Page 54 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
Chloe sighed wistfully, though, and Jocelyn echoed it. The slow, organic way of getting to know a person had become an endangered species. Dating nowadays started with apps and text conversations where you were expected to spill your life story out onto a screen before you even met face-to-face. (Or, at least, the parts of your life story you wanted to share). It was all primed for efficiency, not romance. Sure, Zac spoiled her with Tiffany’s jewelry and a shopping spree at Bergdorf Goodman, but that wasn’t the same thing as the take-your-time, old-fashioned kind of courtship Thelma was talking about.
“To be honest,” Chloe said, “I wouldn’t mind a little romance.”
Thelma met her eyes in the mirror and smiled gently. “I know, sweet pea. And you deserve it.”
Oliver
Oliver took several deep breaths outside of the Toussaint, the sleek hotel in Columbus Circle where the Hawthorne Drake–sponsored gala was being held tonight. He knew he’d have to go in soon. He just wanted to delay it as long as possible. There was nothing more opposite to Oliver’s interests than an overly formal fete where his colleagues spent all evening pontificating about the transcendental qualities of art.
A black car pulled up behind him, and as bad luck would have it, the door opened and Puja stepped out. His boss wore an elegant navy jumpsuit, and a few seconds later, her husband emerged from the back seat in a bespoke tuxedo. Unlike Oliver’s, which was clearly off-the-rack because why would he go to the extra expense of a tailor when it fit well enough and he only had to put on a tuxedo once every handful of years when a bothersome event like this came up?
“You look nice, Oliver,” Puja said.
“As do you.”
“I believe you’ve met Darius before?”
“I have.” Oliver extended his hand to shake. “Good to see you again.”
“Have you psyched yourself up enough to go in yet?” Puja asked, teasing.
“Probably should have had a drink or two before I arrived.”
“We can brave it together,” Darius said amiably. “Besides, it’s open bar.”
With no other choice, Oliver walked into the Toussaint with Puja and Darius. A manager immediately swooped in and showed them to the elevator that would jet them to the top of the hotel to the Montague Arts Foundation Gala.
When they arrived, the elevator doors opened onto a grand foyer, and everyone gasped—even Oliver. A dozen enormous, glittering crystalchandeliers sparkled over the Toussaint’s ballroom, which spanned the entire sixtieth floor. The walls were close to twenty feet tall with floor-to-ceiling windows, and they provided a 360-degree view of the Hudson River, Central Park, and the New York skyline. A band played jazz on a stage in front of a dance floor, and elaborate blue-and-silver flower arrangements graced all the dinner tables.
A man in a tuxedo with tails and a woman in an elegant, cream satin gown greeted them. “Welcome,” the man said. His eyes were shockingly blue, like the purest of glaciers, but a calm warmth emanated from them. “I’m Sebastien Montague, and this is my wife, Helene. Thank you for supporting our foundation tonight.”
“We’re excited to be here,” Puja said.
Sebastien gave each of them a folio made of butter-soft white leather. Hawthorne Drake—as the event’s main sponsor—had its name tastefully stamped in gold on the corner. The folio was both a gift for the guests and advertising for the firm. After all, anyone who could afford the ten-thousand-dollar-per-head tickets were potential clients for the investment bank. (Hawthorne Drake employees, on the other hand, received steeply discounted tickets. Still too expensive in Oliver’s opinion, but Puja had made it clear that it was a necessary cost he had to incur.)
“Inside the folio,” Helene Montague said, “you’ll find a list of the evening’s festivities, as well as information on our Artist of the Year, Matías de León. You can meet him and take a look at his breathtaking paintings tonight in the small gallery we’ve set up here. Matías and his wife, Claire, are right over there.” Helene motioned to the left side of the ballroom, where the tousle-haired artist smiled at the guests admiring his work. Oliver envied that his bow tie was already loosened and his dress shirt was rolled up his forearms. Artists somehow managed to make chaos look chic.
“Enjoy your evening,” Sebastien and Helene said, smiling while at the same time readying themselves to greet the next set of guests arriving from the bank of elevators.
“Looking at the featured artist’s work is my favorite part of this event every year,” Puja said, already taking a step in the direction of the gallery.
“You go ahead,” Oliver said. “I’m going to get a drink.”
Darius looked like he wanted to go with Oliver, but Puja had taken hisarm and started dragging him away. Darius shrugged, as if to say,What can I do? She’s in charge.Which Oliver definitely understood.
He made his way to the bar and ordered a Negroni. He had taken only a few sips when a woman slipped up next to him.
“Hi, Oliver.”
“Hello…” He thought he recognized her, but he couldn’t quite place her face.
“Julie Milano, from the private equity side of the office. You were on our floor a couple weeks ago for the June birthdays celebration?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Are you enjoying your night?”
“Just arrived.”
