Cocktail Dreams

Chapter 1: Cat Fight

Janelle Monáe's Halloween party was the kind of event that people remembered. Her parties were known for their exclusivity and creative flair, and tonight's gathering was no exception. The sprawling mansion was transformed into a lavish, gothic paradise, with dim lighting casting shadows over intricate cobwebbed chandeliers, blood-red roses spilling out of crystal vases, and eerie organ music blending into a bass-heavy beat. The place was packed with celebrities and creative souls, each draped in elaborate costumes that ranged from vintage horror to avant-garde surrealism. 

Fantasia Barrino had reluctantly accepted the invitation, deciding on a whim to dress as Catwoman. She had to admit, she felt more exposed than she had anticipated. The sleek, black suit hugged her curves, and though it made her feel fierce, it also drew a few too many lingering glances. Adjusting the cat ears on her head, she kept a confident stride as she made her way through the maze of people dancing in the dimly lit main room. She'd just gotten her drink—a dark, nearly black cocktail that tasted as potent as it looked—and was scanning the room, trying to find Janelle to thank her for the invite.

But then, something caught her eye—a flash of deep red under a black cape. Fantasia's breath hitched as she saw her. Taraji P. Henson was standing across the room, dressed as a striking, modern vampire. Her makeup was flawless, dark red lips matched her sleek dress, and her collarbone was adorned with a small drop of "blood" that glistened under the low lights. Taraji had an effortless confidence about her, and Fantasia couldn't help but stare. The woman was magnetic, commanding attention even with the tiniest gestures.

"Lord," Fantasia muttered under her breath, caught between admiration and intimidation. She took a small, nervous sip of her drink, feeling her pulse quicken.Just then, a group of partiers nearby started dancing wildly to the booming beat, their moves careless and erratic. Before Fantasia could react, one of them stumbled backward, bumping into her with unexpected force. In an instant, she lost her balance, and her drink went flying—straight onto Taraji.

The splash of dark liquid hit Taraji's crimson dress and neck, staining the intricate lace detailing and spilling onto her bare shoulder. Taraji froze, her mouth dropping open as she looked down at the mess in horror. Her fierce gaze snapped up to Fantasia, and even in her tipsy state, her eyes were sharp as daggers.

"Oh, hell no!" Taraji's voice cut through the noise, venomous and laced with disbelief. She glared at Fantasia, her face a mask of irritation and shock. "Do you know how much this dress costs?"

Fantasia's mouth opened, words scrambling for escape. "I—I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't mean to! They were dancing, and—"

Taraji held up her hand, not wanting to hear it. "Save it," she snapped, dabbing at the wet spots with a cocktail napkin as though it could somehow erase the spill. "A Catwoman wannabe and can't even keep her claws to herself, huh?"

Fantasia felt a flush creep up her cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "Listen, I really didn't mean to spill it. I got bumped, alright? People are going wild over here." She gestured toward the chaotic dancers still throwing themselves around without a care.

Taraji, clearly unimpressed, rolled her eyes. "Wild, my ass. What, you think I haven't been to a party before? Control yourself. You're a grown woman, not some clumsy teenager." She turned slightly, examining the stains on her dress with an exaggerated sigh. "I swear, it's always somebody."

"Okay, now hold on," Fantasia protested, her voice starting to harden. "I already said I was sorry. You don't have to act like I did this on purpose."