C1 The Blueberries
"Let's have some fun tonight." Carol, my high school friend and my roommate speaks on call.
"What's the occasion?" I hear myself asking.
She sighs, "It's weekend, Sanaya."
"You're right. I need a break too." I muse.
She is asking me to hang out at some posh night club. She has the passes. I knew she won't take no for an answer. Whole week she blabbered about this club that how swanky that place is. I'm not curious, though. I agree to go there to freshen up my brains.
Tossing my phone on my bed, I rush towards bathroom with my clothes. I change into short silk top with ankle-length, skin-tight pants. The top has some diamonds around the neckline. My attire is not posh like that place because I'm not a fashion person plus I don't have enough budget to buy pretty dresses for special occasions.
I have kept few pairs for nights like today and normally I put them on without much grieving about my collection.
I used to have complexes about my sense of style when I looked around other students in my high school, but I got over it with time. It's just a matter of priorities. I have different priorities like saving money, working hard, focusing on my grades and all. Looking good comes after all these.
Carol has been out the entire day with her peers and I remained busy with my jobs. I sit on the backless seat, placed in front of my dresser and start doing my hair. The color of my hair is coal black; long, slightly wavy, black hair that compliments my ivory skin tone and oval-shaped face. Moving brush all through my locks, I settle them on my back and begin my makeup.
I use excessive concealer to hide the darkness under my eyes. It's the outcome of working over-time and not getting enough sleep. Since my dark brown eyes are big and prominent, the dark circles become prominent too.
People at my school say, my eyes have a charm to fascinate people and they are my best facial feature. They show my feelings. I don't know if it is true or not, but I do have thick, long lashes, make my eyes look bigger and more noticable than my any other facial feature.
Once I'm done with my makeup, I finally tint my full lips with soft, creamy pink lipstick. I wear my heels, grab my phone and then leave my dorm room.
With the help of Uber driver, I reach to the address fifteen minutes later. Using my pass, I walk straight inside. Songs are playing in the background and thankfully, the volume is not so high. Contrary to my expectations, the place is not crowded. I'm grateful. Dance floor is not packed either.
I spot Carol, surrounded by some of our classmates. They are at the bar. I decide I'll first let her know about my presence, then relax myself through dancing and some good food. I walk to her.
"Hey." I say aloud.
Carol turns to me, "Ah. You're here." She smiles.
Other classmates also greet me separately. I greet them back. They are more casual to Carol than me because I do not socialize much. I call myself introvert. I can't do friendships. I can't do parties. I don't get time.
I'm a scholarship student and I have a certain GPA to maintain, plus I have to feed myself and earn money for my college. With this hectic lifestyle, you can't risk diverting your focus.
"Let me tell you a secret about this place." Carol separates herself from her friends and comes to me.
"What?" I get confused.
She leans to my ear, "This club is for elite class, New York's filthy rich men come here. Maybe you would meet your rich prince tonight."
My confusion deepens, "Why would a rich man fall for me? World is full of beauties."
Gazing around, I observe that she is saying right. I didn't notice before that crowd here looks sophisticated. Most men are in suits and women in voguish dresses. Their demeanor is indeed expressing their wealthiness, that they are the offspring of elite families.
What I'm doing here, especially in those cheap clothes?
"You're hot too." She scrutinizes my appearance.
I roll my eyes, "Yeah, right."
She gets annoyed, "Sanaya, why are you so unromantic?"
"I'm not unromantic. I'm just being realistic."
No family name, no home of my own. Dude, I grew up in an orphanage. I should be realistic and do not fool myself with cliches and fairy tale stuff.
No rich guy would fall for me. I don't have such fantasies.
'At least think for a minute." She persists.
"If you've called me here to find a suitor for myself then I'm getting out of here. I've a job interview tomorrow."
"Job interview? But, why? You do have a job already."
"I have resigned from Bella Boutique. This time I'm going to try something big." I say thoughtfully.
She lifts her brows, "And why is that?"
"Those jobs are not paying enough. I'm going to try something new now. I've applied for the house cook for the Hobsons and my interview is scheduled tomorrow."
My high school is about to end and I need to apply for college this year or else I would have to wait for another whole year. The orphanage where I grew up, would not support me forever. They helped me get a scholarship for my school, but now I'm on my own.
When I turned eighteen, they asked me to move out because they wanted space for new kids. Besides, it's their policy that they would only feed kids till they turn eighteen.
"What? Hobsons? That's what you said, right?" Her lips part in astonishment.
"Oh my God. Do you know they are among the top five billionaires of the New York City and ranked eighth among the top ten richest families in America last year?"
"I know that, Carol. Please don't increase my anxiety. I'm already very nervous. If I would get a job there all my money problems would be solved."
This is the way I can think of right now if I want to apply for college this year. College degree is important to me if I want to solve my problems and for this I have to work hard right now to enjoy the fruit later. Working for the affluent family can help me earn more money in a short period of time. Those cafes, restaurants and clothing shops offer pennies. I can't rely on them.
"Hmm." She purses her lips and nods, "Good luck."
"Thanks. I'm around." I say to her and then leave her with her friends.
I begin walking, lost in my own thoughts. Now remembering tomorrow's interview is making me nervous and restless. I shouldn't be here. I should be preparing for tomorrow's interview.
My hopes are not very high about the job because I have no professional experience in cooking. I'm just trying my luck.
Cooking is the first skill I learnt at my foster home. I had prepared food for the teachers and volunteers there and the feedback was always more than I expected. At the orphanage, they teach us some skills so that we can feed ourselves through them in our adult life. This is the reason I know cooking. I also know recepies from other international cuisines besides American.
If these Hobsons would just accept me then I'll-
All of a sudden, I bump into something hard, yet warm. It pushes me back, disrupts my thought process too. And then after a millisecond, I feel something icy on my belly. That chilly-feeling forces my eyes to look down where I notice a large, reddish stain on my blouse, making patterns till my pants.
My eyes widen in full circles. Someone has spilled drink on my silk top. I tuck my locks behind my ears from both sides and begin rubbing my hands against the fabric, getting panic. I don't know why I did that. Stain can't be removed through rubbing instead my hands becomes gluey.
Great. Just Great!
I mutter under breath in annoyance.
This piece of cloth is now ruined for life. I can no more wear it again. My top is wasted.
"I'm sorry, really sorry." A soft, yet panicky mannish voice pulls me out of my moment of grief. I draw my brows together and look up.
The creases between my brows quickly disappear as soon as I glance at the owner of the voice. I get astonished.
Geez! He is handsome...
My lips part involuntarily. In three piece, dark, formal tux, the young man in front of me looks debonair and mesmeric. Brunette hair are perfectly combed back, favoring me to get a full view of his bright face. He is fair, but not too fair, more of peachy skin tone. His six ft. long height and virile physique trigger my female hormones and I find myself drooling over him.
He is standing two steps away from me, but still I'm smelling his strong musk perfume. He knows how to get girls' attention.
"I didn't see...you coming." He says nervously, rubbing his temple.
His eye color is similar to blueberries. Guilt is flashing in them. They are studying my face, waiting for my outburst.
I am angry indeed that my top is stained because of him, but I'm unable to snap at him. I'm feeling inferior in his presence. His skin is more glowing than mine. His perfume is stronger than mine. I'm looking so plain, so ordinary as compared to his sophisticated outer personality.
"Um..." I feel lost.
He knits his brows in confusion. I touch the tendril of my hair, pressing my lips together. His gaze falls onto the stain then he grimaces.
My wet, sticky fabric is giving me chills every time it touches my bare skin underneath. I'm hating that.
"I..." He scratches the side of his head, avoiding my eyes, "I can't remove the blemish, but I can compensate for it."
The blue shade of his eyes is so unique and fascinating that I can't stop myself from admiring them.
I frown in confusion. Did I say that out loud?
His quizzical face gives me the answer.
Die, Sanaya. Just go and die.
I compose myself and clear my throat, "Actually, I just remembered that I ordered a blueberry cocktail from the bar."
My cheeks burn in embarrassment.
I see his lips stretch into small, formal smile as he looks at the bar behind me for a second, "Okay."
"I should go and get it." Yes, run.
"No, please wait a second." He gestures his palm in front of me and calls the nearby waiter.
Waiter comes to him. He gives him the empty glass and takes few napkins from him. After that, waiter walks away and he again turns to me.
"Take these. It might help." He offers me those napkins.
I accept them and begin rubbing them against my wasted fabric. Now the white napkins has changed into crimson.
"Is it your first time here?"
I look up, "Yes."
Everything about him screams money. Carol's words cross my mind that rich people comes here. Black shiny loafers, expensive, smooth tux, classy wrist watch are expressing their top-class brand. He looks older than me, maybe few years older, but still it's not stopping me from staring him like a horny teenager.
Wait. I'm a teenager, but not horny. But right now I'm feeling like one. He is freaking alluring and hot...
"That's why I've never seen you here before." He muses, "But anyways, I think I've spoiled your night out. I'm sorry once again."
I clutch the napkins in my hands, trying to behave normally, "It's okay. I was also walking blindly and besides, you didn't do it on purpose." I fake politeness.
Of course, my night is spoiled. Now, I have to go home straight away.
A warm smile spreads on his face, "Thank you so much for understanding."
Unconsciously my lips also twist into a tiny smile after seeing his contagious smile. But, soon it fades when I see him walks past me.
That's it? He didn't even ask my name.
I suppressed my anger for him and that's what I got in return?
I wouldn't have mind few more minutes with him. I pout as I feel disappointed. Jerking my head at my stupid thoughts, I saunter towards the restroom.
He didn't find me attractive for sure or he would've at least asked my name. I should stop listening to people at school who say my eyes fascinate people because I just proved this theory false.