Constance thought she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. She has a steady job as a hairstylist, rents a small apartment next door to her best friend, and keeps a routine that distracts her just enough to not have to dwell on her past.
All...
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A/N: this chapter is for Sandra_Tacko. Thanks for all the votes <3 _______________
People are generally easy to deceive; especially those of the upper classes. Their money and influence makes them see the world as they want it to be and not how it actually is. That is why when I walked into the entryway wearing a white and green uniform, carrying a tray of champagne flutes, I became invisible to everyone.
This isn't my first time going solo but it is my first time being nervous about it. The success of tonight not only affects me and my life but Constance's too.
No, don't do that!
I can't think about her. Not now when my focus means less mistakes and less mistakes means my life.
Pushing every distracting thought out of my mind, I slowly make my way around the room looking for an angle. The Director isn't anywhere to be seen. His charismatic and over the top persona will make him stand out when he does decide to grace us with his presence. In the mean time I scope out my environment.
Having been here almost two hours, I've had a chance to people watch. Part of me misses the old days when I was a guest at Don's parties but then I see how they act and I realise that it's just the familiarity I miss. The Attorney General is shamelessly flirting with a girl much younger than his wife. The Ambassador of France is drinking out of two glasses, one in each hand. Angie O'Donnell, the White House Secretary, just took a bite of an hors d'oeuvre and then put it back on the serving tray.
Voices float around just slightly above the musical instruments playing in the back ground.
". . .Angela got into Harvard without us having to make a sizable donation. . ."
". . .of course it will be an ostentatious wedding. . ."
". . .if I were her, I would have aborted that child but you know what they say about hindsight. . ."
Their conversations were monotonous and nauseating. I've been here countless times for his parties and each one is the same. The grand stair case windes down to the lower level where men are smoking and talking about politics. The first floor has a mixture of servers and guests but the second floor, the important floor, has no servers. A few guards are stationed and rotate around watching the people below like gargoyles.
"Man." A hand grips at my shirt. My instinct is telling me to take them down but I fight it and turn with a neutral look.
"Ma'am." I give a once over to the very drunk woman standing with the sleeve of my shirt in her hand. "May I help you?"
"Where, prey tell, are those delicious little balls at? You know, the meat ones with a stick puncturing them and the red sauce to dip?" Her slurred words and heavy British accent let me know she won't recognize me so I smile.
