Champagne problems [Irene & Robert]

Stepping back into the banquet hall, Robert was met with the lively cadence of voices in conversation and the melodies exuded from the live band. The party’s atmosphere had evolved into something more intimate, accentuated by the dimmed lights now casting a warm glow over the room. The last hour or so had been that usual time of the evening where the guests with early commitments for the next day little by little had bid their farewell.

The event was far from over though; the room, while not as densely packed as earlier in the evening, still pulsed with a vibrant energy. It was almost overwhelming, as the door closed behind him, and he had full view of the rest of the guests, the friends, colleagues, strangers. A dedicated group of guests swayed to the lively beats while others had settled onto the plus sofas and armchairs. The panoramic view from the large windows served as a backdrop to their cozy conversations. It had transformed into a glittering tapestry of city lights and twinkling stars.

With a mellow weight Robert realized that he hadn’t noticed the sun setting. He tried to think back to when that must have happened, but he couldn’t even recall what he had been occupied by, whom he had had his attention on.

Oh well. Nothing to do about that.

He straightened his jacket as if it had been necessary and plastered on his typical charismatic smile. He walked towards one of the high round tables where a tray of newly filled champagne glasses whispered his name, and he made sure to greet the cheery guests on his way.

“Rob, where’ve you been?” Nancy Callifer, one of the lesser members of Moderate Progression Party, exclaimed. Her words were slightly slurred. “We almost forgot whose birthday it is!”

“Oh, just outside,” Robert said, already on his way past her, “Melissa had a headache. And you know how it is, family comes first.”

Nancy and the people next to her agreed before continuing their own chat. Robert’s smile felt heavier while walking away from them. Family comes first. Not like the sunset – he couldn’t allow himself to forget, just because his attention had been on someone else.

It felt like a dramatic relief when he reached the table he was heading for, and he let out a soundless sigh as he grabbed one of the champagne glasses. He granted himself a moment to just stand and breathe, sipping on the dry bubbles. At the high table next to him a group of researchers and scientists, perhaps a bit more than what could be described as tipsy, engaged in an animated discussion. Doctor Roberts, in particular, seemed to be passionately explaining a complex theory with an enthusiasm that grew more exuberant with each word.

“… is a complex web where perception and reality intertwine,” the Ph.D. argued, almost taking a sip of his champagne before abandoning it to continue, “Navigating this terrain requires a nuanced understanding of the power dynamics at play. What I’m proposing is …”

Robert stopped listening and let the music and surrounding conversations drown him out. He had been through enough this party. He felt no need to torture himself with arrogant scientist rambling. Instead, he took another sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzling on his tongue, the smile toiling on his lips.

This night had been anything but a breeze. It had been work, tedious work at that and considering her little conversation with the Seymour family, Irene wasn’t even sure if it had been worth it in the long run or if her reputation was now even more controversial than before, if such a feat was even possible. But she had braved through and hadn’t lost face, which was a win, especially considering the scrutiny which she had been met with tonight. And after a sufficient amount of empty small talk and a couple of glasses of champagne, the time was finally approaching midnight, an appropriate time to take her leave without it sparking any unnecessary gossip about her early departure. So she had made it through even though the night had been anything but enjoyable.

She was making her way through the lively banquet hall and towards the exit, when she caught a look of the man of the hour himself, standing at a table alone. She came to a stop. There was a rush of anger, a voice in the back of her head telling her to confront him with his continuous disappearing acts –and about what a coward he was for avoiding her like that. But this wasn’t high school and she did not wish to compromise the last threads of her perceived respectability after the confrontation with the Seymours. She was torn. The logical move would be to leave. Yet, a more powerful instinct urged her to make a scene, just for the hell of it.

And perhaps; since they had not even formally greeted each other tonight, was it not rude to leave without at least wishing the host a happy birthday? She certainly thought so. Just because Robert had decided to be a terrible host, did not mean that she had to be a terrible guest. And, of course, as Robert would say himself, they were friends and one didn’t just avoid one's own friends. So, she’d be a better person than Robert was, really, for doing this.

Perhaps cornering him like this was unfair, his back was turned towards and he surely hadn’t seen her, but Irene had already made up her mind when she started walking towards him with determined steps.

“Well, you sure have been busy,” she said, her breezy voice casual as could be and a charming smile on her face, though the sharpness in her eyes betrayed it. She came to a stop by the table, at his side, turned to face him. “I haven’t seen you all night. Happy birthday.”

Robert had just convinced himself to enjoy the rest of the party, to not let this little slip-up ruin the celebration he had planned out for months, when he heard the familiar, silken voice of Irene Ford behind him: Well, you sure have been busy... Oh no.

Of course, this was the moment Irene decided to confront him. Her and her perfect timing. Robert really could not catch a break tonight, could he?

He could sense her spitefulness  coming up beside him. She hid it under her honeyed smile, but there was no doubting that this wasn’t a friendly catch-up. Had it been so, she wouldn’t be here; Irene never chased after friends, only challenges. I haven’t seen you all night, she told him, and by that, Robert knew that she already knew the reason behind that. Well, if this wasn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy. By trying to avoid her all night, he had ended directly under the sharpness in her ice blue eyes.

He turned to face her next to him, his smile plastered on like a theatrical prop. “Irene!” he greeted her with a surprised chuckle. He extended his arms, not to hug her, but as a gesture towards her, as if saying ‘there you are’. He ended the gesture with a nonchalant flick of the wrist of the hand not currently holding his champagne glass. “Oh, you know me –always flying around.” His words were true - Irene indeed did know him, and Robert was aware that her watchful eyes saw right through his polite play. Which was why it wasn’t for her. It was for the impending audience around them.

His eyes darted away from her, towards an exit or more so towards the other guests. No one seemed to have noticed Irene and him conversing – yet. But Robert was born and raised in the spotlight, and being watched was a thing he always kept in mind. And with the controversy surrounding Irene, simply conversing with her could have riskful  repercussions for his campaign. Irene must have understood that. She would have done the same if the roles had been switched. Though they never would - Robert was smart enough to never engage with what could create controversy.

He took a sip of his champagne glass, the pad of his index finger tapping restlessly against it while he raised it upwards towards his mouth. The second the glass had left his lips, he added:  “I’m sure you’ve had a busy night as well.” He tugged at his polite smile, perhaps not fully succeeding in concealing his own sourness. Irene knew what she was doing. She had known the consequences. What friend would try to take him down with her?

Wanting this interacting over with before someone got the wrong idea, Robert inhaled sharply,  getting ready to bid his friend adieu.

Roberts' greeting was charming, yes, charming enough to convince anyone standing by who might’ve been eavesdropping.  But Irene saw right through that facade. The smile, a bit too wide to be genuine, the slightest tension in his chuckle, the darting of his eyes. Her smile strained ever so slightly at the sourness in his tone hidden behind the politeness  of his tone. The audacity of this man. What had he honestly expected?

He inhaled, as if to dismiss her and end the conversation, but there was no way she would grant him the power to do so. She knew him and she knew he did not possess the spine to simply tell her to leave, it was too confrontational and rude.  Which meant, according to the rules of polite society, she had the power to hold him hostage in this conversation. She spoke before he had the chance to say goodbye.

“Ah well. You know I’m never too busy for a close friend. It’s about what’s really important at the end of the day, don’t you think?” She noticed how some of the surrounding people had started glancing in their direction, though no one openly stared. Her smile grew. No doubt that Robert would hate that kind of attention, which was exactly why she stayed her ground. People wanted a show, after all and they were going to get it. “Though that’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.”

Her tone and her smile, though polite and friendly, carried  a challenge underneath. A provocation. It was backhanded and petty, because she knew Robert was a coward who’d never make a scene in public. Yet she knew that he couldn’t ignore the well-concealed insult there either, lest people get the idea that he was a pushover who would allow himself to be bullied. How sad it was for him, to care so much about his image and how he was perceived.

She was well-aware of the chance that she’d come out of this night with an even stronger public perception that she was the villain here. It was too late either way to change that, after the run-in with the Seymours. Yet she found that she did not really care. Truth had a way of revealing itself eventually and she could rest assured in the fact that she was in the right and that that made her better than any of her critics. And so what if people saw her as starting unnecessary conflict? She was right and that was the only thing that mattered.

Villain or hero, she did not care which she was. Long as she had her integrity. That was more than what anyone could say about the likes of Robert.

If ice could burn, Irene’s eyes did so. As if keeping Robert hostage in her petty purgatory, she chimed in with another sentence before he had the time to dismiss her. Maintaining her polite and friendly tone, but she fooled no one, and Robert suspected that she didn’t want to do so either. She must, too, have noticed the growing attention their conversation was getting from the people around them, and her growing smile indicated that she didn’t mind, quite the opposite.

Irene called him her ‘close friend’, and she might as well have called him a slur. Robert’s grip around his champagne glass stiffened, and his gaze instinctively flickered towards the people around them. As he averted his gaze, her next sentence hit him.

It’s about what’s really important at the end of the day, don’t you think?

Robert felt a pang of guilt. What was really important, did he even know what that was? He had missed the sunset after all.

No. No. This was not okay. It was not the same. He had warned her, she knew what position she would put herself in – and now she was trying to put him in that same position. No. He hadn't missed the sunset for her to drag him down like this.

Though that’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.

His smile grew stilted, turning tart, his eyes no longer averting but sharpening as he refocused on Irene. Still, he was so acutely  aware of the people turning to look at them, some even whispering to each other, their words drowned out by the festive music. They wanted a show, and Irene wanted to be the star. Fine. Robert could play along. When push comes to shove, that was his finesse.

“Hm, well, isn’t everything a matter of opinion?” he asked, rhetorically, not philosophically, before saying:  “But then again - I suppose some matters of opinion are less controversial than others.”

With a snide smile and a provoking wink, he took another sip of his champagne, a celebratory nip.

She didn’t miss how his eyes darted nervously to the people around when she referred to him as a close friend and it felt like a gut punch. Was he really so worried about how the crowd might react to them talking, that he would compromise their friendship all together? He had no issue with the two being seen in public when Irene was viewed favorably and it benefited his career. She didn’t even ask him to risk anything. She didn’t ask him to speak out in public in support of her. All she asked was for him to act like someone who actually cared about her.

A fair-weather friend wasn’t an actual friend. No, what Robert was, was an insecure loser. Plain and simple. What a two-faced, asslicking nobody.  Why did she surround herself with people like this?

Then Robert’s smile grew stilted and his eyes finally met hers, as if accepting the challenge. They had an audience now. Good. She could ruin his entire birthday party for all she cared. She knew his ego couldn’t handle if she was the only thing everyone would be talking about – she’d steal the event of the year from him. See how that affected his poll-results, since that was all he cared about.

He retorted, with a snide smile and a provoking wink, taking a celebratory sip of his champagne like a dork. She smiled. Did he really forget who he was messing with?

Without her noticing, the air around them  had turned to ice, unnoticeable to any onlookers, but enveloping Robert and Irene.

“Shyness doesn’t become you, dear. If you have anything you want to say to me, you should say it,” she said, tone chastising and playful but her eyes were thundering. With a small gesture of her hand and a subtle, judgemental up and down look she continued. “That is, if you even have any opinions of your own. Or should I consult your campaign manager instead? How is Frank these days?”

Why couldn’t she just let him be?

Robert knew why. Because it was Irene, and Irene never let things be. The article - the whole reason behind this ridiculous back-and-forth - wouldn’t have been written, if she did. Oh, how much easier it all would be if she had let just that one thing go.

It probably hadn’t been very wise of him to engage in her provoking behavior, but what else could he do? Let her throw snarky comments at him? At his birthday party? Not going to happen.

Still, he felt a shiver of nervousness when he saw that smile spread on her lips as he said his come-back. Oh boy. She wasn’t going to let this be either, was she? Ooof course, she wasn’t.

No, instead, she called him shy, played along in the scene.  Robert sent her a humble smile from his champagne glass, the polite alternative to rolling his eyes. His eyes screaming at her to knock it off, while his finger tapped at the champagne glass.

Then, she pushed the final button, her tone condescending and taunting.

That is, if you even have any opinions of your own.

Robert pursed his lips together. You know what. He had been nice. Tried to be a good host. Now, she was, quite literally, asking for it. Apparently the done thing was done for, and Robert was done pretending it was not.

He broke eye contact to look at his glass as he put it down on the table. His smile had turned into a stiff expression.

“Frank’s fine,”  he said curtly, before inhaling sharply and meeting her gaze again, “Here’s an opinion for you, Irene.”

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, his smile turning out scornful. Theatrically, he leaned a bit forward as he placed his hand over his heart. “Now, it’s just my opinion,”  he added with a fake chuckle, looking around at their growing audience, before turning his sharp eyes towards Irene again, “But I think that there’s a fine line between journalism and sensationalism.” He narrowed his eyes. “And it’s a great shame some can’t tell the difference.”

For a moment, Irene already felt victorious as Robert pursed his lips together, his entire demeanor having grown much stiffer. And as he spoke, saying that Frank was fine, his tone was sharp, as was his inhale. Here’s an opinion for you, Irene. 

Irene cocked a brow, her lips pressing together. 

And then he spoke again. Accusing her of sensationalism. Her! For a moment, her mouth gaped open in an offended expression – the absolute nerve of this man. She could ruin his entire career.  Had he forgotten that?

Screw him and his lame theatrics. She didn’t care about the opinion of some fake. A fake and a terrible friend. He wished that he was her. He could only hope for an ounce of her integrity. What a loser. The only reason he wasn't an absolute no-one was because he was an ass-licker. An ass-licking loser with no authenticity whatsoever. Her heart pounded in her chest and for a moment, her glare was deadly.

Then her mouth closed, growing aware of their audience, she wasn’t going to lose face like that. Ice burned in her stomach. She was going to put him in his place. No one accused her of falsely like that. No one.

When she spoke again, she had a feigned calm look on her face.

“Sensationalism?” Irene responded, as if amused by the idea. “My dear, I think you’ve gotten yourself confused. Or do you think journalism is about saying whatever people want to hear?” Her eyes narrowed. “I really thought that was your job. But I guess some people just can't stand being challenged.”

“Either way, I’d rather be a sensationalist than a populist.”

Robert couldn’t help but be a bit scared every time he opened his mouth to retort. Justifiably so - Irene had eyes of a blizzard and they stared him down more determined than ever after his last retaliation. Though he had briefly stunned her with his words, it was but a fleeting victory before her gaze had turned deadly, then calm. Reminding Robert of the calm before the storm. He could already sense the icy gust of her impending words.

Her ability to maintain her composure while delivering relentless jabs at Robert was nothing short of infuriating. Calling him ‘my dear’ as if he wasn’t the very opposite to her at this moment, and then accusing him of populism. How could she? Robert had been accused of this before, of course, but at his party with every important figure in his career around him? Was she trying to ruin his career too? Wasn’t she satisfied with sinking her own? If Irene wasn’t as composed as ever, Robert would have been sure she had gone mad. But instead, she was just being awful. He had always enjoyed her flair for the dramatics, but he had never been the subject of it.

Well. Two could play at that game, Irene.

Irene had barely finished her sentence before Robert gestured towards himself, saying: “And I’d rather be a populist than a mouthpiece for murderers.” Then, he did a little cheeky shrug, his palms turned towards the ceiling. “But hey, to each their own,” he added, while tilting his head and sending her a strained smile.

His hand reached for his champagne glass and he used that as an excuse to avert his gaze. “Luckily, I hear there’s a thriving market for supermarket tabloids,” he added, “They’d just eat up your style of journalism.”

He turned his head again, a smirk stretching across his lips. That must strike a nerve with her. “Perhaps you could even secure a prime spot next to the horoscopes,” he said while lifting the champagne glass to his lips, “Seems fitting, don't you think?”

The way Robert gestured to himself, barely waiting for her to finish talking before he retorted, told Irene that he was getting defensive. The corner of her lips tilted upward in a small, self-satisfied smile. He accused her of being a mouthpiece to murderers. A lofty claim coming from an insecure bitch.

But then the ice grew in her stomach the moment the words "supermarket tabloid" left his mouth. A savage part of her wanted nothing more than to tear him to pieces in front of the growing crowd. And that disgusting smirk on his lips. What a smug bastard. Her teeth clenched, but she had to keep her composure. This was civilized society, so they had to fight like civilized people, even though she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. She leveled him with a searing, cold glare.

“Didn’t pin you for an expert in the tabloid press,” she finally spoke, her voice sharp, a tight smile on her lips. “Though I suppose it makes sense, given your experience with pandering to the lowest common denominator. But I suppose it is a matter of opinion, as you so eloquently said yourself. And this has been a wonderful example of how everyone's got their own perspective,” she paused for dramatic effect. “But also how not everyone has one that’s worth listening to. So thanks for the talk. It’s been insightful.”

She straightened her back, reaching out and squeezing his arm in a friendly manner. “Either way – it’s getting late. Thanks for the wonderful party, you’ve been such a welcoming host. Really. You've got charms, Rob. I’ll give you that.”

With that, she turned to leave, adding over her shoulder: “But do be a dear and call me when you develop some actual class.”

She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder as she finally fully turned. The sound of heels clicking underneath her blended together with the music. Suddenly, it was very noticeable how the buzz of conversation around them had come to a standstill. As she left, her chin was held high and dignified, all too proud of the mess she was leaving Robert behind to smooth over.

If looks could kill, Robert would have been a dead man. On the spot, combusting under Irene’s glare. For just a second, Robert thought of how Irene did, in fact, have contacts with criminals. How she might be able to use that to her advantage if someone provoked her enough. No, that was silly. Irene wouldn’t go that far. Not when she could strike you with her own words instead.

And strike, she did. Her voice cut like shards of glass. The veil of civility and fixed smile didn’t cushion the verbal onslaught she leashed upon him. Making every word the last drop, and Robert could do nothing but stand there and take it. He tried interrupting her, his lips moving to do so, but she kept speaking, as smoothly and fatally as ever, leaving his mouth slightly open instead. He couldn’t hide his offense, his smile long gone, and he couldn’t hide how his eyes darted towards the crowd. People were unapologetically listening in on the conversation. Was anyone even dancing anymore? It seemed like Robert yet again was the center of the party. The spotlight burned like Irene’s searing eyes.

Irene ironically thanked him for the talk. “... You’re welcome,”  he croaked, as she reached out and squeezed his arm, his whole body as stiff as her smile.

When she turned to leave, Robert knew she wasn’t done. Still, he wasn’t prepared for her final blow, as she added over her shoulder, but do be a dear and call me when you develop some actual class.

Irene Ford. As marvelous as she was brutal. Robert could have been impressed if he didn’t feel like he'd just been run over by a freight train of words. It took all of his faltering strength, only his wounded pride bracing him, to lift up his champagne glass as a goodbye when she finally turned to leave for good.

Despite the lively music, the banquet hall was left in deafening silence. Nothing could be heard but Irene’s clicking heel and the echo of her last retort. Robert dared to look around, finding everyone staring at him. Doctor Roberts had even gotten out a notepad, eagerly scribbling something down. Crap, crap, crap.

His chest tightened and his suit suddenly felt too hot, like he was actually going to combust. Actually, that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen tonight, if he did. He took a giant sip of his drink, almost bottoming out the glass, and then, he raised it to the audience.

“Journalists, am I right?”  A chuckle left him, strained, but it seemed to do the work. Some of the guests laughed, the tension still there, but the spotlight cooled down. He raised his voice, putting on his charm as he jokingly gestured towards the inactive dancefloor. “Now, is this a funeral or a birthday party?”  he said, “Let’s get back to celebrating life, shall we?”

And get back to celebrating, they did. The music took over again, and people got back to dancing, drinking, chatting. Celebrating him. He joined them, his smile back on his lips, as natural as he felt.

However, before he did, he looked back at the panorama views. The starry night. The missed sunset. The mellow weight inside of him grew heavier.

31 years, huh? And what a life it was.