Fanciful & Unfounded V

Journal Assignment #5: The Party

What did you do this weekend? Answer with a narrative written in the hyperrealism style.

- Professor Brink

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” I told Sylvie. “You can wear this!” I said, plucking her favorite dress from her closet and displaying it with a flourish.

Sylvie looked up from her computer.

“You’re going to love my dad’s office party!” I continued exuberantly.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Well, no,” I said, setting the dress down despondently, “but I’ll buy you a Carmello bar.”

Sylvie ran to her closet and pulled out grey leggings and the aforementioned dress. I went to my room as she got ready. When I returned she was arrayed in the black knee-length dress. The fabric was stretchy jersey, and the empire bodice fell in pleats. Over the dress she wore a navy calf-length pea coat that was missing a few buttons. Facing her mirror, she applied MAC lipstick. The vibrant red filled her lips as she applied an even coat. She threw her long blonde curls into a bun. All the while ruminating on the glories of Carmello bars.

We left our dormitory and began our trek to my father’s downtown office. The light was dim, and the sun nearly setting as we walked down Plymouth Street. The streetlights were still unlit, and the leaves crunched underfoot.

“I’m so glad you’re coming to this,” I told Sylvie.

“No problem,” Sylvie said through a mouth of caramel.

“I just don’t really like going alone. You know?”

“I know.” Was the needed response. Her hand met my shoulder in a comforting, if ironic gesture.

“Hey,” I said, as if I were just thinking of it, “do you think you could make small talk with the party people?”

“That’s going to cost you,” She replied.

“Another Carmello bar?”

She resisted, looking grim “Two.”

“Whoa that’s pricy,” I said pausing. “But worth it,” I finished with a grin.

“What can I say? I’m a desirable escort.”

“Wait, so now you’re my escort?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. I don’t know how I missed that!”

After our detour to the drug store, where I settled my accounts with Sylvie the escort, we arrived at the office.

“Wow,” Sylvie breathed, as she stepped inside.

The walls were hung with tapestries in an attempt to assert that this building was not an office, but in fact a French chateau. The floor was fitted with tiles of marble. Small bouquets adorned each golden table, and standing next to the glass-and-silver bar was Charlotte Anderson. A suited young bartender with chestnut hair was sliding a martini in a crystal cocktail glass across the counter. Charlotte glanced down, giggling as the suave bartend proffered the glass, but her coquettish display was cut short. Jameson, tall and black-haired, appeared behind her, and with a smile to the bartender accepted the martini and turned to face Charlotte. Her choppy red hair fell across her forehead as he spoke to her in a low voice. As Sylvie and I approached, I could hear their words.

“They’re staring at you.” Jameson told her in hushed tones, sliding off his black blazer and fitting it around her shoulders.

“Don’t be a prude, Jamie,” she whispered back, surveying the coat as it fell to her thigh revealing only the hem of her gold lamé dress. Their tête a tête finished, Jamie spotted me,

“Alex!” Jamie shouted, giving me a hug.

“Hey!” I said, returning his hug.

“Alexa!” Charlotte said, pushing Jamie out of the way, “It’s been so long. I hardly recognize you!”

“I know, it’s been a long time,” I said giving her a perfunctory hug. Jameson nodded distractedly and mumbled something about drinks.

“This is my friend Sylvie DeLuca. Sylvie, this is Charlotte Anderson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said, extending her hand.

“You too,” Sylvie said confidently, eyeing Charlotte’s asymmetrical hair with a mixture of envy and concern.

“And this,” I said, when he returned with drinks, “Is Jameson Gray.”

“Good to know you, Sylvie,” he said, setting down his silver tray of drinks and shaking her hand.

“I came for the Carmello bar,” Sylvie asserted. Jameson laughed good-naturedly, threw a look at me, and stood next to Charlotte. Sylvie inched closer to me, her face turning progressively redder.

Jameson’s aunt swept in wearing a lace ball gown. “Do you mind if we borrow Jameson? I’ve just been telling everyone about his accomplishments in Germany and they’re so anxious to meet him. And you too, Alexa!” She turned to me, “Now come here, doll-face! I haven’t seen you since July, at your father’s pig roast.”

“I know,” I said, faking a smile, “it’s been too long!”

“Yes it has!” She cooed, pulling me into a hug against her immense ($1200) chest. “Now come along, you two,” she said, requiring Jameson and me to follow her. I gave Sylvie an apologetic look and followed Mrs. Gray. Jameson’s aunt led us around the room, introducing us to a myriad of people. As I whirled around the room, I looked hopelessly back at my friends; Charlotte was facing Sylvie. With each word Charlotte uttered, Sylvie nodded happily, her blond curls bobbing.

“Alexa!” My focus snaped back to Mrs. Gray, “Alexa,” continued, “Mr. Fitherthwayt has just been asking what you are majoring in at the university.”

“Oh,” I said, smiling apologetically, “I’m an English major.”

“Interesting,” he responded, stroking his graying beard, “Do you have any career aspirations?”

“Um, not quite,” I responded, looking to Jameson for help.

“I think you might be able to lure Alexa into the Publishing business,” Jameson said.

Mr. Fitherthwayt nodded approvingly, “It’s in the blood.”

“I, on the otherhand,” Jamie continued with a rougish smile, “am a lost cause.” Mr. Fitherthwayt chuckled, and murmured that his brandy needed freshening.

“Oh, Mr. Fitherthwayt, let me help you with that,” Mrs. Gray offered, leading him to the bar. Jameson and I made our escape, but when we returned, Sylvie and Charlotte had disappered.

“Where are they?” I asked Jamie dizzily.

“Well, Sylvie’s over there,” he gestured to the terrace, where she was reading. “I don’t know where Char-“ he was cut off by Charlotte’s sudden appearance. He looked at her with relief, then concern. “Charlotte, do you want to go outside?” he asked. She nodded and clung to his arm. I sought out Sylvie.

“Hey,” she mumbled distractedly, looking up from her book, “I just want to finish this last chapter."

“That’s cool,” I responded, and I turned to look out over the banister. The night was dark, but the parking lot was illuminated by street lamps. Gazing out at the sea of Bentleys and BMWs I caught sight of a fighting couple. It was Charlotte and Jamie. They were too far to overhear, but easy to observe.

Charlotte clutched his hand and looked alluringly into his eyes. Jamie broke her gaze, and shook his head. She leaned in to him confidentially. He said something quickly, looking restless. She retaliated, pouting like a child. Jamie fished a set of keys out of his pocket, indicating that the interview was over. In a last ditch effort, Charlotte hurled herself into his arms. He folded her body into his broad chest, and then gently guided her away. Holding her at arms-length, he looked at her solemnly.

I’m not quite happy with this piece. There was so much information to report and I had a hard time trying to decide what to keep and what was unnecessary. I like how this piece transitions from light playfulness with Sylvie and me to dark with Jamie and Charlotte.

--Alexa