Page 5 of Five Years
“I’m your only child,” Leah muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Exactly. Now take the rest of the afternoon off. Head to Fifth and get yourself a new dress.”
Leah sighed. If the staff at Douglas Green Advisory Group didn’t already dislike her, they were about to loathe her even more.
Leah thanked the dress lords as she stepped out of her Uber and onto the slippery footpath of 52nd St. Surprisingly, the third dress in the second shop had been the chosen one. The emerald green satin cocktail dress was just below the knee in length with delicate straps and a sweetheart neckline. Aside from black, the colour was the closest match to a number of her already owned accessories.
The sound of camera shutters clicking and voices murmuring filled the air. There was a red carpet at the entrance to the venue, with photographers eagerly snapping pictures of the guests as they arrived.
Leah immediately felt out of place; a red carpet meant high-profile guests, and Leah was way out of her depth. Her father could hold his own around the high-level clientele, Leah, on the other hand, had minimal experience with celebrities. Three years into her career with her previous company, she accidentally walked into a meeting room that was occupied by the CEO and a potential future partner—a very popular teen superstar. She mumbled a greeting and rushed off scarlet red and embarrassed.
Leah also claimed to have met Sophia Bush at a coffee shop in New York—metwas a rather inaccurate perception. She, in fact, brushed against her arm as she exited the building, but there was a split second of eye contact, and that was enough for Leah. Besides, that whole interaction was now far more appealing to Leah after finding out Sophia Bush joined the rainbow train.
What a queen.
The reporters in attendance called out questions as the guests approached. As Leah hurriedly made her way past the red carpet and into the entrance, nobody attempted to ask her anything—phew. It worked in her favour to be unrecognisable, she thought.
The entrance was adorned with floral arrangements and twinkling lights. The security welcomed her inside, their uniforms crisp, and their stature grand. One of them yawned, and Leah laughed in response. It seemed she wasn’t the only one feeling the long-lasting effects of living in NYC. She was always tired. It wasn’t an exaggeration—most nights she slumped on the couch after work, to a takeaway box, and re-runs of whatever long-standing hit TV show she stumbled upon first, but she loved it.
Her father was one of many old-school inhabitants who worked all hours of the day and night in order to get the job done. She had known him call her at 4 a.m. after a business meeting. Once nicknamed the city that never sleeps, post-COVID NYC anecdotally had become the city that did sleep. There was no rushing for dinner at 11 p.m. after a Broadway show and expecting every restaurant to be open; many had adjusted their hours during the pandemic and never reverted.
The Walgreens and McDonald’s that were always so reliably 24 hours a day now closed at midnight. Leah didn’t necessarily feel affected by the change because New York prior to now had simply been a vacation spot for her, but the grumbles of long-standing residents were to be heard by everyone across the city.Leah may never long for a 3 a.m. pizza slice, but she sure would’ve liked the option.
A striking corridor clad in marble led the way to the event space. The high ceilings and mesmerising chandeliers gave the space an unmatched elegance. Beautifully dressed guests mingled and sipped the complimentary champagne. Douglas Green would know 75% of the people in that room; Leah knew nobody. Her career had always required an element of networking, so she wasn’t afraid to spark up a conversation, but this wasn’t an event in Michigan. This was Manhattan, the leading letter of the names being the only similarity. This wasn’t a high-school disco—there would be no ice breaker or name badges to support anxious attendees. Leah had to find a way to mingle.
She made her way towards the bar. The room capacity was 350 standing; a few seats around the centrepiece of the room were available for those who did not wish to stand. The energy of the event was infectious. Leah worked her way through the room, smiling occasionally at whoever made eye contact. She said hello to individuals who she didn’t know but hoped might ask her a question that could spark a conversation—they didn’t.
In the centre of the room was a large white-marble fountain. Shimmering chain curtains surrounded the pool of water; purple flowers floating atop the warm lighting turned the pool into a violet lavender haze. It was one of the finest event spaces Leah had ever borne witness to, and with that overriding thought she felt a sudden pang of sadness. The vulnerability of her situation left Leah yearning for someone to share the experience with. In what capacity she wasn’t sure, but she wished for someone to take pity on her in that moment.
Throughout the evening the guests were treated to a program of entertainment, musicians, speeches, and live auctions. It wasn’t until the host announced that the next item for auctionwas donated by the Douglas Green Advisory Group that Leah perked up. The energy in the room was palpable as guests started to bid. Her father had donated a one-of-a-kind bespoke consultation package of all his services, including health insurance, financial advice, and life insurance worth roughly $3,000.
It was by far the most mundane prize, poorly positioned directly after tickets to sit centre court at Madison Square Garden and backstage passes to meet the Knicks team. However, the Knicks were a typical prize, similar to that of tickets to see the Yankees, and therefore the crowd loved it. Leah’s jaw dropped when a woman in a sequin purple dress had the highest bid at $2,000.
The fundraiser turned out to be the most successful in its history. Leah contributed a small sum when she bid on the personal chef evening at her favourite French bistro. It was the only thing remotely within her price range and of interest.
After the auction she had some common ground with the other people in the room. She approached the woman who purchased her father’s donation to congratulate her. An initial introduction sparked a conversation about the business, which prompted Mrs Mayfair to introduce Leah to her group of friends, their combined worth—64 million.
A gentleman called Mr Loafer—he had no hand in creating the classic style of shoe—introduced himself to Leah with a glass of champagne. She gave him the company business card after he expressed an interest in certain services. This happened three or four times as she made her way across the room, searching for the exit that would soon become her quick escape. The same questions were asked by each person she encountered:
What do you do?
Who do you work for?
What can you offer me?
The latter was not in so many words, but Leah knew their end goal. The people of New York didn’t attend a fundraising gala to simply make friends or to save money; they attended to insert their wealth and grow their circle of influence. If you had nothing to offer, you had no business being there.
The night drew to a close, and Leah saw her opportunity to slip out. She wrapped her arms across her body, using her hands to warm her arms as she waited by the entrance for her driver to arrive. She caught a glimpse of a familiar face to her left. The woman had a sun-kissed complexion, a mane of wild chestnut curls that draped across her shoulders, demanding attention. If it was possible for hair to have confidence, those locks oozed assurance. Her green eyes, flecked with gold, caught the light as she turned.
It took a moment for her brain to register the appearance; from the side it looked exactly like—
“Ariana?” Leah said.
Her head spun left, her eyes meeting Leah’s for the first time in five years.
“Leah,” Ariana whispered.
Leah was surprised to see Ariana, despite knowing they now inhabited the same city. It was a city with over eight million residents; the chances of being in the same space was slim—or Leah had hoped.
