Chapter 3: Kitchen Flirting

Streamers in vibrant hues of purple, blue, green, and gold spiraled from one end of the Capsule Corp dome to the next; the crepe paper vines curled around each other in a festive dance. Balloons hovered like clouds at the top of the dome and, below, banquet tables towered with scrumptious hors devourers: steaming dumplings, cucumber sandwiches, spring rolls, and plates of freshly sliced starfruit and watermelon. Only a thick headed brute with the mental capacity of an acorn would be dumb to the obvious party preparations underway.

Indeed, a celebration of the grandest kind was taking place at the Briefs' home that day. With the defeat of Majin Buu and the world at peace, it simply felt right to light a festive spark in the Z warriors' lives. Mrs. Briefs, of course, was in charge of the party planning. For weeks, she had debated over table cloth trims and confetti shapes, napkin folds and flourishes in décor. She personally selected the drinks and hand-sealed each of the invitation's ivy-bordered envelopes. She was on the prowl for professional musicians when Dr. Briefs gently reminded her, "It is only a barbecue, dear."

That didn't stop the scientist from obsessing over the acoustics of the dome. In his spare time, he fancied himself a sound engineer and felt more than qualified to ensure the perfect balance of treble and bass for the party. After setting up an enormous stereo system, with towers that could dwarf even Piccolo, he clapped his hands and said, "Now, we'll have a party!"

Everywhere that summer day, CC robots were zooming back and forth across lawn and labs to assist in putting up decorations. Dr. Briefs' animals were more excited than usual, evident from their frequent meowing, barking, hooting, hollering, and roaring. And, despite the giant wall that bordered the Capsule Corporation grounds, onlookers paused at the gate to sneak a peek at all the activity.

During the commotion, Bulma was upstairs in her bathroom trying on different outfits. Nearly a dozen dresses from her closet were lying on the bathroom tile. Earlier, she was positive these outfits would be dazzling, but as soon as she zipped and buttoned herself in one frock, she just as quickly zipped and unbuttoned herself out of it. Nothing seemed right, no matter how she posed, and Bulma was the kind of woman who needed to feel like she was dressed to the nines to fully enjoy a party.

Besides, she hadn't gotten to dress up in quite some time. She pondered over this as she held up a cherry-print dress to her figure. When she had gotten that hideous perm hacked, she had enjoyed a brief makeover period: red dresses, heels, lipstick. That was mostly for herself, though. Today was the chance to show off her fabulous self to guests, and she wanted to turn some heads!

A spring halter dress eventually called her name, with its soft pastel brushstrokes and satin hem. A pair of white sandals and glittery bangles gave the outfit some panache. Bulma couldn't help but give herself a grin in the mirror. She looked damn fine and she knew it.

"Hmph. What are you getting all dressed up for, woman?"

Bulma knew that deep, guttural voice from a mile away. How many times had Vegeta crept up from behind her and surprised her with it? He had a loathsome talent for sneaking up on people. Luckily, it had happened so many times at this point, Bulma was no longer surprised.

"Psh! Like you've forgotten! Today's the big party," Bulma said.

"And?" Vegeta growled.

"I want to look my best. Is that such a crime?"

"For who? Only those idiots will be showing up," Vegeta snorted in return, cocking his eyebrow at her and leaning on the arch of the bathroom doorway.

"For your information, those idiots are my friends. I haven't seen them in a while and I just feel like looking good. Besides, it's been such a long time since I've felt pretty. You wouldn't understand, what with your Saiyan manly-manliness."

Vegeta muttered something incoherent, but Bulma didn't bother to ask him to repeat himself. She was too occupied in the mirror, adding a touch of mascara to her eyelashes. She leaned forward on the bathroom sink and continued her careful application. Vegeta grunted louder.

"What?" Bulma huffed, turning to give him an annoyed look. "I can't hear you when you talk under your breath like that. Speak up if you have something to say."

After a pause, Vegeta growled, "I said, you look nice."

Compliments were rare from the Saiyan Prince. He was so obsessed with himself, it was a wonder he ever left his mirror. Bulma did, however, notice that when Vegeta praise omeone, it was usually her. Even if his compliments didn't fill her with joy, Bulma still accepted them graciously.

"Thanks," she smiled, glancing herself over in the mirror. "I'd have to say I agree with you. I was worried earlier that the halter top might be a bit too tight in the strap, but as it turns out it fits beautifully. So, is that all you'll be wearing?"

Bulma motioned to Vegeta, who was in a pair of dark slacks and an equally dark, long-sleeved shirt. His arms were crossed over his chest in a surly manner. He barely nodded in response.

"Well, I would have to say you look nice too," Bulma said, turning away from the bathroom sink. "Black suits you, y'know?" She winked at him.

"The harpy will be here." It was more of a question than a statement, but Bulma knew what it meant.

"Yes, ChiChi is coming, and, yes, that means Goku is coming as well," she sighed.

"Excellent." A smirk found its place on Vegeta's lips. A spar was already in the works.

"Alright, well go start planning your dueling tactics elsewhere," Bulma said. "I need to finish getting ready and I can't have you crowding my vanity space."

Vegeta merely hmphed. He turned around to leave, but before he was officially gone, he grabbed Bulma by the chin and gave her a quick, rough kiss. Stunned, all Bulma could do for a few moments was watch his retreating form. She touched her lips, waiting for a familiar tingling sensation to appear, a rush of warmth, a pleasant feeling, anything.

Nothing. And a deep pain settled in her heart.

The party was well underway by two o' clock in the afternoon. Piccolo was lounging in the rose beds, Roshi and Oolong were scavenging the food tables, and Gohan and Videl were secretly giggling behind one of Dr. Briefs' prized indoor oaks. Mrs. Briefs was rushing from one person to the next, thrusting around her serving tray, in what appeared to be an attempt at "World's Most Gracious Hostess." Dr. Briefs was not too subtly ushering people over to his stereo system so he could lecture on its features, and Vegeta had parked himself on a picnic blanket after gathering seven or eight plates of food.

Goku, naturally, was late. Krillin had been a bit disappointed, but after Yamcha noted how much more food that left the rest of them, the party carried on quite nicely for everyone. That is, everyone except for ChiChi. From the moment she had arrived, Goku's wife had been fuming.

"Ridiculously irresponsible," she muttered over her wineglass.

"Neglecting his family again," she barked by the poolside.

"I guess it's easy to forget manners after being dead for seven years," she sneered on the lawn.

Everyone else managed to tolerate Goku's tardiness, but Bulma could see why it would irritate ChiChi so much. Nearly a decade of raising his children without so much as a good-bye or an "I love you"? If she had been in ChiChi's place, Bulma would have been just as annoyed.

So, the Capsule Corp heiress felt the only right thing to do was invite ChiChi into the kitchen for a chat. The Ox-Princess had been skeptical at first, since she and Bulma rarely had "tête-à-tête," but after being informed an unopened box of Franzia was sitting in the fridge, she welcomed the invitation.

"Cheap, but it gets the job done, right?" ChiChi grinned over her glass.

"No kidding," Bulma laughed. "I lived on this stuff in college. Everybody else was drinking beer, but I was a total wino. Saturdays wouldn't have been the same without Fran."

"Huh. I would have assumed, given how rich your family is, that you would have been served champagne on a silver platter in an ivory tower," ChiChi smirked.

"Ha! I wish! Mommy and Daddy didn't pay a dime on my tuition. Granted, I had a bigger safety net, but I worked my ass off like everybody else." Bulma sipped from her glass with a clear sense of pride.

"What did you major in again?"

"Computer science and engineering."

"Kami, you're mad."

"Haha, maybe. Is that why I've been with Vegeta for so long?"

"I'd say so!" ChiChi giggled over her glass. "Even if you were sane before, you eventually would have gone mad with him around."

Bulma laughed too, noticing as she did how ChiChi's breasts rose under the fabric of her blouse when she giggled. ChiChi was never exactly a "stylish" dresser, but that didn't mean she wasn't pretty. In fact, Bulma kind of liked the housewife's homespun dresses and colorful kerchiefs. Rather than seeming dowdy, they gave her a simple, traditional kind of beauty. Not to mention, she had those gorgeous black tresses, shining like purple midnight skies in the lamplight, those dark pools of chocolate syrup for eyes, those soft, creamy arms…

Bulma shook her head. Was the Franzia already getting to her head? She didn't feel tipsy or buzzed. Not even a quarter of her glass was gone yet. Usually if she was getting drunk, she could feel her head lightening and her balance wavering. She shifted in her chair slightly and didn't notice a thing. But if she was sober, what was she thinking?

She looked up to discover ChiChi staring at her curiously. Bulma blushed. Had she noticed her staring? The Capsule Corp heiress rushed to save herself.

"I love your new blouse, ChiChi. Where'd you get it?" She took another drink from her glass to avoid making eye contact.

"Hmm… this? It's so old, I don't even remember. Probably at a garage sale or something," ChiChi laughed awkwardly. "We really don't have enough money for nice clothes."

"I think you look beautiful in everything you wear," Bulma blurted.

At that moment, it was harder to tell whether Bulma or ChiChi's face turned redder. Both were quite a darkened shade of fuchsia. Bulma stared down at her wine glass smiling stupidly, while ChiChi took unusual interest in the magnets on the refrigerator. As if things couldn't get any more awkward, both jumped to start the conversation again at the same time.

"Why, thanks! I wish Goku said it more often—"

"Of course, I meant it in a purely platonic way—"

"Oh, I know you did! What else could you have meant?—"

"You mean Goku doesn't compliment you? That oaf-"

"Friends are for what husbands aren't, right?"

They both stared laughing nervously. The conversation could not have become more unbearable, and all the Franzia in the world wasn't going to improve the situation in the slightest. Suddenly, ChiChi grabbed Bulma's wrist and they both went silent.

Gazing deep into her cerulean eyes, ChiChi told Bulma, "If anyone is beautiful, it is you."

Before Bulma could muster a response, Krillin, Dende, and Piccolo had entered the room. While ChiChi pulled away before any of the boys could take notice, Bulma's heart was left pounding uncontrollably. She could only wonder, had they not been interrupted, what exchange would have followed between them?

Chapter 4 to come…

~Fina Arvanthol