Everybody’s waiting for me to arrive,
Sendin’ out the message to all of my friends,
We’ll be lookin’ flashy in my Mercedes Benz.
Some people can’t appreciate the hits of ‘back
in the day,’ but I had always been a big fan of Pink, and these beats wafting
out my sunroof matched my mood this 4th of July. I pulled up in front of Brian’s house
and cut the engine.
I always loved going to these parties and seeing
the mix of people that we managed to get together at WD. Artists who looked
like normal people, normal people that looked like artists, prospective writers
who wanted to make a good impression on anyone that would talk with them about
what they were working on, and people like me who just wanted to enjoy the show
that was bound to take place.
I cat-walked it down the sidewalk, unsure if the
pauses in conversation and jaw-dropping stares were a result of me in my bikini
and shadow wrap or of the gigantic cheesecake I was holding that was decked out
in an American flag made of plump blueberries and juicy strawberries. I smirked
to myself and made sure that anyone who hadn’t already noticed my arrival
noticed it now. I flashed a
perfect smile and made an attempt to greet everyone I already knew by name,
smiling and dropping polite “hellos” to the newbees.
Brian glanced up at me from where he was
involved in a deep conversation about page layouts and I decided to rescue
him. He met me halfway, and an
innocent bystander would have seen the special spark in his eye, assuming an
undercover office relationship.
“You look beautiful!” he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you way too
long.”
What the viewer then saw would have made him
blush at his own ridiculousness and have sent him straight back to the ice
chest to cool his outlandish thoughts.
Brian’s loving gaze wasn’t for me; he was all about the cheesecake. I had teased him once, saying he had
only hired me on because I was a good cook, but the joke seemed too close to
the truth. After that, I kept my
mouth shut and my desserts top notch.
“Hello to you too,” I said, craning my neck to
catch his eyes that were caressing the creamy cake. He looked up, and with all the due composure of the Editor
gracefully motioned with his hand and led me to where I could lay the crown
jewel.
Some poor new kid on the block saw Brian and
thought it was his chance. He
nervously straightened his shirt and bound into our path, so focused on Brian
that he didn’t see me and incidentally barged into me and the cake. “Noo-oo-o!” Brian shouted and
everything seemed to move in slow motion.
I sat up seeing only stars—the ones on the
cheesecake, that is. I had landed
face-first in my own vice. The
young writer obviously didn’t realize his mistake or he would have apologized
to Brian, not to me. Well, I’m the
only one who got to try my cheesecake this holiday, and I guess that means I
have job security until Thanksgiving at least!
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