“I was nineteen! I had no problem fucking anybody!”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. If you’re not careful you’re going to lose me.”
“Lose you? I can’t get rid of you! You can’t seem to get it through that empty, deluded, narcissistic head of yours that I have no interest in you. And why would you think I was interested in politics either?”
“Why else would you want to work for the DA? It’s not like they pay anything.”
“I have a trust fund. I could work for free if I wanted. How did you even get on the guest list?”
“By agreeing to donate a grand to your family’s fucking foundation.”
“Well Marla, thanks for the donation but I have a real girlfriend now, who I actually like.”
I must confess that up until then I had been feeling mighty awkward just standing there listening to this conversation while both of them completely ignored me. As soon as Braden made that little revelation, though, Marla seemed to notice me for the first time.
“Her?” she asked disdainfully, looking me up and down. “This mousy girl in the fake jewelry and the Carolina Herrera knock-off?”
“Hey! This is a Carlos Miele original and this is a diamond necklace from Harry Winston. You’re one to talk about fake with your bleach blonde hair, your spray tan and your plastic tits, lady.”
“Did you hear that, Braden?!” Marla screeched.
“Yes, I did,” he answered with obvious amusement. “You tell her, baby.” He leaned down and kissed me. “Now Marla, I think it’s best that you left. You’ve wasted more than a thousand dollars’ worth of my time and patience.” He signaled one of the security team and explained that Marla had overstayed her welcome. We walked off as she was being hustled toward the drive complaining loudly and threatening to sue.
“She’s a real sweetie.” I smiled.
“Yeah, she’s a charmer. I must have been insane. Oh shit,” he said looking up and trying a bit too late, apparently, to steer us in the other direction. I followed his gaze and saw a man who appeared to be somewhere in his late thirties or possibly early forties. He had “pretty boy” looks and blindingly white teeth with an expression that reminded me somehow of the Big Bad Wolf. (The better to eat you with, my dear!) Not far behind him was a woman who looked like she might be in her mid-forties. She might have been considered quite attractive if she just didn’t look so… mean. She had black hair streaked with iron gray and a cruel expression on her thin lips. She looked like someone who would have blended in well at a witch burning. They were closing in on us rapidly. Bringing up the rear were a painfully skinny and anemic-looking older man who might have been forty… or fifty… or sixty, and a sullen young woman with jet black hair and lily white skin. She was dressed all in black, including her lipstick. Those two looked like they would have preferred to have headed in the other direction, or anywhere else for that matter, other than after the first two.
“Braden! How the hell are ya?!” said the guy with the teeth, grabbing Braden’s hand and pumping it up and down almost frantically. He looked like a demented Ken doll.
“You’re looking quite dashing tonight, Braden,” said the cold-looking woman in an even colder voice. “Isn’t he, Felicity?” she asked the sullen young woman. I had never seen a more inappropriately named person in my life. She would have made Wednesday Addams look like Doris Day.
“Yes, mother,” Felicity answered without even glancing in Braden’s direction. The skinny older man said nothing. I almost didn’t see him standing there for a moment. He blended in so well with the white tent wall.
“And you must be the fabulous Gabrielle Ginsberg,” Mr. Teeth, who I suspected was Cole Stephenson, the lecherous politician, went on, while speaking directly to my boobs. Fabulous?
“Gabrielle,” Braden said, pulling me closer to him, “these are the Masons and this is…”
“Cole Stephenson at your service,” Mr. Teeth said, nodding like a bobble-head doll and giving me a cheesy smile and the two-handed finger point that announced he was a wild and crazy guy. “And this is the kingmaker’s daughter.” He grinned like he had just said something witty.
Mrs. Mason, in contrast, was looking at me like she wanted to kick me. Or damn me to Hell. Felicity was looking at me too, but I couldn’t really interpret her expression. At least it didn’t seem to involve wrath. Actually, she might have been admiring my necklace. I suspected that the blank expression on her face was as close as she came to expressing approval, or joy, or happiness, or anything. Mr. Mason said nothing and did nothing. I got the feeling he said and did nothing a lot. Maybe he really was a hologram.