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“You okay, Angie?” Claire asks when I stop from entering the mansion.
“I just want to have a minute to myself,” I say.
Her eyes study mine. “Okay,” she says, pausing. “I’ll wait for you in the foyer.”
Claire’s smile tells me everything is going to be just fine. She wouldn’t get me involved in something that is harmful. Her fiery-red dress fits her like a glove, making her look powerful despite her petite frame. The girl is the epitome of class and sass. Shoulder-length dark hair frames her face in the most disheveled, but strategically planned way. She is rocking her mixed-race—being part Filipino and part Caucasian—with the best of both worlds. It’s a shame that her biological dad never got the chance to see her blossom like she is now. It’s a bigger shame that the parents who raised her only care about themselves.
We are opposites, yet the best of friends. Where she is vibrant, I am pastel. She is strong, and I only attempt to be strong.
The old me was vibrant.
The old me was fearless.
But sometimes life’s circumstances snuff out the light that once glowed brightly.
I watch as Claire’s retreating form disappears through the heavy wooden doors. I stand off to the side and make room for the new arrivals to enter. The men must already be inside because the next three cars that pull up just have women in them. Beautiful women. Every color of the rainbow is represented in their sexy-yet-sophisticated outfits.
I regret not owning better party-appropriate clothing. Claire is four inches shorter than I am and a little less fluffy. So borrowing clothes can get tricky. I feel like her selection is suffocating me. The corset top is strapless and light pink in shade. The matching skirt, however, is loose and airy. My straightened brown hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail exposing my neck. I feel vulnerable and open to be judged.
When my breathing returns to normal, I turn and enter the building. I find Claire waiting as promised. She is talking to a man whom she quickly dismisses.
“Want a drink?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
I follow her through a series of spacious rooms until we find the main social area that is set up with a bar. In the corner, a pianist plays soothing music. I recognize the sad melody of “Clair de Lune.” It was one of Momma’s favorites from her collection.
“Wait here and I’ll get us drinks,” she says.
I scan the room and notice that all of the men are in traditional tuxedos. Most are paired off with a lady or two. The buzz of introductions fills the air. I can distinguish between genuine laughs and the nervous giggles. I wonder if any of the ladies will accidentally confuse a waiter as a client. They are dressed the same.
“Cristal?”
I turn toward the deep voice. A tall, dark-haired man stares at me intently.
“No, my name is Angie,” I clarify with a half smile.
From the faint wrinkles around his eyes, I would say he is in his late thirties or early forties.
“Well hello, Angie. I am Nolan. Would you like some Cristal?” he asks.
My brows furrow. Who is this Cristal? I do not know her.
He starts to chuckle, and I can feel my cheeks heat. I feel like I am the butt of some joke.
“Champagne,” he responds. He turns to grab two flutes from the buffet table behind him. The glasses are arranged to form the shape of a heart. Now the formation looks a bit lopsided. “That is the brand name. Cristal,” he clarifies.
My eyes close for a second to keep myself from passing out. Is this common knowledge? I feel so stupid. How embarrassing! He presses the glass into my hand, and I take a nervous sip. It is delicious. Best tasting bubbly I’ve ever had. Definitely not the two-for-thirteen deals that Linny’s Liquors has for the weekend special.
I finish my drink in a hurry, making my nose burn from the carbonation. I excuse myself to find the nearest restroom. Meandering, I catch a glimpse of Claire’s back at the bar. She looks to be in conversation with a cute but serious-looking man. I see a line of women on the other side of the room and make my way over. Where there is a line, most likely there is a ladies’ room.
When I exit the restroom, I notice that on the rear side of the mansion there are double French doors open, allowing in the warm end-of-summer breeze. I make my way back and step out onto the stone patio that surrounds a majestic swimming pool. Water from the layered fountain cascades over the edge into the pool’s basin. Beautiful orchids and tropical flowers add color to the otherwise blue and beige tones. The backyard is lush and professionally maintained. It is a peaceful haven.
Music escapes through the doors, joining the sound of trickling water. The pianist’s rendition of Coldplay’s “Fix You” resonates in my ears. It is my anthem. I sing the lyrics to myself.
It is the story of my life.
Always taking two steps forward and a dozen back.
