Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War & Reconstruction by Allen Guelzo (self help books to read TXT) 📕

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t fly without me.”

“But, after a fight, after the danger is quelled, the adrenaline dissipates leaving you wiped out. We had guys over in Afghan and Iraq who would, back at base, crash out for twenty-four hours after a fire fight.”

“So, it was the fight then, the adrenaline, and the tiredness?” Nia asked.

“I think so, yes,” Tom answered earnestly.

“And not last night’s incredible sex then?”

They laughed and Nia reached across the table and entwined her fingers with Tom’s.

“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for coming with me tonight.”

“Nonsense,” Tom responded. “I think it’s going to be brilliant, because you’re going to be brilliant.”

***

Nia was in the master bathroom in front of the dressing table’s mirror. She was nervous as she prepared, more anxious than she had been on opening night of all but her first play. Her hair was redder, and she was a couple of pounds lighter, both in preparation for the evening’s BFI event. She stepped into a lacy black thong and then fastened a matching strapless bra that was skilfully and carefully engineered to provide enhanced push-up support. She stepped back and observed herself in the mirror. She was going for a bit of a wow factor tonight and it was coming along.

Vampire Moon was a seriously B-grade film, but it had been fun to work on and it had helped Nia’s career, although it had deepened her typecasting as a vamp, literally. Nia looked back on the movie fondly as it opened career doors to more auditions, job offers, and an expanded social life. It had been a pivotal moment in her life, a touchpoint that led on to some good things but also some darker times. Looking in the mirror now she couldn’t remember whether she had been truly happy when she made the film but she recalled the excitement and the thrill of that time. She smiled at her reflection with the knowledge that she couldn’t remember being happier than she was at that moment.

Tom showered and shaved in the guest bathroom and changed into his rented dinner jacket. Nia had taken him to a good theatre costumer and made sure the suit fitted almost as if custom made. He looked at himself in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. It reminded him of being in dress uniform. It was a realisation that just a few months prior would have precipitated a wave of nausea. He wasn’t too excited about the evening. He had never liked crowds or formal events, but Nia had really wanted him to be with her and he wanted to be with her, wanted to be there for her. He was looking forward to spending the Christmas period with her. Tom went into the study and poured a glass of red wine. He knew that Nia was often invited to grand social events and that she hadn’t been to many of them over the past ten years. But this one was special.

Upstairs, Nia slipped on a classic black sleeveless evening dress. It was tight and low cut, accentuating her hips and her cleavage. She dabbed Floris No 89 again, behind her ears and on her cleavage. She added an emerald necklace. It had a certain wow factor appropriate for the evening and for the film. Tom hadn’t seen her ensemble yet. Nia came downstairs to the vestibule where Tom waited with coats. She stopped about halfway down the stairs and swayed sultrily from side to side, then turned around, so Tom could take in the full effect.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “I think I have a stiffy.”

Nia laughed her deep throaty laugh, “That’s what I was going for.”

“My God, you really do look fabulous, vivacious,” Tom added.

“Thank you, I actually feel vivacious.”

Chapter Thirteen

London, December 23rd

The British Film Institute Southbank, all big-box glass and steel, was stuck between the concrete brutalism of the Royal Festival Hall and the National Theatre, on, as its name suggested, the south bank of the Thames. Many a tourist would have walked past it on their way to the London Eye. BFI had laid on a car service and Nia and Tom were dropped off right in front of a red carpet in good time for the seven p.m. showing. Tom was surprised by the classic red-carpet entrance and with a respectable crowd and paparazzi.

“It’s for the star,” Nia whispered. “He became quite big after the film.” She turned to Tom and smiled apprehensively. “It’s show time.”

She felt Tom pull back but held him tightly to her side as she stood on the periphery of the red carpet.

“It’s your moment,” Tom said. “I’ll see you at the door.”

“No, Tom, let’s do this together.”

Tom noticed Nia’s smile was strained.

Nia took a deep breath and moved onto the carpet holding Tom’s hand.

Tom was in awe of Nia as she worked the red carpet, posing for photos, chatting with some of her old cast mates. He was amazed at her confidence and her self-possession, her radiating an easy but affected charm. The crowd shouted for selfies, or a direct smile, there were a few wolf whistles. The door was held for her and she waited for Tom now a pace behind her. Tom, rather embarrassed, quickly moved up the carpet to Nia’s side. Photos flashed, and they entered the BFI.

Nia and Tom were escorted to the theatre’s red seats. Tom relaxed when the theatre lights dimmed. A single spotlight focused on a rather academic looking academic who took to the stage to introduce the film. Nia reached over the armrest, found, and then held Tom’s hand. She remembered the flight from Montreal and how far they had come since then, how much they had changed. Tom enjoyed the film, even though he had just watched it; it was more vibrant and