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“Would you mind taking some snaps of our wonderful guests, I am sure that they would end up on every society page in this town.””
“Oh thank God! I thought you’d never ask!” Felicity grinned, turning on her camera, ready to work the crowd. Maxwell paused her to introduce her and Muriel to Lucy. “Pleasure to meet you, Lucy. I hope you’re keeping this joker in line.” Fel grinned, snapping a photo of her brother when he wasn’t paying attention. He had been staring at Lucy at the time. Muriel threaded her arm through Felicity’s to lead her to the dinner table, Fel snapping pictures as they went to find their seats. Switching to the video function, she captured the two playboys kissing and the Senator’s wife laughing like a hyena in heat. She smirked as she thought of sending the video to TMZ but then realized it would destroy her integrity as a serious photographer and deleted the video. She didn’t need that kind of crap in her portfolio.
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The seating arrangements had Muriel at the head surprisingly, with her spiritual adviser – Mahatma Sheika to her right, and of course the luscious Stacy Pulser and her poodle Minty to her left. Seated down on the left hand side were the fabulous boys, the Iron Chef and his gorgeous boy toy of the hour Rodger, and of course Radio DJ star Roy Stevens and his pregnant girlfriend Janice Wyman. On the other side was the Senator and his bunny wife, Tamara, who was constantly fixated with the gay goings on on the other side of the table, so much so, she kept picking up her napkin and waving it in front of her face. The empty spaces close to Maxwell were now to be taken up by Lucy and of course the newly arrived Felicity, who was taking loads of happy snaps that were sure to make her editor salivate.
The first course was a soup that happened to be Asparagus and cream with dill. Each was brought out on the finest china and placed before each guest, whilst Muriel sat bolt upright and tapped her wine glass with her spoon.
“People…people, before you all start on our wonderful meal this evening, I would like to ask..my own spiritual advisor, Mahatma Sheika to bless our food.” You could see in the way she looked at the guru, that she held him in very high regard. A well known patron to his Orange palace in the Hills of Beverly, she had figured if she was going to be a devil in this life, she was going to pay her way to spiritual enlightenment. He rose up and the soft clink of his many beads along with his cheery chuckle had many at ease, except for Lucy, who saw straight through this fraud when she decided to google him up. A known womanizer and gambling addict, known to have at least six wives in Ohio, he was the ultimate shyster. Lucy merely folded her arms instead of going into any sort of prayer like pose, unlike everyone else, who lapped it up like staring puppies.
“Peace to you all. Hehehehe. I am the Mahatma Sheika and I welcome you to this, feast. Hehehe. I want you to all take hands and then repeat after me.” Around the table, everyone started to take hands with others, while Lucy was totally reluctant, till getting a pleading look from Maxwell. Begrudgingly she joined in and then waited to hear what she and the others had to repeat. “I eat…to fufill my spirit, with the wonders of food. Blessed is my belly. Ka..ra..ma..sa…bekaaaha.”
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It was the most ridiculous thing that Lucy had heard, and was shocked to see the others all repeat it. Gritting her teeth, Lucy played along as everyone clapped, when the Guru jumped up and down with glee to see these people being such eager followers. Was everyone at this table merely out to use the other for their own ends? It appeared that way.
As Lucy was about to take a spoonful of soup, Maxwell blurted.
“So…Lucy here has found some raw new talent that will be presenting her sculptures at the Light Box.”
Lucy dropped her spoon, as she heard Max blab about Roisin. She felt all eyes now on her, and she gave all a weak smile, as Minty started lapping at Muriel’s soup.
“Yes, well…we just signed a new deal to show the young sculptor’s work. She is incredibly talented, but a bit media shy.”
Muriel tilted her head and with pursed lips she asked.
“There is no such thing as someone shy of the media. Ask Felicity, she’ll tell you. EVERYONE wants to be a star.’
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She chuckled to herself as she listened to the man natter on about nothing important trying to sound all spiritual and religious. She heard better bullshit from her psychic and that was saying something.
Once he was finished, they were allowed to eat and only then did Max blurt out something about his assistant finding a new, spectacular sculptor who was showing their work at his gallery. Lucy looked shocked that he would bring it up. Felicity had a feeling the woman was a bit shy about having the attention focused on her. Poor thing.
Muriel scoffed at the thought of someone being media-shy.
“There is no such thing as someone shy of the media. Ask Felicity, she’ll tell you. EVERYONE wants to be a star.” All eyes turned to look at Felicity.
“It’s true. 5 minutes of fame and people are like dogs sniffing each other’s arses.” she chuckled, having first hand experience with such things. She had been mobbed by her fair share of gloryhounds when she had her first photos published in Marie Claire. But she had a good head on her shoulders and didn’t let it affect her. It was her career…she called her own shots and damn the consequences. “I’m in town on assignment for a fashion show taking place in a few days. I’d be more then happy to cover the art showing as well if you need a photographer.” Felicity directed this last statement to Muriel.
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Lucy could not believe the gall of Felicity to speak directly to Muriel about the art show, when it was Maxwell’s art gallery. What was it with these media and PR types? She knew how ferocious they were in New York, but this lot…took the cake. Lucy reached for a glass of wine and took a sip, biting her tongue so to speak instead of saying what she truly thought. Maxwell, well he was passed the point of no return having drank so much that he just sat there with a goofy expression – more than happy to play “Yes Dear” with Muriel.
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One thing that was standard now at most dinner parties, was to see people pull out their cellphones at a moment’s notice. It was while they were enjoying their soup, that the DJ and talk show personality; Roy Stevens started to check his messages when he let out a loud laugh.
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“Mariah breaks a leg at rehearsal for Chicago, and hubby caught with dancer’s red thong!” He practically shouted, which brought a collection of gasps and chuckles from those seated around the table. Tamara snorted and cackled like a fiend at the very idea of Mariah breaking her leg, while Rodger, the Iron man chef’s date gasped. “Oh that poor girl. She has the worst luck when it comes to her performances. And her taste in men.” The table erupted into chatter about the events that were unfolding, checking their own phones for any tabloid snap shots or tweets. It was the strangest thing to see. The upper class had turned into a pack of techno zombies. Eyes glued to their illuminated screens.
Lucy eased back in her chair and took another sip of her wine. This was going to be a long night.
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She looked over at Lucy, hearing her smothered snort as the others around the table broke out their cell phones to read up on the latest celeb gossip. She was thoughtful.
“Lucy, was it? You do not seem all that keen on this whole affair. Something troubling you, dear?” Felicity smirked, looking at Max’s assistant.
Max, of course, was of no help as he was three sheets to the wind and looking to fall headfirst into his Vichyssoise.
Someone sitting next to Felicity tried to shush her and she glared at the offending hand on her arm. “Unless you want to be on the cover of the next tabloid, I suggest you remove that hand.” She may have looked eccentric on the outside, but Felicity had a mean streak that rivaled her brother’s in its intensity. The hand was gone in under a second and turned her gaze back on Lucy.
“So…which is it? Are you the media-shy type, or a closet gossip?”
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Lucy was ready to call it a night being well aware that this kind of function was definitely not her thing. Seeing as her employer was practically ready to blow a .13 on a breathalizer and probably wouldn’t remember this night anyways, she was about to reach for her business attache case and head out. That was until Felicity; Max’s sister decided to try and open a can of worms right at the table.
“Lucy, was it? You do not seem all that keen on this whole affair. Something troubling you, dear?”
Pursing her lips and trying to hold back from letting all know exactly what she thought of their behaviour, she said through gritted teeth. “I’m not one for parties.”
At this Max let out a loud snort and then chortled. “She thinks ya’all money grubbing, ladder climbing, B listers that are dying to be the next…*hic*…stars on the front covers of Hello Magazine…Right Lu?”
Oh…that was a little too close to the truth and you could hear Muriel let out a loud.
“SHE WHAT?”
Lucy shook her head and looked up the table at Muriel. ‘Max is drunk…he doesn’t know what he is saying.”
At this Max stood up unsteadily, rocking back and forth; holding his glass of wine out to toast Muriel.
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“Kitten…I love you…for your money and social standing….but seriously, no, I mean this….you really should get a personality…transplant. I don’t know how everyone…here, puts up with you…ou.” The last part said as he wiggled his finger at Muriel, and then passed out – vanishing behind the top end of the table.
Lucy gasped at this sudden drunken tirade, but Muriel was now staring daggers at Lucy. Course Lucy didn’t start this. Felicity did. The senator’s wife, who had also had a few drinks raised her glass to toast the now fallen Max. “Here here, I hate having Muriel at my parties….*she then whispered loudly to the gay couple across the table*….caught her fucking my butler on the washing machine. On spin.”
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The gay boys both clasped their hands over their hearts, then burst out laughing as Stacy Pulser’s dog Minty decided to piddle into Muriel’s soup bowl.
“GET THAT DOG OUT OFF THE TABLE!….MAX!”
The entire table erupted with laughter at the naughty antics of the tiny dog, which Muriel picked up and hurled across the room, where it sailed out the window and…vanished.
“MINTY!”
The radio announcer gasped and said. “We are…how many floors up?”
His wife started to go into labour. “Too high for that dog to survive. Oh..god my water’s have broken!” The gay boys both looked like they were now going to throw up, as the chocolate bar heiress ran to the window only to see her dog Minty splattered on the side walk below. She spun around and pointed at Muriel. “YOU!…YOU DOG KILLER!”
Stacy made a run for Muriel, who picked up a large torte off the desert trolley and hurled it at Stacy to keep her back.
“COP THIS!” She threw the torte, only to have it hit the Senator, who stood up to try and calm his fellow dinner guests.
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The moment that happened, the table erupted into a massive food fight, as Lucy grabbed her brief case and ran for the door. Opening it, she took one look back, shaking her head before leaving the disaster….to the photographer who would make a mint. Felicity.
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