Leaning in to see hers, he asked, "Green?"
"Blue, but mine too suffer from a variance that is often confused by what I'm wearing. I mean," she said, shrugging, "they really don't, but people like to say they change when I wear blue or green or whatever. But they don't change. My clothes do."
He nodded, almost lost, but managed to keep up. "Do you always talk like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're manic?"
"Manic or a maniac?"
"Manic. I don't think you're a maniac."
She seemed to ponder that and looked away. When she turned back, she asked, "So Hazel, what do you architect?"
"Homes. A few buildings around the city. Why are you calling me Hazel? Because of my eyes?" When a few seconds passed and she didn't reply, he realized she didn't tend to answer his questions, so he redirected the conversation. "And you?"
With surprise, her eyes went wide and her hand covered her chest. "Oh, I'm not an architect. Is that what this party is? A party for architects?"
Taylor was fully confused and shook his head. "No," he said, looking around. "It's a party for The Barretts."
Whispering, she asked, "What's a Barrett?"
Nothing about this woman made any sense, but he liked her chaos. He leaned over, pointed across the room at an older couple near a large fireplace, and whispered, "Those are Barretts."
"Ahh." Bringing the drink to her lips, she took a small sip as she watched them over the crystal glass, and then asked, "Never seen them before. Who are they?"
With his head almost touching hers, he leaned to her ear and whispered, "They're wealthy Upper East Siders who host parties for colleagues and charities pretending to be doing it for the cause, but really it's for the publicity."
Her eyes were fixated on the hosts, and it took great effort resisting the temptation to look at him. "And are you one of their 'causes?'"
"I am." Just as he answered, the Barretts, as if aware of their name being spoken moments earlier, came toward them. "Shit," Taylor muttered under his breath. He straightened back up and returned their smiles.
"Taylor, darling." The gray-haired woman with smooth skin and bright pink lipstick leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "So glad you could make it." Her eyes focused on him, but sincerity seemed to be missing in her greeting.
"I wouldn't miss it."
Jude noticed how flat his tone was, and that the life in his eyes that had sparked when whispering with her had dulled in their presence. That was no good, and she hoped it returned once they left.
The older man shook Taylor's hand and patted his arm with the other. "How's the world of architecture?"
When they released, Taylor's right hand started to shake and he tucked it into his pocket. "I'm currently working on four projects."
"Good. Good. That's good to hear, son."
Mrs. Barrett asked, "Who's your friend, Taylor?"
Jude could tell the woman wasn't invested in the answer before he had a chance to give it. She was all too familiar with that judgmental, condescending tight-lipped grin. Taylor slid his hand down the underside of Jude's arm and weaved his fingers together with hers. "This is Judith."
The Barretts faced her and smiled. In unison, they said, "Hello, Judith."
"Hello," she replied meekly, feeling her body shrink away from their disingenuous gaze. As if Taylor understood discomfort, his hold on her tightened, causing her to look up. His smile was soft. The architect made her feel safe, so she ignored the desire to flee, and stayed.
Their clasped hands were of deep concern to The Barretts judging from their critical gaze. "And how long have you known each other?" Mrs. Barrett asked.
Taylor was fast and confident. "Feels like our whole lives."
Mrs. Barrett continued to smile, but it stopped short of her eyes. "How charming. Hopefully we'll get to hear more about it over dinner soon. But for now, we must greet Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. They've been begging us to come to dinner. Speaking of, the food is being replenished. Please eat before you leave." Her hands held his shoulders and she kissed his cheek again before taking her husband's arm and making a quick getaway.
Taylor and Jude stood there silently recovering from the pretentious welcoming that just drove by and hit them. Peeking down at their still entwined hands, and then up, she asked, "Wanna get out of here?"
On A Personal Note