There was a big fat streak, off center. Mokuba made it by wiping the condensation from the window with his finger.
It was there about 5 minutes. Driving me crazy. I leaned over him and wiped the whole window clean. He gave me a funny look as I moved back to my seat but said nothing. He looked down at his screen of his phone and fired off another text message.
"Who are you texting?"
Mokuba looked up at me briefly, annoyed. "No one".
I grunted. He sighed.
"Just a girl I know."
Well fine then. The limo pulled up to a stop.
I waited for my driver to open the door. As I climbed out Mokuba followed me, still distracted. The driver closed the door, climbed in the front seat and went to park the limo. I remained still for another moment, waiting for Mokuba to stand next to me. He stopped beside me, smiling and moving his fingers along the keys of his phone. I waited another moment, and he put it away.
"Ready?" he asked me, nodding at the entrance before us. I grunted and began to walk forward.
There was a security guard standing in front of the grand doorway before us, but he didn't bother check his list. He looked at me and nodded, pushing the doors open for Mokuba and I. The inside was massive, with a looming ceiling and packed floor of chatty rich people. It was loud, but controlled. Or rather it was reserved and polite. The guests were all expensively dressed and sipped mixed drinks in between small talk.
Five minutes in and Mokuba had already wandered off. I was meanwhile avoiding the center of the room, staying off to the edges and cautiously looking for the host. I found him sometime later, standing next to a younger girl in a ruby red dress.
"Good evening Mr. Fitzroy".
He looked up at me suddenly, his face flushed. "Mr. Kaiba!" he exclaimed, "I'm so glad you could make it!" He slapped me on the shoulder and the girl looked to each of us, her eyes moving back and forth, not sure who she should be paying more attention to.
Fitzroy is a jovial and wealthy drunk as well as an enthusiastic investor. He stopped slapping my shoulder long enough to take a lengthy sip from his wine glass. The girl spoke up.
"What a delight this is!" she squealed, "I can't believe I'm finally getting to meet you, Mr. Kaiba," and she extended a bony hand, which I eventually grasped, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of her many rings digging into my flesh.
"Ah yes! How rude of me, not to introduce you!" chirped Fitzroy. "Mr. Kaiba, this is the most enchanting-" he stopped to wink at her "Maggie-Lynn Sommers".
As far as I am concerned, Maggie-Lynn was a classless name - some terrible American concoction, born of a godforsaken cotton field somewhere in the south. I nodded abruptly at her.
"My pleasure, I'm sure". She darted her eyes again, until they settled on me for a moment. She smiled. "But if you do excuse me, I'll be off". I took my first step backwards. Maggie-Lynn frowned momentarily.
"Pleasure to see you!" shouted Fitzroy as I departed. I turned my head, just long enough to halfheartedly respond.
"Lovely party" I called in response.
I felt as though I had completed my obligatory duty.
I made a beeline for the bar, not because I wanted to drink, but because I wanted to look busy without actually having to talk to anyone. It was a long walk.
A young girl in a pressed white shirt, black bowtie and pants nearly dropped her tray of h'ors d'ouevres on me. Luckily I pushed her away in time and they instead fell on the floor.
But it seemed the servers were everywhere, with their lukewarm, bite sized food and flimsy trays.
I walked right into the back of another one. He stumbled and fell to his knees.
I sighed, heavily, straightened my shirt and bent down to offer him a hand. Too late though, he was already back on his feet.
I looked him in the face. I was surprised, certainly.
I had the unpleasant sensation of looking at a ghost. A very mangy ghost.
He smiled a little at me.
"Well excuse me sir!' he said tauntingly, in that horrendous accent. I cringed.
I looked down to pick a piece of lint off my shirt. The insult leaned forward, ready to slide of the tip of my tongue. I took a breath and held it back, settling for an understated disregard instead.
I looked up, ready to stare him down until he scurried away like a little dog.
He looked straight at me.
I searched frantically for the insult, annoyed that he would be so bold with me. I had lost it and instead resorted to a cryptic slur.
"Well some things never change, " I spat out. He cocked his head at me, raising a fine eyebrow.
"I'm sorry sir, have we met?" He smiled at me like a demon.
Fuck you Joey Wheeler.
I left the party early, about 2 hours later. Mokuba wanted to stay, mostly for the free drinks.
My limo driver took me back to an empty mansion. I climbed the flights of stairs until I was at the top floor, and then I walked to the very end of the hallway, took a right and pushed open my bedroom door.
The air inside was chilly and my curtains were already drawn. I kept the light off, took off my jacket, belt, and shoes and then walked across the room into my bed.
It was Saturday when I woke up. Not that the days of the week made much of a difference to me. I started each one the same.
I was at my desk on the computer.
The sun was still buried somewhere beneath the sky.
It was late morning when Mokuba came and knocked sluggishly at my door. He didn't wait for me to say come in.
I heard something plop on my bed. I didn't look over.
He made some awful groaning noise.
"Exactly how hung-over are you?"
Mokuba was quiet for a moment. "Very".
"And was it really worth it?"
He moved behind me then, rested his head on my left shoulder, half watching me type.
"Indeed it was-" he picked up a nearby paperweight and tossed it in his hand. "So how was your night?"
I didn't answer. He left the room a few minutes later.