Tabitha Gainsley stood before her floor mirror and imagined herself surrounded by dangerous, powerful men.
She did this because, within an hour, that would be her reality.
After convincing herself for the hundredth time that she could do this, Tabitha made a few adjustments to her little black dress and picked up the black clutch that lay on her bed. In less time than it took for her to calm her nerves, she was standing at the curb and hailing a taxi.
“The Metropolitan Museum of Art,” she said to the driver once she was situated in the back seat.The driver nodded, gave her a lingering glance and darted into traffic.
The traffic, as Tabitha had expected, was murder. If not for the ridiculous stiletto heals she had chosen to accompany her dress, she would have been able to walk from her hotel to the museum more quickly than the taxi driver was able to navigate New York’s unforgiving road congestion.
When the driver finally pulled to the curb across from the museum, Tabitha lingered a moment, unsure yet again if she wanted to go through with this.
“This is a taxi, not a tour bus,” the driver said to Tabitha Gainsley in a thick accent as he looked over his shoulder at the unmoving passenger.
Tabitha paid the driver, told him to keep the change and his attitude and deposited herself on the busy sidewalk. After a brisk, harrowing walk across Fifth Avenue, she began climbing the steps to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
She approached the main entrance and removed the private invitation from her clutch. When she presented it to the doorman, he inspected both the invitation and its bearer with what seemed to be unprofessional interest and waved for her to pass.
Tabitha walked into the museum’s foyer and began searching for the man who was supposed to be awaiting her arrival.
Tabitha was startled when someone touched her elbow from behind. She tried to maintain her composure as she forced a smile on her face and turned around. Jonathan Gambit took a step back to survey the little black dress and the woman who wore it with such grace.
“A beautiful brunette in a little black dress is perhaps the most dangerous weapon in the world,” Jonathan said as he took Tabitha’s hand and bent slightly to kiss her fingers.
Tabitha smiled and bowed her head a little. “You’re too kind, Mr. Gambit. Thank you.”
“No, Tabitha. Thank you. And my name is Jonathan.”
Tabitha smiled again and allowed a forced laugh to escape her mouth.
“A silver tongue goes well with an Eastern European accent,” she offered to the man who was now guiding her past the throngs of people. The small talk bubbling up from the gathered assortment of New York elites seemed foreign to Tabitha. How could people in a place like this, here to do what they were all here to do, take part in small talk.
Tabitha Gainsley and Jonathan Gambit walked down the long hallway that connected the foyer to one of the main galleries. After what seemed to be an eternity, Jonathan brought them to a stop before an unmarked door and produced a key from his tuxedo jacket. With a quick twist of the key they were inside a luxuriously decorated room that looked like a mix between a business office and a lavish bedroom.
“No more small talk, Ms. Gainsley,” Jonathan said as he turned to face Tabitha and took her by the shoulders. “Why do you ask this of me? I want to know before we proceed.”
Tabitha was silent for a moment.
“If I go through with this, I’ll never grow old?” She asked.
“No, never,” Mr. Gambit responded with a look of curiosity on his face.
Tabitha smiled. “Good. I’m doing this because I’ve done some things in my life that more or less make me damned anyway. But mostly because I want to always look like I do now in this little black dress.”
Tabitha leaned her head to the side, exposing the smooth, white skin of her throat for the man who promised to give her eternal youth.
For a price.