Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Romantic Friday Writers Challenge: Birthday Madness
The word count was a challenge on this one. I originally wrote more elements conspiring to destroy the celebration but they say don't work with children or animals. For those who wanted more of Maxine, her hot husband Blake and her beautiful friend Lola, here's this week's RFW challenge.
‘There she is’. Blake waved, took my hand and we entered the fancy garden party. I shrank at the sight of the decorated table laden with glowing gifts. Our tray of Guylian suddenly looked pathetic and thoughtless beside new champagne flutes, boxed jewellery and perfumes named for celebrities.
‘I’m so glad you could come.’ Lola greeted Blake with a creepy air kiss then slipped her arm through mine. She led us to the food marquee where she unashamedly flirted with the caterer before she forced a platter of appetizers under my nose. The smell of crustacean and asparagus combined to send my head spinning and the momentum of my retreat was so forceful, the whole well- crafted arrangement crashed out of Lola’s hands and down to the decorative tiles. My own projectile response then splashed to the concrete combining with the already destroyed hors d’oeuvres to create a random collage of modern expressionism. As if in sympathy, the sky finally carried out its threat, dropping large splashing drops to herald a drenching shower. A gust of wind picked up all the cowering fancy people and herded them indoors.
‘I’m sorry, Lola.’ I offered. ‘This is your birthday and I’m sorry it’s turned. . .’
‘It’s always you, Maxine. It’s always about you.
‘Me? But you’re the one who. . .’
‘You have it all. You have your perfect life with perfect Blake. You have everything,’ she spat.
Inside now, we were standing under a chandelier, paintings by the Dutch masters hung on the opposite wall, I could feel the carpet pile at my ankles and I had everything?
‘What about your promotion?’
‘I screwed Tom for that.’
My ire rose to meet that shiny chandelier while my jaw fell to the lush carpet.
‘Why you nasty little tramp.’ They were my thoughts but not my words. Fiona slapped Lola so hard she toppled and fell into the profiterole tower. The air filled with pastry and the caterer’s expletives. Covered in custard, Lola rose like a painted warrior to wrestle with Fiona before Tom took charge. ‘Presents. Let’s open your presents, shall we?’ The uncomfortable guests were thankful for the diversion. I found Blake. ‘Honey, can we go?’
‘Are you sure?
‘I’m pregnant.’ At his excited whoop, the crowd turned in unison.
Poor Lola was right. It was all about me.
Word count: 390