Social Suicide
The Afterparty
"So who's relative are you?" Came a voice from her left. She was partially shocked and turned to see if this person was actually talking to her. She put on a smug look when she saw who the speaker was.
His black hair covering his eyes and a red tie draped over his shoulder. His eyes peaked through his black mess and she saw him gazing in her direction. She confirmed silently that he must be talking to her, but just to be sure she just glanced and turned away. He would repeat what he said if he wanted to talk to her.
"Forget it." It wasn't the choice of words she was expecting to hear from him. She turned in her chair and settled her head into her hand and leaned onto the bar. She didn't want to miss a conversation with this guy. He was still in the same position he was in when she looked at him before, but he was looking at the bartender rather than her.
"Excuse me?" She finally asked. He turned to her and smiled just enough to crease his eyes.
"You heard what I said."
She sat up straight while she looked at him and quirked her eyebrows a bit in confusion.
"It's just most people here seem to be connected to someone in a way."
"Finally, someone who doesn't know who I am. And a male at that." She replied, ending with a small laugh.
He looked her up and down and shook his head as he shrugged.
She sighed and felt a little embarrassed.
"Maybe it's because I have clothes on."
"What?" His expression changed to one in shock. He choked a bit as he was taking a sip of his newly ordered drink.
She laughed, realizing what her comment must have sounded like.
"No, no. I model bathing suits. And when you are in a bathing suit you don't usually wear clothes to cover up the money."
She noticed his eyes travel up and down her body. Most men repeat that action when she mentions she is a model. He was no different. Usually most people can't picture her as a model. She wears baggy jeans and sweatshirts; but tonight was a special occasion: the Grammy's, and she was wearing a simple black dress.
"So if I don't know who you are, do you know who I am?" He asked, surprisingly with no cockiness in his voice. She silently threw away that one stereotype she had of him.
She bit her lip and debated whether telling him she would be an idiot if she didn't know who he was. She didn't listen to his music, but who would not recognize him. Her agent would scold her if she noticed her biting her lip. It was a habit she was trying to break.
"What is it they call you," she started, "King of Punk Rock? The man all the little girls drool over these days and kiss their pillow at night. I'm surprised you didn't know who I was, Billie Joe Armstrong."
He expression changed to anger after my statement.
"It's Tre who knows and is interested in models, not me."
'What a dick' I thought to myself. He continued as he looked around the room and seemed to be growing bored with her already.
"I usually know all the important information."
I wanted to smack him after that. I gave him a dirty look and he just stared at my slightly amused.
"You aren't going to go all bitchy supermodel on me are you?" I stood up and rested my hands on my hips.
"Excuse me?" I was becoming outraged. He began to dig himself an even bigger hole.
"You know," he laughed "Throw a fit and I'll call your agent."
She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving her drink on the bar. She didn't want to cause a scene. She tried to ignore the laughter she could hear coming from him.
His black hair covering his eyes and a red tie draped over his shoulder. His eyes peaked through his black mess and she saw him gazing in her direction. She confirmed silently that he must be talking to her, but just to be sure she just glanced and turned away. He would repeat what he said if he wanted to talk to her.
"Forget it." It wasn't the choice of words she was expecting to hear from him. She turned in her chair and settled her head into her hand and leaned onto the bar. She didn't want to miss a conversation with this guy. He was still in the same position he was in when she looked at him before, but he was looking at the bartender rather than her.
"Excuse me?" She finally asked. He turned to her and smiled just enough to crease his eyes.
"You heard what I said."
She sat up straight while she looked at him and quirked her eyebrows a bit in confusion.
"It's just most people here seem to be connected to someone in a way."
"Finally, someone who doesn't know who I am. And a male at that." She replied, ending with a small laugh.
He looked her up and down and shook his head as he shrugged.
She sighed and felt a little embarrassed.
"Maybe it's because I have clothes on."
"What?" His expression changed to one in shock. He choked a bit as he was taking a sip of his newly ordered drink.
She laughed, realizing what her comment must have sounded like.
"No, no. I model bathing suits. And when you are in a bathing suit you don't usually wear clothes to cover up the money."
She noticed his eyes travel up and down her body. Most men repeat that action when she mentions she is a model. He was no different. Usually most people can't picture her as a model. She wears baggy jeans and sweatshirts; but tonight was a special occasion: the Grammy's, and she was wearing a simple black dress.
"So if I don't know who you are, do you know who I am?" He asked, surprisingly with no cockiness in his voice. She silently threw away that one stereotype she had of him.
She bit her lip and debated whether telling him she would be an idiot if she didn't know who he was. She didn't listen to his music, but who would not recognize him. Her agent would scold her if she noticed her biting her lip. It was a habit she was trying to break.
"What is it they call you," she started, "King of Punk Rock? The man all the little girls drool over these days and kiss their pillow at night. I'm surprised you didn't know who I was, Billie Joe Armstrong."
He expression changed to anger after my statement.
"It's Tre who knows and is interested in models, not me."
'What a dick' I thought to myself. He continued as he looked around the room and seemed to be growing bored with her already.
"I usually know all the important information."
I wanted to smack him after that. I gave him a dirty look and he just stared at my slightly amused.
"You aren't going to go all bitchy supermodel on me are you?" I stood up and rested my hands on my hips.
"Excuse me?" I was becoming outraged. He began to dig himself an even bigger hole.
"You know," he laughed "Throw a fit and I'll call your agent."
She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving her drink on the bar. She didn't want to cause a scene. She tried to ignore the laughter she could hear coming from him.