A cloud of steam evacuates from a noisy kitchen as an older male servant opens its white, swinging door. The chatter of busy chefs and shuffling feet fades quickly away as the heavy door returns back in place.
“The caviar & crème fraîche tartlets are looking magnificent, sir.” His boisterous voice echoes through the large living space, though his small, beady eyes fix themselves habitually on his own shoes. His suit—white with a black lapel and golden pocket square—lies stiffly on his large body.
“Noted,” Jamison Hart, a short and stern-faced man, replies mindlessly as he eyes the expensive appearance of his son.
Thomas Hart sweats profusely as the harsh ceiling lights amplify his discomfort.
Mr. Hart continues to examine his son, seeking a flaw in the way a machine detects an anomaly. His wrinkled hand caresses his own chin, blue veins shining through his jaundiced skin.
“This is acceptable,” he finally concedes. His harsh expression remains unfazed by his victory.
Thomas exhales slowly, shivers as his sweat cools.
When his father turns to leave, Thomas quickly says, “You know, sir, the party will surely be great. I heard Rayin Mayes will attend!” His voice turns giddy with boyish excitement at the thought of his favorite author.
“Noted,” the short man replies, and slowly walks away.
Two birds fly as if they’re one. Their shadows interrupt the river of sunlight flooding Clarissa’s apartment. Lovely melodies pour from their beaks as one swoops down low, and then back up again. Basking on a marble ledge is a Peace Lily. The large, white petals blow softly in the breeze from the open window, like many small angels turning in their sleep.
She walks to a mirror and carefully arranges her earrings, a set of platinum ear spikes her parents had saved up to buy her three Christmases ago. Her eyes fall on the glaring envelope from the loan company telling her that her six-month deferment period is over, forcing her to pay back her student loans. Her mind races with the thoughts of her unbegun career, the interviews that went nowhere, the opportunities given to her peers by their parents.
She’s buried herself in debt, worked endless unpaid hours, and moved five thousand miles away from home to pursue her career. She faces loneliness every day as she walks the streets of the busiest city in the country. She considers the importance of tonight and what her invitation could lead to.
“All right,” she announces, “make it count.”
Felix tunes out the incessant sounds of humming car engines and blaring taxi horns. A keyboard clacks as his long fingers dance passionately. The darkness of the room makes his sun-touched skin appear even darker. His brown eyes scan the white screen as his world unfolds word by word. The only thing pulling him back to reality is the sound of his alarm clock.
He silences the obnoxious reminder and quickly dresses himself; his teeth shine almost brighter than his white vest. He applies a gel to his hair and combs it. Then, his pocket begins to vibrate.
After he answers the call, his mother’s voice comes through the speaker, “Hello!”
“Hey, Mom,” Felix replies. His eyes follow the wavy movements of fish in their tank.
“Bean,” he never seemed to outgrow his mother’s nickname, and it became even more fitting as he grew lankier, “I’ll look for you on the news channel. I’m sure you’ll look handsome, even in this circumstance.” Her chuckle comes softly from the phone, landing as delicately on Felix’s ears as when they rolled off his mother’s tongue.
“Thanks, Mom.” He smiles gently, watching as a yellow guppy swims through the window of a castle. “Tell everybody I said hi. Oh, and tell Annie and Julie to call me and tell me about their trip. Uncle Tom told me they went across the state to some summit.”
“Of course, baby. I’ll see you this weekend,” his mother’s relaxed voice calms him. “I’ll see you soon.”
~~
A thousand voices permeate the air like the scent of an elaborate feast. Trays of lemon-sprayed scallops and caviar & crème fraîche tartlets float around the room like leaves following the wind.
A faceless man—dressed in a slick, white uniform—offers a metal tray of scallops to a sweaty Clarissa. She sends the man away, uneasily eyeing the dazzling crowd. Older gentlemen smoke cigars at a card table, while younger ones drink their champagne and pretend to read today’s paper. Young ladies and their mothers brighten the ballroom with their charming smiles, designer dresses, and long-established statuses.
“Rather depressing after a while,” Clarissa jumps as an older woman speaks confidently to her. Her champagne glass rests comfortably between her fingers, a habit long formed. Clarissa’s heart screams as she beholds the legendary being of Rayin Mayes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a feminine voice sounds loudly. A tall, beautiful woman stands boldly on a platform. A huge podium conceals her thin body. She gives an unnaturally large smile before continuing, “I wish to present the new head of the Hart-Jetson Journalism Institute.”
A young man dressed in an extravagant tuxedo awkwardly rushes up the small stairs leading to the stage. The wide-eyed boy attempts to clear his clenched throat and makes a subtle attempt to wipe his moist hands on his pants. His speech hurriedly leaves his dry mouth. The platform empties as quickly as it was populated.
Felix’s eyes finally release themselves from Thomas’s rushing figure. He scans the chatty crowd, and his eyes lock onto the face of the author who had inspired his own career. His feet take reign of his body and force him forward, his breath deepening with each step.
When he finally reaches the captivating woman and her beautiful, young companion, he silently conveys a million admirable words while he asks, “Caviar & crème fraîche tartlet?”