Chapter 45 Chapter Forty-Five - Gabriella
Arm in arm the three of us approach the entrance, giving our greetings to Paul who is working the door tonight.
“I wasn’t aware you three had entered a trouple,” he teases.
“She only wishes,” Wyatt chides, earning a hip bump from me.
“Oh please, these two couldn’t handle me even if they wanted to,” I scoff.
“Now now, you three behave,” says Paul with a deep authoritative voice, yet a playful glint in his amber eyes.
“Not if we can help it,” Derrick sings out.
Paul shakes his head as he lets us into the club, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Paul is the ultimate bouncer. Most people don’t know whether to fear him or get on their knees for him, not that I blame them. He’s a pansexual bear and a practising dominant. It paints a hell of a picture. Especially about his personal life.
As we enter the club, we are immediately immersed in a sea of white opulence. Beads of rhinestones hanging from the ceiling, glittering in the light like a shower of diamonds. White Grecian columns surround the club ordained with white organza, ostrich plumes and roses; it’s like stepping into gay heaven. The stage has been erected with a monster platform that looks like a diamond has unfurled its shards like the petals of a flower. It’s exquisitely ethereal.
The Glitter Hole hosts a lot of themed nights, and they’re great for business. The Diamond Party happens once a year and is themed white diamond. The dress code is simple: white and bling. Looking around, everyone is either in white or some skimpy diamond number. I’ve gone for a mix of both. A simple chic one-button white blazer, with no undershirt. Nothing but a stunning diamanté underwire with a diamond chain dripping down to a diamond heart, emphasizing my impressive cleavage. My hair hangs down my back in thick two-strand plaits, like a more rustic fishtail braid, decorated with diamond hair jewels. The black leather pants with a zipper in the back instead of the front and my leopard heels aren’t strictly part of the dress code, but I still slay. And unlike my companions, I like to keep my makeup more soft and natural most of the time. I love a dramatic look, but this isn’t one of those times.
“Damn, do I know how to design a party, or do I know how to design a party?” gushes Derrick admiring all his hard work.
I chuckle and squeeze his arm, “You have done a phenomenal job. It’s the best Diamond Party to date,” I commend him, smiling as he beams with pride.
Speaking of slay…
I once again look grossly understated compared to the men flanking me. Derrick has gone for high fashion, as usual, wearing a haute couture men’s all-white suit, with white leather Saint Laurent ankle boots with a Cuban heel. What makes it high fashion is the suit jacket. It is a sleek jacket with an exaggerated tailcoat, more like an elaborate cape, with pleated layers and ruffles that cascade behind him like a white river. His hair is slicked back with a silver, metallic hair gel and his makeup consists of a dramatic silver glitter undereye to appear as though he’s crying glitter. He looks like he should be on a runway at Fashion Week or walking the steps of the Met Gala. This is also the moment you just realised he walked down the street dressed like this. Trust me, in LA, this isn’t the strangest thing anyone has seen, not by a long shot.
Wyatt on the other hand is his usual androgynous self. He also looks like he should be walking down a catwalk but of an entirely different fashion show. He’s wearing white, grunge boots, white, tight-fitted cargo pants and a white, long-sleeved hooded tunic made of gauze, and has sprayed his afro-curls with silver glitter hairspray for that hint of bling while completing the look with a bit of grunge makeup. He’s giving very high fashion meets Dune, and it works for him.
The music is electric as everyone dances to a remix of Ricki-Lee Coulter’s song ‘Raining Diamonds’, which tells me even the music is going to have a theme tonight.
“If I don’t hear ‘Diamonds Are Forever’ by Shirley Bassey, at some point tonight, then this whole evening will have been an epic fail,” I warn Derrick.
Derrick gasps, “I worked hard on this playlist. Do you really think I would ever leave out such an icon?”
“I would hope not, for your sake.”
“I swear you’re more of a gay man than half the gay men in here,” Wyatt jokes.
“Very funny. How about I go and get us some drinks? What are you guys in the mood for?”
“Order us something off the themed menu. Wyatt and I will go and grab our seats and we’ll meet you there,” says Derrick, taking Wyatt’s arm and walking off to one of the booths.
As I walk over to the bar and line up, I reflect on Wyatt’s little joke. The truth is, sometimes I feel like the odd woman out because I’m a straight, cis woman in a sea of diversity. Over the years there has been controversy because straight, cis women have a tendency to enter queer spaces and act like entitled cunts, causing more problems than they solve under the guise of ‘it’s the only place straight men won’t harass me’, which is all good and well, but those straight women often end up harassing the gay patrons, like that’s any better.
The Glitter Hole is my home and I’ve never felt unwelcomed. Everyone here is my family and I’d fall on a grenade for them, but I can’t help having moments where I feel like the outsider invading a space that wasn’t meant for me. Aside from being an ally, the benefit of me being a straight woman is that I’m the one they can call on to handle the drunk straight, cis women here on bachelorette parties and whatnot. It’s less controversial when the person dragging them out by their hair is one of their own because it means they can’t use the prejudice card. Plus it is extremely satisfying getting to do that, and it’s a service I will happily perform for my family. I don’t care who you are, you touch my friends and I’ll kick your drunken BBL ass out the door.
When I get to the front of the line, I resist the urge to catch up with my friends behind the bar since I can see they have a lot of patrons to get through. I quickly order my drinks, leave a decent tip, and make my way to the booth where Derrick and Wyatt are. As I approach, I see their lips locked and Derrick’s fingers hiding somewhere in Wyatt’s hair. I smile and place the drinks down on the table.
“When you’re ready for air, there’s a Black Diamond Martini for Wyatt and a Diamonds Are Forever Martini for Derrick.” I take my seat and take a sip of my drink contemplating the interesting taste on my tongue.
“And you thought I’d neglect to include the iconic Bassey in tonight’s festivities,” Derrick scoffs smugly between kisses.
“I stand corrected,” I concede.
“What did you get for yourself?” Wyatt asks, finally coming up for air but keeping Derrick wrapped tightly in his arms.
“Diamond Nebula Martini. Whose idea was this?”
“Kieran’s. Do you like it?” Derrick asks excitedly.
“It’s very interesting. There’s a tartness that enhances the vodka, and then there’s a sweetness that soothes the palate followed by this fun little tangy aftertaste. It’s wild, but I really like it. Kieran did a great job,” I smile over at him.
His smile widens and he relaxes, “Thank fuck for that. I wasn’t sure about it honestly, it seemed like a bit of a risk when he first suggested it.”
“These people will be hammered in no time and by that point, every cocktail will start to taste the same. They won’t give a shit what they’re drinking,” sniggers Wyatt, taking his drink and sipping, “Mmm good choice, thank you, Ella.”
As I sip my drink, I look around the room at the sea of white, the sight of it making my chest squeeze uncomfortably. Tonight was meant to distract me from missing Jartre, but now I realise, all it’s going to do is remind me of him. His long, thick unnaturally white hair that even in the pitch-black darkness, shines through. The way the strobe lights catch every glittering surface reminds me of his bright silver eyes that leave me hypnotised every time I look at them.
“Gabriella, are you okay?” Derrick asks, concern evident in his voice as he places his hand on my knee.
I look over at him, my reflexive instinct to tell him I’m fine wavering as I look into his sapphire eyes. Instead, I sigh and let the façade fall.
“I miss Jartre. When I look around everything reminds me of him,” I say glumly.
“Oh sweetie pie,” Derrick says sympathetically, scooting close and wrapping me up in his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this over a guy before.” He throws a look at Derrick, “And there you were picking on the man. Well done.”
Wyatt sputters looking like he just got thrown under the proverbial bus.
“Don’t go picking on Wyatt just because I’m in a funky mood. He was only being a concerned friend,” I chastise Derrick.
“Thank you, Ella. Nice to know someone has my back,” he grumbles into his drink.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Derrick gently asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“It’s hard to explain. I just…feel like a part of me is missing when he’s not here.”
“You feel that strongly already?” Wyatt asks, his tone one of genuine curiosity as opposed to judgment.
“I said it was hard to explain.” I take another sip of my drink, wishing I could articulate this bond between Jartre and me, but with or without the mention of magic, they’d still probably think I was insane.
As I keep my lips on my glass as an excuse to not have to speak, a familiar wave of energy comes over the room, filling the air with static and making me feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. My eyes shoot up and begin scanning the room frantically, as I feel a strong presence lean down behind me.