5:58pm and Marcus stared intently at the door. Marcus had always been the "party guy", even decades after he had left Harvard, his contacts and legal profession still were dominated by his reputation as the organiser of the wildest parties on campus.
So yet again he found himself in charge of the latest charity event, a fundraiser for a legal aid charity called TransLegal. Though the charity didn't matter, it was just the justification for having a party that wasn't about a single person. But this party had one difference, Marcus had been going through a lot recently, and had decided to use this party to reclaim his old mantle.
The problem was that despite his reputation, nobody giving Marcus the money and power to put events together actually wanted the kind of parties Marcus organised at college and specialised in. Law offices were dominated by old middle class men who were more into brandy by a fireplace than drug filled rager that ended when the police turned up. Marcus was considered the best party organiser working in the legal profession, but was not allowed to organise the kind of parties that got him that reputation. As he grew older, his life grew quieter, and his parties grew tamer. From all angles in his life, he began to feel like a caged tiger and wanted release.
For this party, Marcus had forsworn the usual five star hotels and expensive event spaces in favour of a modern mansion that had been converted to a party venue by its owner while he dealt with the financial ramifications of his divorce. Nestled in the foothills outside the city where the rich build large and private spaces to do with as they wished, it was ready for Marcus' plans. It had bars dotting the indoor and outdoor spaces, a kitchen large enough for caterers to operate in, a pool and jacuzzi, a far reaching integrated speaker system, a small gazebo in the garden that could double as a stage for entertainment, and even a table tennis table with beer pong supplies on standby.
But then there were the added touches Marcus had included to recapture the college party atmosphere that had forged his reputation. Instead of some posh black tie caterer, he had struck a deal with a café whose unique selling point was that their servers only wore bikinis. He couldn't wait to see the old men reaching for their heart medication as food and drink was handed out by scantily clad women.
Marcus had also hooked up every immature idea he had ever had while idly thinking about the ultimate party when he was at college. Naturally he had set aside rooms for those who wanted to do drugs, hidden away with contingency plans in case someone called the police. He had filled a paddling pool with jelly, lots of decks of cards for strip poker, and a series of twister mats flanked on all sides with sundae bars. At every turn he had planted drinking games and forfeit games that he knew could make memories even in those too intoxicated to remember any other point of the night. He had even figured out how to rent billiards and foosball tables and cleared space so some friendly competition would get drinks flowing and raise spirits.
So now he stood by the front door, nervously checking his phone and the time, tonight he was going to piss off a lot of people, but he would get back the swagger worn away by a million small acts of enforced maturity. Those who survived would be in no doubt what they should expect from now on if they wanted a party organised by Marcus Selassie.
It was exactly 6:00pm, the official start time for the party, and Marcus stared in horror as a taxi approached the house. Someone was going to be on time! Out of the taxi stepped a stuffy middle aged man in a regulation tuxedo, his hair straight from a catalogue and his face looking the right mix of disapproving and uncomfortable that was a death knell for a good party atmosphere.
"What kind of guber turns up to this sort of party on time?" Marcus mumbled to himself.
~~~
How Barnaby Watford ended up at the party
~~~
"Do I have to go?" I asked petulantly.
"You don't have to, but it will be great for your career." My boss replied.
This was exactly the kind of situation I became a lawyer to avoid. So many people saw lawyers as they were on TV, charismatic and suave, giving big speeches and shocking reveals, people who went into law to be like that didn't last their first year out of law school. I saw being a lawyer as a profession where hard work and diligence could win over that annoyingly effortless charm through which the charismatically stupid flirted their way through life.
I loved the late nights preparing briefs, the structures, the lack of surprises, my life was a cavalcade of being so well prepared the other side settled or backed down before I was ever called upon to do public speaking. But then I got promoted to a level where all talk turned to where I would be going for a partnership.
Partnership is another thing that doesn't happen like in the movies, but this time in a bad way. In movies the hero works hard and when he is judged to be the best lawyer he is promoted to partner. In the real world, when a lawyer has saved up enough money to give a huge chunk of it to a group of old men he's networked to death, then he can become partner.
So an invite to a big fancy party where several members of partnership boards would be swanning around is something all logic is telling me is a good thing, and yet it feels to me like swimming back into the social waters I often drowned in at high school. Making partner would solve all my problems, so I was determined to see this through no matter how uncomfortable it was.
My wife and I have a relationship that nobody seems to understand but us. Many wondered why an intelligent woman such as Matilda would want to be a housewife, but she describes herself as a "lady of leisure", able to indulge a smorgasbord of hobbies and academic pursuits at any time. I'm still single minded enough that I can get passionate about any angle of the legal system I need to call upon, but she needs a constant rotation of new engagements to hold her attention. Until now our passions simply matched in their intensity and intelligence. She would listen to me talk for hours on end about obscure legal precedents, and in turn I would listen to her wax lyrical about the effects of welding different metals, or megalithic stoneworks on Tongan islands.
Lately I have started to see Matilda's interest in our marriage fading and I'm worried that I may soon become yet another passing hobby for her. It wasn't unusual for her to be gone for a semester at another college or a research trip, but we at least kept in regular touch. Her most recent distraction is a sociology course at a community college just beyond an easy commute so necessitating another bout of dorm life for her. This one is different though, recently she hardly ever answers my calls and when I can get through she would talk about all the great lessons she was learning, however I was never privy to what those lessons were.
So I decided that becoming a partner is the key to the higher pay and shorter working hours necessary for me to start joining her on her interests, travel with her, learn with her, actually start really sharing our lives. Matilda has put up with my monoculture long enough and I was determined to do whatever it took to shake things up, even if it meant my worst nightmare, social interaction.
I dressed myself in a nice tuxedo, posh enough to show I had money to invest in my clothes but not fashionable enough to show I wanted to draw attention to myself. I took a deep breath and stepped into a taxi for a long night of ass kissing.
~~~
"Barnaby Watford, pleased to meet you. I'm sorry, am I early?" Barnaby asked, stepping into the house as Marcus pressed a Champagne glass into his hand. "The invite said 6pm."
