"You see that boy?"
"Which one?" I answered.
"The one with the blonde hair. "
"You gotta be kidding me. Do you know how many boys here have blonde hair." I looked around the large ballroom. Everyone wore magnificent clothing. Including myself and my best friend, every looked their best tonight.
"The one with the Piano. Attractive, kinda looks upset..."
The man in the piano had his eyes closed, head facing forward, and fingers playing without altering. He had been playing for most of the night. Calm as his body looked, his face told something else. His eyebrows were furrowed, and lips shaped in an upset expression. His hair was blond, long and tied into a bun. He was atractive, I'll give him that.
"Yeah okay and?"
"Well his daddy owns this place."
"You mean he rented it." I corrected her.
"Owned, Elizabeth."
I looked back at the man, who still continued to play with a pained look. Unlike the rest of the guest, he was dressed casually, comfortably fitting a t-shirt and jeans.
"Odd, isn't he.
"Aren't we all." I said defending him. I so badly wish I was in a comfortable pair of jeans. The dress shared my assets a bit much.
"No, I mean this is the first time he's even gone to one of his fathers parties kind of odd."
"First time? I say, my eyebrow raised in interest. The son of a something-naire coming to one of his extravagant parties for the first time would be a killer story for the gosspip magazine I work for. Celebrity news has been slow, so this would be something interesting.
"Do you wanna cover it. I bet Mrs.Boss would be real proud if you bring her a story like that. Promotion proud."
I look at the man, looking incredibly frustrated as he pressed down keyw. He did played good. The music accompanied the conversations, each one at the same volume, but the music seemed more domonaint.
"Are you sure. I did take the last piece."
"Please," she said rolling her eyes. "Your more devoted to journalism than I am. Plus, I have a boyfriend, I can't flirt my way into a conversation." Unfortunately she was right. When I first came to this job I slaved my ass in hopes of producing excellent writing. I had a real knack for it, and got a higher seat in food chain. Not high enough though. Not high enough to write about what I truly want to write about.
With that promotion in mind, I finish drinking the cup of champagne I had in my hand, and made my way to the man.
How was I going to do this? I could compliment his playing. I could wait for him to Finish the composition and the start a conversation. Closer up front he seemed daunting, broad shoulders and all. He still however managed to pull off soft features. His skin was an odd pale but smooth. You could see that he passionately care about what he was doing. You could see it in his fingers that played the melody flowingly.
When his music came to a conclusion, his eyes opened, exposing them as green and dialated. They stared at the piano keys for a while, and then they landed on me. He was staring at me and I at him. I stopped walking for a quick moment, taken aback by the chill he brought to my skin.
Everyone clapped but he stayed still. Not paying attention to them but to me. I definetly did not like it.
When everyone's claps finished, and the conversation music from the stereos continued again, I walked over to him, ready to bombard the unexpected interviewee with questions.
