Divided - By Jennifer Sights Page 0,2

Vittorio Santini.”

A tall man with long black hair watched me from the balcony. “Is that him?”

The bartender nodded. After thanking her, I headed toward the balcony to introduce myself, and hopefully find something more about Courtney, Miriam, or Elizabeth. I wished for a more recent photo of Courtney, and any of the other two girls. “Goth” as a description would not help me find them. At the local Starbuck’s, maybe, but not here. I had to start somewhere though, and I had learned to look at facial structures rather than makeup over the years.

The Chapel’s website clearly stated the balcony was off limits to general club-goers. Some sort of VIP thing, I supposed, and the bouncer at the base of the stairs showed they were serious.

“Vittorio sent me a drink and I -”

He cut me off with a wave of his arm, indicating for me to go upstairs. Easier than I’d expected.

At the top of the stairs, confidence firmly in place, I saw the black hair was his natural color. It had highlights you just can’t get out of a bottle. Sitting on a red velvet couch, he was the center of attention. He faced away from me, so I surveyed the area.

The crowd in the balcony belonged to the second group of club-goers, looking like extras straight out of a vampire movie. They weren’t vampires, obviously - no such thing existed - but they’d sure pass. Some even had fake fangs.

The area was the size of a large living room. In back and to the right was a door with a sign that read “Restroom” and the image signifying it was for men and women. To the left was an unmarked door. A broom closet, maybe?

Vittorio turned and smiled at me. He was masculine in every way, yet his face managed to be beautiful. He was a god come to life; the most gorgeous, perfect creature to ever walk the face of the planet. Even that didn’t do his beauty justice. This god actually smiled at me!

I shook my head. This groupie behavior would do no good. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him. His height sitting almost matched my 5’7” standing.

I extended my hand, thankful the music wasn’t as loud in the balcony so I didn’t have to shout. “I’m Elena. Thank you for the drink, but it really was unnecessary.”

He stood. “Elena. Such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And such confidence.”

At least I succeeded there. My insides turned to rubber as he enfolded my tiny hand in the strong warmth of his. He motioned to the woman sitting next to him, who got up and walked away, glaring at me.

“Please, sit, Elena. Tell me about yourself. How does such a beauty find herself in our humble club? I would surely remember if you had been here before.” He sounded anything but humble.

My legs nearly collapsed, forcing me to accept the offer to sit. My steel boned corset prevented me from slumping into the plush couch. I had never experienced true magic, but he certainly seemed to have an otherworldly power contained in all that beauty. I tried to calm myself with deep breaths. I never reacted to men this way. I needed to get a grip on myself, fast. I had a job to do. “Well,” I cleared my throat because my voice came out barely audible. “I don’t go out very often. But I’m,” I didn’t want to tell him I was a PI, so quickly thought up an easy lie,” kind of between jobs at the moment and needed to get out of the house.”

“You have chosen a wonderful night to come out. It is my fortieth birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday, Vittorio. Where’s your wife?” Someone as gorgeous as he was either had to be married, or too much of a playboy to ever settle down.

“Hmm,” Vittorio murmured, seemingly amused. “I am not married. I have not found a woman to hold my interest enough for a lifelong commitment. But perhaps that has changed tonight.” He eyed me curiously, head slightly tilted to the side.

Oh my word, this god was interested in me. My heart raced. He stared intently into my eyes, and I thought I would faint.

A waitress dropping off a bottle of champagne momentarily distracted Vittorio. Again I reminded myself of my job, wishing I could escape to the bathroom to pull myself together.

Vittorio turned his attention back to me, glass of champagne in hand.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink.”