Clarisse gaped slightly at the sight of Wichita. The door opened and Wichita, right there, didn’t really of something Clarisse had expected. Wichita stood there with her hands tucked in her pants pockets. She wore a formal cropped black suit and a blue floppy bow around her neck. The top buttons of her white silk shirt had left undone. Indisputably, Wichita had impeccable fashion sense. The chopper blew off her blazer and disarrayed her ponytail. Wichita’s facial features were unblemished, her high cheekbones and dimpled chin which was always slightly raised. She had a poised body language, which suited her and made her look like a supermodel on the ramp posing for a click.
“Are you going to step out?” Wichita shouted over the cacophony of chopper’s wings lashing the air.
Clarisse shook her head and ambled out of the elevator, her eyes still on Wichita. “Nice ride,” She said.
“I was going to take a ride to pick you up. But I thought if I brought a Rolls Royce to your door it would be a little pretentious.” Wichita chortled.
“And you think this isn’t?"
“Well, I don’t own it. I rented it.” Wichita winked, “… now we must get in. You don’t want to get stuck during the rush hour.”
Clarisse laughed, “ Do you know people might know you as the entrepreneur of the year, but I know you as an awkwardly humourous woman.”
“That was flattering.” Wichita said, gesturing Clarisse to the chopper, “… thank you.”
Clarisse’s knee-length dress almost flew away, but she held on to it. She climbed up in the chopper, followed by Wichita.
“And back we go, Kevin.” She said to the pilot.
“All right, Ma’am,” he replied.
Clarisse gazed down from the chopper when it was in the city's skyline. She couldn’t contain her fascination at the glorious sight of thousands of twinkling stars beneath. Wichita looked at her and said, “It is like looking at the reflections of fireflies in the river.”
Clarisse urged kissing Wichita, but she resisted. What would be more wonderful than being a part of the city’s fabled skyline? With the Empire State Building and The Met.
“What are you thinking?” Wichita whispered.
“We’re a part of this magnificent skyline. Just wondering what it would be like to be here at this moment forever, renown with the tallest buildings.” Clarisse said.
“You are magical.” Wichita smiled.
Clarisse’s cheeks now had the natural blush on them. She doesn’t remember being blushed for a long time. Wichita has her way with compliments. Clarisse is a stranger to this feeling when she is not around Wichita. She isn’t this admirable about the things around, she is cranky and grumbles about the things surrounding her. But Wichita makes everything bearable; the notorious pain of loving someone, the agony of memories, the utter lonesomeness of the dark nights. Everything is gleeful alongside Wichita.
“If the moon could be the lamp beside our bed of clouds,” Clarisse mused, “… and if the stars could be the fireflies flying above. Then I would kiss you and tell you the tales of my ventures to you. A venture of how a mortal met an Angel of Up and Above.” Clarisse looked at Wichita and smiled whole heartedly.
“The talents of yours swipe me off my feet, my lady.” Wichita laughed softly.
The chopper landed on Wichita’s penthouse rooftop. They got off the chopper and took the elevator back to the penthouse.
The elevator opened to a white marble sculpture of a dolphin perched in the middle of the fountain - which streamed off little droplets like a drizzle. The living room was majestic and lavishing. Positioned at the corner of the room around the coffee table was a leather sofa and a velvet carpet, welcoming.
The living room was all surrounded by windows behind the resplendent curtains. Wichita grabbed a remote from the drawer of a huge piece of furniture around the big TV. She pressed the button, and the curtains opened to a flabbergasted view of the city’s skyline. Behind the other window was a balcony, and at the edge of the balcony was an inviting swimming pool, which startled Clarisse and compelled her to wonder how a person would go for a swim?
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Excitement poured out of Wichita’s every word.
“It’s so…,” Clarisse searched for the right words to describe the place.
“Pretentious?” Wichita asked her.
“No, I mean it must be like living in paradise. It’s marvellous. It’s queenly.” Clarisse said, wholly awed.
“Queenly?” She chuckled, “… that’s something new.”
Clarisse slowly wandered through the living room, savouring every corner of the penthouse. Wichita watched with complete fascination in her eyes. She saw the wonderment and appreciation for not only the penthouse but for her. The way she referred to the penthouse as ‘queenly’ hinted at Wichita. What Clarisse meant? Clarisse thought of Wichita as a queen to her empire. She was the queen. She built everything by herself, and no one has ever appreciated it the way Clarisse did.
Clarisse stormed across the living room, throwing her purse on the sofa. She went near a window and opened it. The cool air gusted in, fresh and chilly. Not contaminated by smoke or pollution, pure air. She spread her arms as if a bird unfurls its wings before the flight. Clarisse's hair swayed with the air to an unsung melody of a newfound love that no one had ever discovered.
Wichita hugged Clarisse from behind and whispered in her ear, “preparing to take a leap of faith are you?”
“Can you taste the air?” Clarisse asked, her heart thudding in her chest as she felt the warmth of Wichita’s slow breath on her neck and the touch on her waist.
“It tastes of cryptic feelings.” Wichita kissed Clarisse’s neck softly.