feu. What this all added up to was a very sated,
much indulged tummy.
“Oh my
gosh, you aren’t by some chance preggers are you darling?” Serena heard a voice
boom from behind just as she felt a strange hand giving her tummy a
well-deserved rub. It could only mean one thing - Champagne. No one else had
such lack of tact.
“I wish,”
Markie beamed, putting his right hand forward for a shake. “Let me guess, you
must be one of trailer girls.”
“Twenty
points for correct answer,” Champagne nodded, accepting the hand limply. It was
as if she half expected it to be lifted to Markie’s lips and kissed. When he
didn’t, she smirked and whispered to Serena, “at least he didn’t say trailer
trash.”
“So I
gather you two have been here for a while? Is it any good?” Serena asked,
observing Violet emerge from the crowd with a half-filled hot pink cocktail in
hand.
Champagne
and her shadow shrugged nonchalantly.
“If you’re
into jazz bands and harpists,” Violet replied, “which we are so not. At least
the grog is free.”
It
occurred to Serena that maybe a jazz band wasn’t the most appropriate choice of
entertainment for an assemblage of funky divas but she didn’t dare mention this
to the director Max. Let him ride his crimson wave because if it was an archaic
mood he was after then he got it. It wasn’t as if Serena expected to be dancing
on tabletops and getting sloshed at any rate; the wrap party simply symbolized
just that, a wrapping up of the life she had in San Francisco. It gave Markie a
chance to meet a few of the people she worked with and Serena a chance to say
her goodbyes.
“So I
forgot to ask, did you girls manage to have a wild night on Tuesday?” Markie
was querying her comrades when Serena sunk back into reality.
“On
Tuesday?” Champagne wrinkled her forehead, looking completely about to fluff up
Serena’s alibi. “What in the world did we get up to on Tuesday?”
“Oh you
remember,” Serena cut in, giving her the evil eye. “Our last girl’s night out
on the town, the one you said you’d never ever forget.”
It took
another death look or two for Champagne and Violet to catch on but once they
did, they more than made up for their prior cluelessness.
“Oh that
wild night!” Champagne laughed, slapping her thigh. “Damn it was crazy, when
you and that guy started ripping off your clothes on stage I knew we’d gotten
you pissed enough.”
“What?!”
Markie exclaimed. His eyes went into rapid eye movement, shifting quickly from
one face to another to determine which one was serious. Serena looked
half-about to faint.
“Sorry
girls but can you excuse us for a moment?” Serena grabbed Markie by the arm and
begun to drag him out of the dreaded Pavilion Room.
“Hey
Serena, please tell me they are joking…” Markie said when they came to a stop
outside the party. “They are joking right? Promise me they are…”
“Of course
they are,” Serena insisted, thinking that a secret meeting with Jasper suddenly
didn’t sound half as bad. “Champagne and Violet are just always like that,
mucking around, spewing crap out of their mouths.” She sunk into the golden
settee alongside the wall, smoothed out her gorgeous dress and gave a loud
sigh. “For some reason I feel terribly, terribly tired. Would you mind so much
if we didn’t go back inside and instead escaped to our suites?”
“Would I
mind?” Markie sputtered. “Are you crazy? I’ve been waiting for that point all
night.”
What
Serena didn’t know as the pair retreated upstairs was that upon securing the
rooms, Markie made all sorts of queries with regards to upping the romance
factor. He discovered there were two appropriate packages available: the
Romance package and what they called the Bed of Roses Comfort Essentials. And
yes because he asked nicely enough they would combine the two because such a pairing
would upgrade their deluxe accommodation to views of the city skyline and
include
a
romantic gift basket comprising of scented candles, bath salts, Ghirardelli
Chocolate, the book "The Best Places to Kiss in Northern California"
plus
a
rose petal turndown. But wait there was more: it also got them a Baffle Box
feather bed protector,
two
King Egyptian cotton flat sheets by Frette; two pillow shams by Frette and an
American Breakfast for two ordered from In Room Dining and served in bed.
Markie had
stared slightly bewildered at the brochure, not quite sure how impressive half
of the goodies were, but decided nonetheless that “this would be perfect”. It
had to be. He wanted it, their almost last night in San Francisco, to be one
they would never forget.
“Allow
me,” Markie said, once the swipe card opened the door to their suite. He
reached down and scooped Serena up, so that she was cradled like a baby in his
arms. His baby. “I’ve always wanted to carry a woman I love across the
threshold like this.”
“Does that
mean the only women you’ve carried up thus far are those you hated?” Serena
joked back, happy to be taken off her four inch Mui Mui heels.
“Never,
this is a first for me,” Markie smiled, gently lowering Serena onto the feather
bed and then flopping down beside her. “So don’t tease.”
“I won’t,”
Serena promised. “Even though teasing is a sign of love.”
Both of
them took a minute or two to take in their exquisite surroundings: the plush
green carpet and walnut dresser, the king size bed with an overflowing gift
basket sitting overhead and yellow with pink trimmed drapes opening up to a
million dollar view of the city. Serena wondered whether she couldn’t have
picked a more perfect dress to go along with the scene.
I look like I belong
here
; she thought to herself
, I look like there’s nowhere else I’m
supposed to be.
Markie on
the other hand was thinking:
I could be anywhere, any place in the world and
completely happy as long as Serena is by my side.
Seeing her laying there
like striking Kewpie doll only served to strengthen his resolve in the
decisions he made.
I may have been a fool for suggesting the break but at
least I now know I can’t live without her. She is without a doubt the woman I
wish to grow old with.
“Serena?”
Markie said, turning to face his loved one on the bed.
“Yeah?”
Serena turned too, with a cheeky grin on her face. He was surely thinking what
she was thinking; let’s take full use of these mirrors on the ceiling!
“I need to
ask you something, I just don’t want you to freak out.”
“Freak
out?” Serena scoffed, “What do you think I am a prude?” Taking his hand lightly
into hers, she assured Markie, “there is nothing in the world I wouldn’t do
with you. Well almost anything,” she added, figuring this was insurance in case
he decided to pull out some weird giant sized sex toy.
“Really?”
Markie looked suddenly hopeful, and letting go of her hand he pulled his tall
body up to a standing position.
“Come back
here,” Serena chided, stretching to grasp his leg, “you don’t need to make so
this formal.”
“Yes I
do.” Markie was adamant. “I wouldn’t want to do it any other way.”
Reaching
into his pocket he pulled out a pale blue box which could only mean one thing:
Tiffany’s. Not condoms, not a cock ring or love balls.
“Now I’m
confused,” Serena whispered and seconds later, before she could even register
what was happening Markie dropped to one knee. What followed next was like a
super surreal dream.
“Serena,”
Markie began, his voice fluttering like butterfly’s wings. “You have been the
most important part of my life for the past five years and even though we may
have had our obstacles I do believe we have what it takes to make it through
forever. I love you with all my heart and would be absolutely privileged if
you’d do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
At this
point Markie flicked the blue Tiffany box open to reveal the chunkiest diamond
Serena had ever seen in real life. Four carats, at the very least.
“What do
you say?” Markie squinted, holding out the ring to a speechless Serena. “Will
you marry me?”
Serena
stared at the ring and then at Markie, her voice still eluding her.
“Yes?” she
murmured almost inaudibly. Tears were flooding her eyes; she was so not
expecting this.
“Yes? Was
that a yes I heard?” Markie tried not to get overexcited but it couldn’t be
helped. “Serena, please tell me you said yes.”
This time
Serena nodded, knowing that sometimes actions did speak louder than words.
“Yes honey
I said yes.”
With that,
the game was officially over. And neither of them lost any more than they put
in.
Dear Miss Serena,
Thank you for your
rather enlightening letter dating back to earlier this year. We all here at the
offices of Cosmopolitan were quite impressed to hear about your dilemma, that
being the juggling of not one but two boys!
I’m afraid however
that for us to write an article of such magnitude may not be in the best
interests of our readers who, it seems, often have trouble securing themselves even
a blind date for Saturday night. To quote our feature editor, your problem of
‘loving two boys at once’ may just fall into the same category as women who
hate themselves because they are too beautiful or “really” just naturally
skinny.
Our only advice to you
‘off the record’ is: enjoy it while it lasts because it won’t last forever. Our
hearts are funny little things in that they will never betray themselves (and
hence you its owner). Keep your ears open and you will hear it ultimately
whispering one boy’s name louder than the other.
Have you heard it
whisper yet? We hope so. If not, la viva la sluttiness! God knows men have been
doing it to us for centuries...
Lots of love and best
wishes,
From all the Agony
Aunts at Cosmo
XXX OOO
♥♥♥
P.S If you are still
ardent about getting your ‘dilemma’ into the limelight feel free to submit a
1000 word account of your experience, complete with photos and a totally
confessional report and Cosmopolitan would be happy to consider it for our
Reader’s Real Life Story section. Cash reward for your bravery: $500.