Voilà

1. After the Disaster Party

Hello Daniel! Your books have inspired me to a great length! This chapter of my maiden novel is dedicated to you! I'm looking forward to read more of your books and also your valuable feedback!!! 

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MICHAEL’S PERSPECTIVE

             Why on earth are there flowers in my hand? Well, that’s not the only weird part. That look in my eyes. I never had that look. I was happy, well, looking happy actually, and the flush in my cheeks was the proof. I was smiling like a dope. And, yeah, I was looking like I was… in love. In love? What?! I’m doomed!

          My eyes flashed open and the familiar surroundings sunk in. Phew! At last! Such a nightmare! That felt realistic, very realistic. I seriously hope I never encounter such a situation. Falling in love? Please! I would prefer being strapped to a bed in a mental asylum and receive the most horrendous shock treatment than falling in love.

          As I tried to get up, something tugged at my hand. When I look sideways, a wave of confusion washed over me. Who is she? As I tried to recollect the happenings of the night, a throbbing pain erupted in my head and I groaned.

BLAKE’S PERSPECTIVE

          That idiot deserves to be whacked! I mean what the hell?! Michael VanHalen happens to be my mortal enemy since… we were born, practically. Having studied in the same school and having ended up together always (for fistfights, I mean) was the common feature of our animosity. Same school. Same college. And now the same job. Who could have imagined it?

          First he flirts with Darla, engulfs her in his charm and takes her to his home and ruins the party for the rest of us. Guess how? Ikram, an Iranian and Darla’s boyfriend was the cause. While Darla was sexy with a permanent pout on her face, Ikram looked like plastic with no intervention whatsoever: six foot four inches of burly, hulking manhood with a solid jaw and weird closely-cropped Action Man hair. He shouted and brought the place down, literally.

          “Where’s my girl?” he bellowed, in a heavy Arab accent.

           He was about the size of ten Michaels put together. The manager tried to intervene and handle the situation, but failed and obtained a black eye. I slipped away because I really did not want to go to work with a black eye tomorrow. But I wanted to give Michael a black eye instead.

ARYAN’S PERSPECTIVE

          I mean, how could Michael do that? I knew he was a playboy and all, but flirting with a girl who was already in a steady relationship and taking her home? Isn’t it one of the Deadly Sins or something? Well, the girl was no holy saint either. She could have refused, right? In India this would be a scandal. God save this world! The idea of me spending a peaceful evening at a pub with a few drinks and some music? Totally ruined and havocked by a human hurricane, namely, Rhea Mittal.

          “Hey.” she said out of courtesy and sat on the bar stool next to me.

          “Hey.” I replied, restraining a groan.

          “Champagne?” she asked, pointing at my drink with a scorn. “Celebrating something?”

           “Yes. Any problem?” I enquired, wanting tip the contents of my drink over her head.

           “Nope. Well, I actually expected you to have something stronger, after your stint with Judy,” she said, sipping her Scotch on the Rocks.

Judy Smith happened to be the Assistant Director of the fashion magazine, Voilá, Rhea and I worked for. You wouldn’t want to cross her way on a daily basis, believe me. I did have a crappy week at work, not that I was going to accept it in front of Miss. Know-It-All. So I just said “None of your business” like a kindergartener.  

          “Of course it’s none of my business!” she said in mock exasperation.

          “You know what?” I said, signaling for the check. “I should leave.”

When I said this, she stood up, wobbling a little. She was obviously too drunk. I held her so that she could steady herself. She pushed my hand away roughly and pointed to the door with a wave of her hand. And after that, with a chuckle and a long gulp from her third drink, she passed out on me. Could my life get any worse? So I ended up carrying her to my car and tucked her into the back seat. I called up her roommate, June to let her know that I was dropping Rhea at their flat.

          “Thanks Aryan, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” June said. June was just out of a relationship. She was not completely whacked out or something but yeah, she was a little groggy. You know what I mean, right?

          “It’s okay, June. Your flat’s on my way. I’ll drop her.” I assured her.

          “Thanks a ton, Aryan. I’ll be waiting,” she said and disconnected the line. When I was done, I glanced at the back seat to make sure Rhea wasn’t falling or something. Out of the blue I realized my archenemy was pretty. Where did that come from? I shook myself up and revved up the engine.

GABRIELLE’S PERSPECTIVE

          My life sucks, literally. It was like Midsummer Night’s Dream. The tequila shots I gave Michael to take me home backfired, in a very bad way. Oh yeah. Instead of lusting after me, he takes that buxom bitch home. I thought this was the best opportunity because Zack (my show-off-only boyfriend) ditched the party and I thought my Tipp-Ex white teeth were going to break after all the gritting.