Research: Romance

note

I hadn't been to a party since I was in college. All the get-togethers I'd partook in since being a writer were formal dinners and upscale mixers. Usually, the scene was a bunch of people in expensive clothes swirling drinks and talking about their next life investment or trip to Barcelona. At their rowdiest, the writers would convalesce in a corner and get tipsy while playing Boggle or sharing stories. Other than that, it was all very tame. 

Drew didn't throw Robin a kegger, but it was quite the gathering. People crowded every corner of his massive home as upbeat music played from speakers somewhere inside the next room. The garage door let us in through an entry way that connected directly to the kitchen. Upon entrance a cornucopia of food spread luxuriously across the marble counters, making my stomach grumble. 

All turned to greet Robin as he passed through, smiling, and shaking his hand with congratulations. I lingered back, making sure it didn't seem like we arrived together by pretending that the fake Ficus in the doorway was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen before passing Robin.  I made my way casually into the living room. 

It was a beautiful home, and attractively decorated, but one could tell this area wasn't particularly lived in. Which was ironic given the name "living room." Still, the simple line art hanging on the wall didn't echo Robin, nor did the minimalist furniture. From the books on the giant, but mostly empty bookshelves, to the large white area rug under our feet, the space was arranged like an IKEA outlet. From what little I could see of the next rooms over; the whole house was done that way. 

My guess was he had hired an interior decorator, and they slapped their favorite Architectual Digest page across each room. As I passed it, my eyes lingered curiously on the hallway leading to the back half of the house. If the real Robin was anywhere, it was no doubt way in the back, where no one could see. 

Or he likes contemporary design, and you are taking giant mental leaps out of bounds. You don't know the real Robin either. Stop acting like you do.

Ah, the voice of reason. My eternal humility-inducer and buzzkill. Bless her. 

Familiar faces were everywhere, some more than others, but there was only one I was looking for. When I see her standing in a form fitting purple dress, her sleek black hair trailing down her back in waves, I heave a sigh of relief. Until Robin finds me with whatever plan he comes up with, we agreed it was best to keep a distance. Which was more than fine with me! So, I swiped a flute of champagne from a stand, approached the group, and looped my arm with Desi's. 

She looks at me, surprised at first, then gladly when I offer her a giddy smile. Immediately she pulls me closer, and I am happy to stay nearby. Of course, her makeup is outstanding, revealing all the assets of her rounded features with ease. I open my mouth to compliment the symmetry of her eyeliner before I realize a man is talking to her. He speaks emphatically about the projections of the publishing house and the difficulties of working in print after the development of e-books. Desi replies politely at all the right times, but I can tell she's not very invested. That is until he notices me standing there, and his eyes light up in recognition. 

"Wow! Emelia Aplin." He breathes, thrusting his hand out for me to shake. "I can't believe you're standing here!" 

Taken aback by the sudden emotion exploding out of him, I look at Desi then smile with all my teeth. He laughs shyly at his outburst, and our hands shake briefly before he reaches into his coat pocket and holds out his phone.

 "I'm sorry, it's just my partner loves your novels. They can't stop talking about the new romance you're working on."  He types something into his phone rapidly, grinning, "They're going to die!"