A Little Night Music (Ms. Irene Adler)

[Dorian Gray]

Dorian Gray was trapped. His respite from the new fear that filled him had been short-lived as, only three weeks after Hallward's death, Lord Henry Wotton had found him and begun again with his intriguing sentiments, whispered sweetly into the ear as honey. With the return of his eloquent role-model had come the hazing, blurring momentum that was slowly eradicating the young man's horror and guilt. He had not looked at the portrait since Harry had stridden into his parlour and produced tickets to a local Burlesque act, guaranteed to be a delight and dripping with sensuous opportunity. Dorian had succumbed quickly, more quickly than he thought he might have. Before long, he was at Harry’s mercy, once again, and casually agreeing to more and more despite the lingering distaste that reminded him of that disfigured face that haunted the upstairs bedroom.

He yearned to change that hideous visage and restore it to its former youthful glory. How he had destroyed his young self. And yet, by the wonder of an unknown force, here he was, glorious as ever. The beckoning of high society, and the richness of beauty that filled it, drove him on towards lower depths. No matter the darkest moments of his failing conscience, he could not get out of this circus of pleasures. He could not escape it to find more moral grounds. How could he when he had been so excellent schooled by Harry in the wonders of total absorption into life?

Tonight, he felt the tug of both provocations intently. Harry had thrown an impromptu party and invited his usual, obscenely extravagant, list of wealthy acquaintances to Dorian’s flat. Of course, no one refused an invitation from Sir Henry, it proved always to be too greater experience to miss. Tonight seemed no exception. Dorian could smell the sickly sweet smell of Opium from his library. The fun had begun early. Dorian felt the flickering excitement that came from the promise of lavishness, but felt a little ill as it clashed in his stomach with the looming sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm him.

As he descended the staircase towards the billiards room, he felt the to-and-fro motion of self-argument. There were so many people, so drastically close to his greatest shame and depravity. He wanted to scream for them all to leave him in solitude to wrestle with what he had done, but that thought only left him panicked. He could not imagine passing up this opportunity to experience life at its most vivid. He could not face what life without it would be. He was scared of the dark. He was scared of being alone with himself. More so, he was scared of being alone with it. The image shattered into his expectations. Those eyes. He stopped, clutching the banister as he felt the tightening in his chest that signified the returning agitation. He looked up, a pained expression flashing momentarily across his face. He could not do this.

Then, something drifted across his senses, a vision from the corner of his eye pulling his focus away from the gnarled face and to the eternal wonder of a beautiful face. It was a newly-arrived guest, just in from the cold evening. Dorian’s mind dove into that poetic place that was summoned in all appreciations of fine art and music at the picture of the lone figure and his enthralled side emerged more willing than ever to find a goddess to worship. She was captivating and his conscientious mind was swept aside with one graceful movement.

His eyes fixed on her, he approached, extended a hand and, with all the charm that, far too easily, effused from him, introduced himself.

“It is Venus herself that graces us with her presence this evening. Good evening Miss and welcome to my home. I am Dorian Gray.”

[new123]

“Two months? Or has it been four?” a young woman calmly asked herself while walking down the bustling London streets. The air was filled with the distinct aroma of freshly baked breads as well as the undeniable stench of the poor trying their hardest to steal any scraps they could. Society these days were beginning to part like the Red Sea once more and Irene Adler had absolutely no intent on being one of the on-lookers into the bakery. No. However, she was not what one would consider upper-class. Perhaps this was because there was only a hand full of people who truly knew her. To the majority of those she came in contact with, an alias was used in order to keep business and pleasure separate. Not that there was much pleasure in her life. Business was her life to be honest. No, she did not ‘work’ per say, for the only jobs out there for women revolved around either domestic activities or children. These were not Irene’s expertise.

While there was once a time when she earned a living by singing in an Opera, those days were fleeting. She was not a naïve woman by any stretch of the imagination and justly sought out a different method in which to live by. Without getting into specifics, something Irene never did when it came to aspects of her past, the auburn haired beauty found herself in the marriage game. Marriage and a subsequent divorced rather. The thrill of seducing wealthy men was far greater than any stage performance could give her. To plan out the entire love affair in its entirety before nearly the first date was over and then watching it unfold with ease was a high unlike any other.

This is what caused Irene to begin questioning herself. The feeling of absolute accomplishment had not been experience in quite sometime. By her recollection, the last man she married…French man, terribly boring and yet jealous at the same time, messy divorce…left with his mother’s sapphire earrings…happened four months and one week ago. “Far too long,” she muttered to herself, picking her skirt up with ease so as not to dirty it with the natural London mud.

Luckily, Irene had been invited to a prominent party that evening by a Lord of some sort. Truthfully, the name escaped her. All she was concerned with was that she had heard talk of this party all throughout the city that day. It was not often she heard such talk. A good party was important in society and any sort of hype around it was certainly a plus but Irene had never been privy to such a great amount of it. She was invited under the alias of Anna Verlaine, a name concocted from women of her past. As for her occupation, well, time would tell which route she would take.

As she arrived to the flat, it was apparent that whoever was hosting this party, certainly did know the wealthiest people. It was so apparent that Irene was half worried that she would run into an ex husband or two. Oh if that were to happen….

She was very close to walking right back out the door when a voice caught her off guard. It was such an intriguing voice… As Irene turned to meet the face of the man who’s voice captivated her, she was equally taken aback by the sheer beauty of the gentleman. Never had she seen a man quite so…well, beautiful was the word to describe him. Youthful yet dignified. He fit in well with the group of socialites eyeing him.

“It is Venus herself that graces us with her presence this evening. Good evening Miss and welcome to my home. I am Dorian Gray.”

“Miss Irene Adler,” she added for him before she could even catch herself. Irene inwardly cursed for giving her true name, not that it would alter the conversation or give true need to panick. Irene simply did not use her real name unless she was very close to them. In an instant, she realized that the man’s appearance caught her so off guard that she had been shaken up. Control had to be hers yet again. “You have a lovely home. Though I am surprised you were not engaged in other conversations. So quick to greet me,” she smiled confidently, trying not to act as if she was pleased with his earlier compliments.

[Dorian Gray]

“Miss Irene Adler,”

Her voice glided from her lips like silk, Dorian could hear the hint of an American accent. While he found many Americans to be sincerely vulgar, this lady's tone had the elements of schooling about it; whether in top schools or in the mingling of high society, he was not sure. Whatever the source, it was total elegance. It had the ring of tonality that suggested that she might be a fine singer. The thought thrilled him. Skill in such an art as singing, if mingled well with soul, rendered the plainest of women exquisite. In one such as Miss Irene Adler, it proved almost too tantalizing a prospect to comprehend. He kept in mind to find out if she had ever dabbled in the arts at a later a stage.

Miss Irene Adler. It flowed from her in that all too familiar fashion that Dorian had come to expect from his effect on women. He sensed his compliment was having the desired effect of endearing himself to her. She was dutifully taken in, he suspected, by that youth and vibrancy that had so intrigued him in seeing his own likeness rendered on canvass. Thoughts of the portrait shimmered only briefly as he considerd her more closely. She was definitely, unguarded as he approached. Yet, there seemed something more reserved about Ms Adler as she retracted her admiration of him in favour of a more controlled response. Intrigue flared. He did so enjoy a woman who could both shine and hold her own.

“You have a lovely home. Though I am surprised you were not engaged in other conversations. So quick to greet me,”

A jibe slipped through in her speech almost unannounced, unless he had misread her, at his own investment in her more than ample charms. She was not without knowledge of her effect on men. He gazed at her with an enigmatic smile. There was nothing more intriguing to him than a game of wits. Control was not something he found absolutely necessary, he was more than happy to follow the lead of the strong-willed, provided the path lead somewhere where novelty could be discovered. This, however, was more about playing a game that could provide hours of entertainment, especially if the opponent proved truly collected. The promise of such an opponent was clear in the eyes of Ms Adler. At that moment, another guest arrived at the door and Dorian found the perfect opportunity to unseat her quiet confidence in herself. He stood aside to allow a strong-featured woman, clearly of a wealthy background, to enter. He bowed warmly as she addressed him with a smile.

“Lady Crenshaw,” he admired with no less sincerity than he had addressed Ms Adler, “your arrival, as always, sets the party in motion.” He kissed the lady’s hand and gave her a seductive smile.

”Charming to the last, Mr Gray,” Lady Crenshaw winked at him before moving into the billiards room to greet the others. He was instantly satisfied with his display of interest as being enough to suggest to Ms Adler that her remark may have been issued to soon.

Dorian, now standing at her side, leaned in close to her ear. ”A good host, Ms A, always gives the illusion of being anxious to speak with everyone…” It was seemingly evasive, though far more teasing than true. The adoption of ‘Ms A’ suggested a familiarity that he considered inevitable. He continued with his soft and unreadable gaze before issuing an arm.

”If the lady would grant me the honour of escorting her into the library, I have heard that a drink may be found by the earnest seeker.”