This story is a bit long, but I tried to use the intro to build some kind of a story and make it a little romantic. Hopefully I'll make it worth your while to read. I'd love to hear what you think of it, positive or negative, so please leave a comment if you have the time. Thanks!
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The road is lined with marvelous trees and hedges, which are perfectly trimmed and manicured. It's a sign of hours of hard work and dedication, none of which were spent by the homeowner. I cruise along the endless road, reaching the grand parking lot at the end. Row upon row of Mercedes-Benz, BMW, Rolls Royce, Porsche, and other assorted luxury cars fill the lot. I roll up to the front, conspicuously driving past numerous people who eye me curiously. A man in a white suit jacket, fancy white hat and dress pants greets me as I get out of my car. My engine produces a rattling sound. My mechanic assures me it's not a serious problem.
"You have to turn the wheel a bit to the left when you're pulling the keys out," I say to the gentlemen in the white jacket as he enters my car. I adjust my tie in the reflection of the rear window before he drives off to park my '96 Corolla.
As I walk up the cobbled path to the house, I am able to take in its true size. It was completely made of stone, at least three stories high and was probably close to one hundred yards long. This house could hold a small village, yet it is the permanent residence of no one. It is one of the various houses my Uncle shares with the director Christopher Nolan and a few others in Hollywood. He is a cinematographer and has worked on nearly all of Nolan's films. It is my Uncle's fourth wedding with his third wife, and the first one I've been invited to.
The front door is made of iron, and is at least ten feet high. I imagine there must be a small crew designated for opening and closing it. Most of the party is in the large dance hall, which has a massive ceiling that stretches all the way to the roof, and houses dozens of chandeliers which are all equally magnificent as the one in the foyer. Here the rich and famous are congregated and broken off into small groups. I walk over to the bar. I have no intention of drinking alcohol; I have to drive myself home tonight. I order a soda with lime.
As I stare out across the room, I spot my cousin, the son of the groom. His short blond hair is completely spiked, and he wears a perfect amount of stubble on his chin. He, like me and handful of others in the room, wears a suit instead of a tuxedo. Unlike me, his suit is made by Giorgio Armani. It's a sharp grey ensemble that fits perfectly to his body. He only has one button done up at the front. He sips scotch or whiskey--I can't tell which--while he talks to a woman in a fantastic blue dress who is probably a model. She is billboard sexy.
She is laughing and grabbing at my cousins hand. He has never had a problem with women. He's arrogant, gorgeous and loaded. He pretends to stumble and grabs her breast. She laughs and smiles. Maybe she's playing along, or maybe she's too stupid to notice he's groping her. Either is viable.
He sees me, excuses himself, and walks over. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he gets closer.
"Hey Drew, how's it goin'?" He says, patting me on the back.
"Splendid, Nick, thanks."
"Glad to see you made it, thought the old rattlebox might crap out on you."
"You're referring to my car?" I ask. "My mechanic assures me--"
"Yeah, he assures you it's not a problem, I know."
"Then why would it break down on me?" I say, in confusion. I like screwing with him. He's not very bright.
"I'm just making conversation," he says, laughing and patting me on the back again. "Did you come here with anybody? A girl?"
"No."
"Then why are you standing here? There's a room full of gorgeous, single, women who are looking for a one night stand--a fuck and forget."
"You know I'm not very good with women," I say. That's not true--just most women.
"It's only 'cause you've never tried. It's easy. Open with a joke. Always talk about her, she doesn't want to hear about you. Be assertive, confident. You've got to be the biggest motherfucker in the room and she has to feel it."
"Not right now," I say. He needs to disappear.
"How long has it been since you've dated someone? Or given someone the gift that is your cock?"
"What does it matter?"
"What does it matter?" he says, repeating me. "Are you not horny? Are you not itching to get any one of these girls and take her home tonight?"
"No."
"Then why are you here? So you can drink tonic water all night?" I don't answer him, hoping he'll leave.
"Alright, well suit yourself," he says, and he walks away.
The girl he was groping before has moved onto another guy, equally handsome and probably equally charming. Nick looks discouraged, but circles around, looking for more prey. He spots a girl standing against the wall on the far the side of the room. She's small and has brown hair. That's all I can distinguish from where I'm standing. I can hear his words in my head: 'Open with a joke, flatter her'. He approaches her and says something. She doesn't laugh; I can't tell whether she smiles. I decide to move closer, and find myself standing against the side wall, not forty feet away.
The woman is Ellen Page. She's in Juno and Inception, Nolan's latest blockbuster. I can't hear what they're saying, but I can see their reactions. He tells a joke, he laughs at it. She smiles. He continues to talk to her, and she listens, responding with a couple of nods, and smiles.
The band starts to play a slow jazzy tune. Within a minute most of the room is paired up in a slow dance. Nick extends his hand to Ellen. She shakes her head, and I see her lips mouth "I don't dance". He asks again, she still says no. He insists, but she shakes her head at him and walks away. He watches her move through the swaying crowd. Leaning against the wall, he sighs. He storms off towards the bar. I have never seen him get turned down by a woman, ever.
I watch the guests dance, one hand in the other's, one hand on his shoulders, one hand on her waist, or ass. They are smiling at each other. He looks in her eyes or down her shirt, and she looks in his eyes.
Ellen Page reappears, moving through the crowd as she had before. She is moving in my direction, and it is until she's twenty feet away that I realize she is staring at me. I stand up from the wall, clear my throat and sip my drink.
"Is he gone?" she asks.
"Is who gone?"
"Don't act like you don't know, I saw you watching."
"Is he tall, handsome, dressed like a millionaire, arrogant as a millionaire?"
"Yes, him," she confirms.
"He's gone off to the bar," I reply, looking into my glass. "He's my cousin."
"I feel sorry for you."
"Well, it's not terrible. His dad pays for my tuition. I just have to play nice, and make him feel loved." I look to her for the first time. "He's never been turned down by a woman before."
"I wouldn't doubt it, I had a real hard time with it," she says. Sarcasm, I hope. She takes a sip from her glass of water.
"So what about you?" She asks. "Do you get turned down a lot?"
