Staying Afloat

06 | a gathering of sorts

"A little party never killed nobody"

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

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            THE LARGE HOUSE on the outskirts of town was overflowing, packed to the brim. I looked around me at the people who made up the guest list, rich and powerful. I felt out of place, isolated, at my own party although, I was sure most of the guests in attendance didn't even know who I was or what this party was for. There were free drinks after all.

            Everyone around me appeared in a state of relaxation, the flow of free champagne contributing to this. It was adding to the façade they already had on, like a mask. I stood against a wall swaying slightly to the music and sipping on a champagne flute. I was gazing at the wall which held rather large pieces of artwork, most of which I did not take a liking to. They were precise and clean looking. I always preferred to find beauty in the chaos, the broken – not the failed attempts at perfection.

            My phone buzzed against my ankle and I reached down lifting the hem of my rented black dress to reach into my boot and grab it. Savannah had texted me.

You're being anti-social. Get your butt over here.

            I smiled down at the phone, Savannah, always so blunt. Shaking my head, I texted her back.

Me? Anti-social? Whatever do you mean?

            I was used to not talking to anyone in my occupied corner, I was enjoying myself, content. I preferred to watch the party rather than join in the antics. It made me laugh with pity when I saw people dancing around flaunting their expensive tastes and trying to sell their business, I didn't want to become one of the people I so desperately despised. Nonetheless, I did it anyway.

            I plastered on a mock smile. I was sure people could see through my disingenuous disguise but I continued to make my rounds in the room to all the people in the finest of clothes. I needed to get my business out there and this was my opportunity.

            After an hour of doing a repetitive speech to many guests around the room, I had become tired of talking. I pulled up a chair and sat in another corner of the large ball room away from the scrutinizing eyes of the guests. I trained my eye on a painting that was near me, admiring the authentic flawed painting that was against the wall. My feet were aching and I reached down to take off my heels, I was definitely more of a flats kind of girl. I had no idea how women could live in these blasted things day in and day out. I flexed my bare feet and laid back a tad, stretching out my stiff body. My dress was less than accommodating, barely letting me move as it was so tight. I felt so unlike myself tonight I could barely stand it. I longed to slip into my apron and be in my kitchen baking a batch of muffins.

            I had been so caught up in my thoughts of displeasure I didn't notice a presence behind me.

            "Do you always make it a habit to take your shoes off at fancy parties?" I was startled by the deep voice and whipped my head around. I was greeted with the sight of long legs and I slowly raked my eyes up the man's body. His suit had to be designer, a colour so black it made everyone else's clothing look faded.

            "Only when my feet are particularly sore." When I finally had lifted my eyes up to meet his face I realized that he looked familiar.

            It was him, the enigmatic presence from the coffee shop.

            He looked even more handsome tonight if that were possible. Every feature on his face was seductive and I found myself, once again, wanting to learn more about him. My brain fought with all it's might to get me to walk away, but I stayed seated.