Chapter 65: The Pure Place

[Chapter 65: The Pure Place]

In the early morning, a private jet landed at a small private airport in New York. Only two people, one tall and one short, disembarked from the jet: Ryan and Joel.

Joel had been excited throughout the flight and was eagerly taking pictures with his phone. He remembered how chaotic things had been the last time he traveled to New York with Ryan. He never expected that in less than two months, he would find himself stepping off a private jet beside Ryan.

As they grabbed their simple luggage, they spotted a waiting SUV at the exit. "Gentlemen, I'm your driver and guide for this trip. I'll be looking after you during this year's White Party," the driver said, stepping forward to help Ryan and Joel with their bags.

Notably, the driver was dressed in an all-white suit, perfectly matching the theme of the "White Party." Technically, Ryan wasn't just a guest; he was one of the performers, but with a private jet and a dedicated driver, everything about the event promised to be luxurious.

...

Once in the car, Ryan sent a text message and made a phone call before they arrived at a boutique hotel in the Hamptons. Although it was small, the hotel was exquisitely decorated, with the lobby adorned in white to match the party theme.

"Did you hear that? The suite has an indoor pool and a spa downstairs..." Joel whispered as they stepped into the elevator.

Just after they dropped off their luggage, the phone in their room rang. "Sir, there's a lady here claiming to be Irina Shayk. She wants to visit you."

"Let her come up, and don't add her name to the guest list," Ryan replied.

"Understood."

...

Soon after, Irina knocked and entered, finding Ryan dressed only in his underwear. She embraced Ryan as she smiled, teasing, "Looks like you were in a hurry to get undressed."

"Cut it out, I just wanted to take a shower," Ryan shook his head, feeling the fatigue of travel.

Irina set down her handbag, looking casual and without makeup, as if she had hastily gotten out of bed after receiving Ryan's call. She gently nudged Ryan toward the bathroom, and he didn't resist, enjoying her assistance in the tub, even if her technique was a little awkward.

When they moved to the spa portion, much like before, the experience seemed more about form than function. Just as Irina was about to initiate a massage, Ryan suddenly rolled over and asked why she had contacted him.

"I just missed you. Don't you like me?" Irina edged closer, nearly pressing her face against Ryan's.

"Not really," Ryan replied, dismissively.

"You're no fun, but I'll work to make you like me," Irina leaned in to kiss Ryan.

He pulled away. "If you keep this up, I might just call the cops," Ryan joked.

"Go ahead, maybe let the media know too... Wait, no, that's not what I meant..." Irina stammered, realizing she had misspoken.

"I'll give you one last chance," Ryan said slowly.

Under Ryan's scrutinizing gaze, Irina finally confessed the truth.

"It was Fizz who sent me here. She said you liked me and I should make a move. She also mentioned you have a bit of a flirty side and suggested I should play into that. I've only got one music video; I don't have anything else, so... I thought I'd try to win you over."

Ryan relaxed at the mention of Fizz. She was currently Irina's manager, giving her advice solely for business reasons.

Ryan maintained a scrutinizing demeanor. "Did you tell her everything that happened between us?"

"I... said a bit. Just a few things. She guessed a lot of it, and she said she knows you really well," Irina pouted.

"From now on, you're not to mention anything about us to anyone, including your parents. Understand?" Ryan warned her.

"Got it," Irina nodded.

Ryan lay back, signaling her to get to work.

...

The next afternoon, Ryan didn't wake until after Joel had toiled away, preparing for the day while he was out cold. Ryan immediately called Scooter, who informed him that the official party wouldn't start until the next afternoon. Today was reserved for setting up equipment at the venue.

Ryan handed over the honorable task to Joel while he planned to have fun with Irina.

Before he knew it, evening had arrived again. After sharing another bath, Irina brought up the party.

"Can you take me with you? You're a guest and can invite one female companion," Irina said, inching closer in the tub, resting her face against Ryan's chest while pleading.

"I'm just the DJ, I'm not allowed to bring a guest," Ryan tilted his head back. He surely couldn't agree to that. If any photos ended up with Taylor seeing them, it would be chaos.

"Is it that important of a party?" Ryan asked.

"It's a major event in the music industry. This party has been hosted by Diddy since 1998," Irina responded casually.

Diddy? Ryan's mind raced as Scooter hadn't mentioned this detail.

Surely it wouldn't be an issue; there were plenty of media around. As long as he left early, Ryan reasoned with himself.

Irina went on to explain how grand the party was, noting that it was described by the BBC as a "glamorous event breaking generational and racial barriers, bringing together old money elites from East Hampton and new hip-hop stars." Each attendee was required to wear all-white attire, a theme Diddy had suggested to strip away social status and return to a kind of primal simplicity. The guest list for the first party had exceeded a thousand, and last year's event alone had cost over three million.

Ryan couldn't help but feel that Scooter resembled Diddy quite a bit; both had started their careers securing college parties, entered the industry through party planning, and had impressed some major players to establish their record labels at a young age.

After their bath, Ryan made sure Irina took a small emergency pill.

...

East Hampton was located on Long Island's easternmost point, boasting a pleasant climate and picturesque scenery. Dubbed New York's backyard, it had gradually transformed into a "playground for the rich" since World War II, now housing many prominent figures like the Clintons and director Steven Spielberg.

In 1998, Sean Combs hosted the first White Party at his home in East Hampton. Local residents had seen this as an invasion, until Combs dispatched luxury cars to pick up neighbors and even treated them to expensive meals at local restaurants to minimize noise complaints.

With a calming breeze and the soothing rhythms of electronic music nearby, Ryan saw that a white cabana had been set up around the pool. Flawlessly white fabric hung down, with a few women in white bikinis swinging above the water...

It felt like a scene from a Greek myth where everyone donned white clothes, creating an almost cleansing beauty through the event's setup.

"Hi, you must be Ryan," a blonde woman in a white jumpsuit approached him, flashing a smile.

She wasn't particularly short, and in her heels, she appeared almost as tall as Ryan.

Standing in front of the DJ booth, she posed with her hand on her hip, making a bit of a statement. While most guests wore relaxed outfits, her fitted white jumpsuit accentuated her curves and had a sheer pattern that revealed her playful side.

Her golden hair was styled up with a white headband, and chic, avant-garde sunglasses perched on her forehead showed off her heavy foundation and rosy lipstick. The voice that came out was sweet with an almost baby-like cherub quality.

"I'm your biggest fan! I bought a thousand copies of your songs on iTunes! The first time I heard your music, I knew you were going to be famous," she exclaimed, shaking her head in admiration.

As a socialite, she had attended plenty of parties, so it came as no surprise that she knew Ryan's work.

"I'm Paris Hilton," she introduced herself as she reached to shake Ryan's hand, giving his palm a small playful poke.

*****

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