Page 6 of Moonstruck at Midnight
A couple of girls, who looked like models, approached the stanchion, and a bouncer automatically let them through. I understood now how things worked in this place. Instinctively, I looked down to evaluate myself—double-checking my overall appearance.
“You look great, don’t be ridiculous—we’ll get in. Paul and his friends will be here any minute now. We can wait for them to arrive,” Cecile whispered, trying to reassure me.
We had been standing there for a minute and a half, and I swear it was the longest minute and a half I’ve ever had to endure. It was so awkward. I would’ve rather left than beg to get in.
I could hear a guy shouting in the back, trying to get one of the bouncer’s attention. They completely ignored him. It was painful to watch.
A third man approached the entrance from the inside to reckon the access situation. He squinted our way, trying to focus his vision. “Aaron?Mon ami!Viens ici!” He cheerfully invited Aaron to approach him.
“Jean-Henri!” Aaron replied as he shook his friend’s hand firmly. The exchange looked sincere.
The velvet ropes opened up for us, and we triumphantly stepped inside after Jean-Henri gestured for us to come in. Aaron pulled his friend aside to exchange a few words with him.
A bar employee escorted us afterward to the dim-lighted bar.
My plan was to get my mind off Caleb by attempting to be a typical young woman having fun in Paris. Not to get even. In my mind, I believed I meant nothing to him more than work and a casual friend—someone he could talk to when he was bored or had some free time on his hands.
I really needed to loosen up and have fun for a few hours. I knew my friends could help me with that. And Sophie was right; the music was great. They gave us a small, cozy table, yet something told me it was a prized commodity.
The place was less than half-full, which surprised me because of the number of people outside waiting to get in. You’d think that having a packed venue would be something to look forward to as a bar owner, but they were picky in who to allow inside—that’d been made clear.
We were lucky to have Aaron’s acquaintance help us get in faster, or at all.
We took a seat on the red velvety couch that surrounded the table, and a girl who only spoke French approached us with a beverage menu. She had dark brown hair made up in a loose chignon. Her fair skin glowed against her currant-red lips. She was as arrogant as she was pretty.
Was she aware of her job description? Maybe it was all part of the bar’s theme.
She swiftly took our drinks order and fled the table.
I had a glass of wine with dinner, and I rarely drank more than two glasses of anything with alcohol. Assuming a safe amount of time had transpired from dinner to the bar, I reset my counter and planned to have two more glasses of wine.
We chatted and waited for our drinks as the bar slowly welcomed more people inside.
Paul arrived with three friends who sat with us, crowding up on our table. We all greeted each other as our favorite server finally arrived with our drinks. Aaron and Caleb idled near, chatting with each other while keeping their gazes locked in our direction.
Paul and his friends ordered bottle service, which prompted our server to yield a subtle smile in return. She pivoted on her heel and marched away in Aaron and Caleb’s direction. I saw her eyeing Caleb—flirtatiously smiling at him as she walked by past them.
Business as usual.
The night progressed, and everyone seemed to be having a good time—except me. Paul and Cecile kept dancing to the folk-like beats while Sophie chatted with a guy who approached her.
Two of Paul’s friends moved to and from our table to refill their drinks as if it were a gas station, while Paul’s third friend was nowhere to be found.
My plan wasn’t going as expected. I was bored todeath. Ordering my second and supposedly last glass of wine was necessary to keep me busy doing something while I awkwardly sat on the couch.
“Look!” Sophie screamed excitedly, walking up to me and clutching my arm.
“What is it?” I looked over both of my shoulders for an answer.
“It’s Richard Miller and Tabatha Collins,” she whispered in my ear.
“Richard and Tabatha, who now?” I was clueless.
“Come on,le stars de cinéma!”
Hollywood was not my forte since going to the movie theater was tricky and not “recommended” by the security advisors. I loved watching a classic now and then, but I mostly kept to my music and books.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Soph.” I grimaced.
