a state of un-love and mistrust
Stephan and I attended Kara's first dinner party with Warren. It was a gloriously lovely affair. I made a point to present myself in such a way that I had to be the belle of the ball -- if I was about to be interrogated on the state of my "love" life, then I had better look divine, for the expression on my face, I assure you, was anything but. One can only keep a fake smile so long if one intends on ever regaining control of the facial muscles.
We arrived in time for pre-dinner hor d'eouvres and drinks -- mingling with socialites is actually tolerable after a few drinks, believe it or not. I played Stephan nicely, too -- hanging on his arm all evening, fixing his tie, etcetera. (Unfortunately, Stephan knows me too well, and saw through the act, but he went along with me for show.) I had only met one of the other couples before, aside from Kara and her trophy-husband-to-be, so I had much fun embellishing my life story to each new couple I met. The best was when I met the newest couple to Kara's circle, who arrived quite late; they walked in as we finished the soup course. I was seated to the right of Warren, and I had full view of the front door. When they walked in, I was in midst of gracefully sipping my white wine, when the wine jumped out of the glass and onto my plate (and lap, and a bit managed to splash onto my forehead as well). But the wine didn't matter -- my evening had just gotten exponentially more interesting: the new couple was the Brit and that stupid-idiot girl from Hole in Wall (the one who always screws up my orders and flirts shamelessly with DreamBoy...) Fortunately, my wine flub went virtually unnoticed, because everyone was greeting the Brit and the Bimbo.
As proper seating etiquette requires, couples are not seated together at the dinner table, so that all the individuals have the opportunity to socialize with people other than their date. As the hosts, Kara and Warren took the heads of the table, and I sat to Warren's right, Stephan to Kara's right, for we were the guests of honor. Luck seemed to be on my side Saturday evening, because the Brit was seated directly across from me -- perfect for inconspicuous non-verbal communication and heavy flirting, of course.
In the final introductions around the table, it was alluded that the Brit and I were...somewhat familiar with each other. So sitting in a room full of heinously gossipy socialites, accompanied by the rumored soon-to-be-fiance (Stephan) and the implied-ex-lover (the Brit) was not at all awkward. Not to mention the Brit's date -- a standard clingy, jealous, nosy, air-headed bimbo -- who couldn't help but make her presence know to me, in some idiotic attempt at keeping me from stealing her date. I stopped drinking when the Brit arrived, for I needed a relatively clear head to do battle in those grounds.
***
The main course was finished, and I had endured no more intimidating questions than the standard "What have you been doing with your life all this time that you dropped off the social scene?" and the Bimbo's death glares could hardly have scared my mother's puny cat. Polite -- political -- conversation dominated the table (political, as in the politics of being a socialite -- who shouldn't be dating whom, who should be taking over his father's business soon, etcetera). I was a little rusty on the names and happenings, but like daytime soap operas, you only need to watch half an episode of drama to get caught up.
One: Have you seen so-and-so's new yacht? I heard from what's-his-face that he's about to go into debt for that baby.
Two: No kidding. Serves him right -- he should have just gone to work with his father, and this never would have happened. At least he went for the top of the line yacht, though; he's going out in style.
Warren: Speaking of yachts, didn't you parents just buy a new one, Stephan?
Stephan: Yes, they did actually. It a wonderful boat; really very sleek.
One: Which model?
Stephan: Oh, nothing special. Just a newer version of the old one.
Warren: Oh, Steve, don't be so humble all the time. What he's not telling you is that the old model just happened to be the limited edition SuperDuper Yacht 3000. That new baby is quite possibly the epitome of all boats.
Two: So what are your parents doing with the other one? Possibly an early wedding gift for you and Jamie?
Kara: Oh yes, Stephan, do tell us what you and Jamie are planning -- she won't tell me a thing!
Me: There's really nothing to tell, is there Stephan? *death glare at Stephan* We aren't even thinking about marriage. At all.
Stephan: Sorry to burst your bubble, Kara, but we aren't planning anything. No engagement. No wedding.
Kara: Ooooh, are you two going to get eloped? That is so cute, and huge weddings are going out of style anyway.
Me: No. No trip to Vegas, no nothing.
Kara: Alright, alright, we will leave you to your secrecy. But if you are planning a spring wedding, keep in mind that what's-her-name and what's-his-face are getting married at the beginning of April.
Bimbo: Do you mean the what's-her-name?
Kara: Didn't you hear? blah blah blah...
Brit: [aside to me] You are getting married?
Me: No. He and I aren't even dating.
Brit: Then what's going on here? I am thoroughly confused.
Me: It's an interesting story, actually.
Brit: Are you going to share it with me, or are you just going to keep grinning like a crazy fool?
Me: Come with me to the bar, and I'll tell you everything.
The Brit and I got up from the table and chatted for a while about Stephan and me. I could feel the eyes of every other person in the room boring holes into our backs -- but I do love causing a controversy, and how better to do so in such a situation? And I must give props to the Brit for his wonderful performance. There was so much sexual tension in the room that even I was a bit hot and bothered, and I was the only one who knew exactly what was going on and why. The Brit and I put on a first class show for Kara's bewildered guests, and he was so convincing that I actually decided to go home with him rather than Stephan. I left, linking arms with the Brit, rather sober, and shut the door on a room full of drunken assholes with too much money and too much time. I went home the next morning very hung over and very tired -- the best way to go home after a night with a delicious Brit.
***
Today, I got up around 11, to find two voicemails on my cell, and several messages on my apartment answering machine. Two of the messages were from Kara, one was from the Brit. One was from my mother. And two were from Stephan. I dread returning the last of those calls, because Stephan is the only one of the them with half a brain and some common sense (excepting my mother, of course.) He knows me too well.
//don't eat eggs unless you eat sauteed tomatoes, too.
eskimo kisses
<3