Amelia had no particular desire to be imprisoned, but she could not honestly say her curiosity was not piqued by the idea of dark cells and drinking songs a la “Pirates of the Caribbean,” a film she had only been allowed to see under the terms that she spend a summer in Puerto Rico, perfecting her Spanish and studying colonialist history. Kiera Knightly had called her mother to impress upon her that the film was really not so important as to necessitate such an extended educational holiday, but Amelia’s mother was insistent.
At any rate, Amelia had ultimately added Spanish to the extensive catalog of languages in which she dreamed, and though she had been very near imprisonment on several occasions before this past summer, she had always found herself able to hook her stiletto through the pin of a fire extinguisher and shower the contested scene in white powder before making a quick getaway.
Amelia had extraordinarily good luck, and when one leads a considerably charmed life, she begins to consider the anomalous mishap a novelty so interesting it extends her good fortune, rather than a blemish on her record. This was the case in July, when Amelia and her band made their annual trek to Dubai, and Candy (whose luck was considerably less fortuitous) suggested after several gold-laden cocktails their crew climb the Burj Khalifa.
You or I might have laughed, and so did Amelia and her friends, but their laughter was not tainted by the pessimism of those for whom limits are a regular aspect of everyday life. No god to which a person has ever prayed could have barred Amelia from having her desires once her resolve was set, and though her wishes wavered with the delicacy of the wind, she stuck to whatever struck her fancy in any given moment with the ferocity of a woman who had no concept of her own mortality.
Benjamin, Omar, and Annamaria stepped out to telephone the people who know people who can make anything happen, and Lily sent out for a team of tailors and sleek black ensembles. The cocktail dresses and tails the crew had brought over in trunks would not do, of course. Catsuits and Harry Winston diamonds were the only things to wear when scaling glass and steel.
Amelia, now dressed in a Yousef Al-jasmi gown complete with a smoldering high slit and stealthy pants, adjusted her bangles while a gentleman clipped a harness around her shoulders.
“Do watch the diamonds!” Lily called to her friend over the wind. “They’re loaned, you know. Nayla made such a fuss about being woken up in the middle of the night.”
Amelia, who was of the opinion that the diamonds would fare far better than the building, should their excursion be successful, flashed her wrists for the polaroid camera being passed around.
“Ready?” crackled a man’s voice in Amelia’s ears. She slipped gloves over her fingers – Imani had said they were smuggled from the CIA, an advanced technology not yet approved for field use, but Amelia was not entirely sure if this was to be believed.
Amelia tapped her fingers against the glass – they stuck instantly, and Imani smirked at her disbelieving face – and the team began to climb. Lily sang “Hotel California” and Benjamin sang “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” and Charles tossed a flask to Darcy, who dropped it, and Candy counted the stars. Amelia kicked herself away from the wall and listened to the tightening rope pull her up toward the sky. There was very little skill required in an expedition planned after too many imported cigarettes and dry martinis.
Amelia had joined in the singing, and was wondering if a helicopter might be able to get close enough to pass her a fresh baguette and cup of tea, when the sound of the small aircraft interrupted her thoughts, and she applauded Annamaria over her headset for predicting her preferences so well.
“That’s not my doing,” Annamaria said, and it was then that Amelia noticed the flashing lights and heard the furious voice of a man over a speakerphone.
Amelia was meant to end up in a cell with the rest of her set, loaned diamonds making red poke-marks in skin crammed too tightly together, and for just a few minutes, she found herself in that very situation. But ten minutes had not passed before Amelia was summoned from captivity and escorted to a vintage Rolls Royce, where she was taken to Atlantis The Royal (an exciting journey – her mother had refused a room at their opening in favour of seeing Yo-Yo Ma for the seventeenth time, and Amelia had not forgiven her). There, a prince, who I am told wishes to remain anonymous, sent for her friends’ release, promised she would permitted to climb the Burj Khalifa at any time she wished in the future (she declined, she had lost interest in the idea), and served a twelve-course meal which Amelia requested be extended to fifteen upon their next meeting. They had a magnificent conversation, and the prince was very funny, though not quite as witty as she, and then he gifted her a natural blue diamond ring inlaid in an intricate twisting design of the Queen’s Welsh gold, but Amelia declined, promising their tete-a-tete was far too enjoyable for her to take anything more from him.
A jet flew her straight to Rome, where she walked the streets until dawn, putting her feet in the Trevi Fountain and watching the sun rise with a bottle of wine, sip of espresso, and several pastries in tow.
I heard she was bidding on David for her private collection, but a gentleman I met yesterday told me with certainty it was “The Last Supper” she was after. I tried calling her, but splashed across magazines the next day were pictures of her phone, tossed in the fountain, a blue diamond ring tied around it in golden ribbon.
Love,
Lettie Anne