“Okay,” I said, grabbed my things, and headed for the door. “See you after class.”
“Ciao, Babe.”
Josie’s parents were fabulously wealthy. My oldest friend occasionally pleaded poverty and joked often about how she struggled, but I thought her folks were smart. Josie and her brother were forced to learn how to stand on their own feet. The siblings wouldn’t get the opportunity to stoop to trust fund kid asshole status by riding on the coattails of their wealthy ancestors. I respected Josie’s parents for that.
A wall of heat accosted me as I left the apartment building. LA was in the grips of one of the hottest summers on record. I for one was looking forward to fall. I felt sticky by the time I got into my car.
* * *
It was 7 pm and I was rushing to get to the venue. My last class had run over a bit and so I was on the back foot. I hated being late for anything. Tardiness was an unattractive creature.
“Angel! Thank God. Here, take this and pop it down over there on table eleven.”
“Hello to you too, Adrian,” I smiled.
“Apologies, sweet girl. It’s been a crazy afternoon. The fucking caterers are going to be the death of me. You won’t believe the shit they pulled today. I swear, it’s time for a new career.”
Adrian was as gay as a three-dollar bill. Flamboyant, temperamental, bitchy–the works. But he worked like a trojan and had built a fantastically successful business from nothing.
“Calm down, darling man. You know the clients are going to love your work. They always do. Now, take a deep breath, have a quick sip of champagne, and let’s show these assholes why you’re the top party-dog in town.”
“You’re so good for my ego, Angel. I wish you’d take me up on my offer and come work for me,” he sighed, then turned away, then minced off in a flurry.
The guests filed in steadily over the next hour. The DJ was on point, the tables were laid out beautifully–no expenses spared–and the smell of the food made my stomach growl. I looked around to make sure no one was watching before I popped a delectable vol-au-vent into my mouth. The caterer may have been a pain in the ass but, wow, the food was stupid delicious. I snuck in another two.
Two hours later, the party was in full swing. The birthday boy, a drop-dead gorgeous man, was most certainly the center of attention. All eyes were on him wherever he went. The female guests swooned and vied for his attention, while the men hung on his every word.
“I wouldn’t mind a fleeting piece of that,” Adrian cooed, eyes aflutter when he saw me looking.
“You hussy. What would Dan say if he heard you now?” I said and clicked my tongue.
“He’d probably try and beat me to the punch, the horny old toad,” Adrian smirked.
I laughed out loud, knowing full well that Adrian would never cheat on Dan. The couple had been together forever and happily married for five years. Adrian was all talk, but when it came down to it, he was hopelessly in love with his ‘better half’, as he sometimes called Dan.
“Looks like that table could do with a few more glasses,” I said.
“Thanks, doll face.”
Adrian tootled off and I moved toward the table in question. On my way there, I leaned down to fluff a throw pillow on the ground. Adrian had a thing for throw pillows. I suspected he’d watched Arabian Nights once too often as a boy. Whilst in mid-fluff, I felt a hand on my ass.
I turned to find a guy ogling me, undressing me with his glassy eyes. Clearly, he’d had too much to drink.
“Excuse you,” I said, as calmly as I could manage.
“Hmm. An ass as delicious as yours needs to be appreciated. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d much prefer you appreciate it from a distance,” I retorted and glowered.
“Come on, Dmitri. I don’t think the young lady is part of the entertainment for the evening.”
Birthday boy to the rescue.
“Thank you,” I said through gritted teeth, “but, I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he smiled, then led away the handsy Dmitri.
I was completing my master's degree in Business Law, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t have to smile and wave like a desperate damsel while a spoiled little shit pawed my ass like a melon in the produce section.