Love Song - 3

Time spent getting ready for evening party; 2 hours. Times spent gaining shoes; half an hour. Time late; one hour.
"Shit!" I cussed as I stubbed my toe on the bed table for the millionth time, feeling strangely like I want to batter the bed. I brought my foot up to rub my sore toe and nearly tripped myself to death by getting tangled in the gorgeous dress I was wearing. But there would be no good in that – dying right before a job interview, honestly what would they think? – so I pulled my shoes on, finally, grabbed my clutch and ran out of the house with seconds to spare. Actually, I was so fashionably late that there weren’t seconds to spare. A few more and I’d be distinctly unfashionably late.
The car seemed way to slow as I crawled through the crammed London roads, and I wondered why there seemed to be so much stupid bloody traffic. I had neglected to think, of course, that this was Saturday night and actually, a lot of people would be out round about now, and carried on horning impatiently and glancing at the digital clock radio.

Eight fifty. I had been given a time of eight. I hoped to God that it was just a celebratory event and not one of those does where people have a set time to speak. Oh Lord. Imagine if my mystery boss had spoken, and then quizzed me about it later?
I was planning on melting into the crowd, milling about, looking for somebody I knew, which shouldn’t have been so difficult as we were basically all the same crowd. And much as I’d have loved to exclude myself from that celebrity crowd, my father places me very high up in status and it ‘simply isn’t done if I do not attend formal parties and bag myself an eligible bachelor just like your sister Sara has done’.
The San Antonio, where the party was going to be hosted (amazingly expensive, posh hotel with ballroom) was chock a block with paparazzi and magazine editorial authors, ready with their notebooks out and pens poised. I cursed under my breath and went around the back entrance to see if I could sneak in another way.
I really hated having my picture taken.

My sleek little Audi found a place in the car park behind the building, right next to a lavish back entrance. I paused to check my appearance. I had stressed a lot over what to wear, what balance of good looking and sensible I should go as, and finally decided on a violet dress the exact color of my eyes.
My father had brought it me, when his sister was going to get married, but the marriage never happened, and no doubt the label was designer and pricey. It would be a shame to waste it and anyway, I had forgotten just how good it made me look. I was in luck with the outfits recently.
It was another halter neck, but a string one, that exposed a lot of my light tan skin. It hugged my bust quite tightly, and then flared out just above my knees in an uneven hemline. It was simple, and the color complimented my eyes perfectly. I had accessorized it with tiny, trendy black pearls, and let my hair dry naturally for once so I got that spirally, glossy look that people try so hard to attain and I am blessed with.
The thing is though, my curls are actually unruly. Even now, as they lay innocently over one shoulder and down my back, the wind picked them up and stirred them to a totally different place to where they started. And I always wondered why I looked like a mess.

Sighing, I shoved through the pack entrance and detangled my hair gently with my fingers. I was just about through the door when somebody came barrelling in behind me, knocking into my back. It didn’t hurt, and hardly jostled me, but I was instantly annoyed, and turned to look who the culprit was.
A tall, impossibly handsome man stood behind me. His black hair was cropped short, and his aquamarine eyes were so bright that I had to squint a little when I looked at them. They harbored an unusual ring of silvery grey around them, and I wondered where I could have seen these eyes before, these eyes that were so wonderfully familiar and yet strange to me.

"Damn, I’m so sorry. I had to get away from the paps – I think they caught sight of me. I hate getting my picture taken." He apologized, closing the door behind him. And just like that, all my irritation melted clean away. He was obviously a kindred spirit.
"Same here. Are you here for the party?" I asked, glancing around the room to assess our situation. We were in a kitchen, and it was totally empty and unusually small for a big hotel. Also, I had to get away from looking at the man’s perfect features, which made up one of those dazzling faces that make your breath catch in your throat and your heart accelerate, just by looking at him.
He gave me a strange look – raised his eyebrow and half smiled.
"You don’t know who I am?" he asked sceptically, and it was only then that I realised the voice that I was hearing was exactly the same to the one I had been hearing on the phone.

I immediately blushed.
Shit. Trust my boss to be my kindred spirit.
Well, my nearly boss.
I was going to be one of those sluttish PA’s, wasn’t I, who’s always trying to get her boss’s attention and wears the shortest miniskirts known to man just to ensure that her boss gets nothing done and will be staring at her legs all day? Oh God. Oh great.
"Uh – um, no, I don’t, I’m afraid." I gave him a sheepish smile and tried to hide behind my hair. His smile was full now, and wide, and incredible, and just perfect. It made my insides warm and turn to jelly.
"You are the first person since I started this career that does not know my name. Amazing." He said, shaking his head. And then he extended a hand. "I’m Will," he said warmly, with another heart stopping smile. "William Carmichael."
This time, I was sure that my heart stopped.

"Will?" I whispered; my voice hoarse. Suddenly, a rush of all my teenage awkwardness, heartbreak and loneliness came rushing back. I was acutely aware of the lump in my throat and the trembles playing up and down my spine.
This was THE Will.
The Will that had devastated my life and affected me in such a way that when he left me, there was nothing but gaping emptiness. And even now, after all these years, with only that memory of what true love looked like, it hurt. And it hurt more than I could ever imagine when I realized who he was.
He looked wary now, as if I might be star struck or something. I used to love music – it was something of a passion for me, to listen to it. And then when Will, the wonderfully talented musician Will, walked away, so did my desire to listen to it. Every song, every lyric, reminded me of him, and reminded me that he wasn’t there anymore.

And so, to that day, I had never listened to ANY music whatsoever, if I could help it. There was no radio at my house. On the television, MTV was a taboo channel, something that I stayed away from at all costs. At parties, artists never get announced before the song, so I couldn’t have ever known that the voice I might have been hearing was my own personal heart breaker.
"Yeah. Chart topper. Platinum record. Award winner? You do know me, don’t you?"
That was when I realized that he hadn’t recognized me. Of course he wouldn’t. I didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to me, so I was just a distant memory of his silly teenage years. We had spent a whole two years together, but those two years weren’t enough. I had been forgotten.
Cue another blow to my heart.

"Yeah, I know you. Did my father tell you my name?" I asked coolly, my voice composed even though I was shaking inside.
Will seemed even more confused at my standoffishness, when I had been so friendly before, and just raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I kind of deduced that your second name was Giovanni, of course, but your first name? I think that was meant to be part of the surprise. You are my interview girl, right?"
I’m his interview girl. Not his ex, his cast aside, his rejection. Just his interview girl. Somehow, this stung even more.
"Yeah, I’m your interview girl." I said, and then there was an awkward pause as I tried to control the crack in my voice. It was hard to get anything coherent past the lump in my throat, but I managed it.
"So – your name?" Will asked, smiling again. I didn’t smile back. Instead, I raised my eyes from the floor and looked him right in the face, to gauge his reaction when he realized. Because he had to realize. He couldn’t have forgotten me past me name, could he have?

"Crystelle. Crystelle Giovanni." I said quietly. My voice was so tiny it was almost a whisper, but it had effect on Will.
The color drained from his face. Then rushed back into his cheeks. Then he ran his hand through his cropped hair, like he used to do before, when it was much longer and flopped into his eyes. He suited it short, I decided.
"Oh. This…complicates things." He said awkwardly, and then grinned and shook his head as if fighting off a silly thought. "It’d be stupid to ruin this opportunity because we’re just old acquaintances that got off on a bad note, so we can work through it, right?"
I clenched my teeth to stop the cry from rising up.
Just old acquaintances.

I managed not to say anything at all.
"It should be fun, actually. I remember we were pretty good friends." He mused, the amazingly beautiful crooked smile still fixed into place.
Pretty good friends.
Friends that kissed, held hands, told each other everything, went everywhere together and were inseparable.
Friends.
"Yeah. Pretty good friends." I muttered, and then turned to attend to the party that suddenly had extremely horrific qualities.
Life, once again, was back to looking down.