Chapter 13 (III) PARTY

                                    

                                          
⩔ Ava ⩔
Someone covered my eyes with their hands. I recognized Bo immediately.
"It's the girl who loves her fancy coffee," I giggled.
Bo laughed and hugged me. A photographer rushed over, showering Bo with compliments. She struck a pose, her arm around my waist. I probably blinked just as he snapped the picture, but I stayed silent.
"You look absolutely stunning. I can't wait to take that dress off you later," she whispered in my ear.
I blushed, hoping no one overheard.
"How was your ride here?"
"Perfect! You look incredible."
"My team helped me. I should've had them come to help you with your makeup today. I'll introduce you to them."
Did she not like how maman and I dressed me up, I wondered.
"Oh, excuse me for a moment," she said, waving enthusiastically at someone. "I'll be right back. Mingle, have fun."
She dashed off in her little red dress, her waterfall of jet-black hair cascading over her shoulders.
Sure, mingle and have fun. I didn't know anyone here. I declined the wine offered by the waiters and found a bottle of expensive water in a blue glass bottle — it was one of many in a silver ice bucket with lights.
From my corner, I observed everything. It felt like I had walked into the Kardashians show or a high-end teen drama series. Everyone was filming themselves for social media, some doing live streams. Many women, with their exaggerated features and filler-inflated lips, looked like identical Bratz dolls, snapping selfies nonstop. 
One bumped into me with her elbow, not even apologizing, giving me a look like I was the one at fault. Her lips were so swollen it seemed like she had forgotten to tell her plastic surgeon to stop, resulting in a fold in the middle of her bottom lip that resembled a bookmark between two buns. If I saw her again, I probably wouldn't recognize her; she looked like one of those beauty vloggers who aim to please men. No self-respecting lesbian would let her girlfriend do that to her face. 
I had a friend, she was older than I, who wasted ten years on her gaslighting wife. The red flags were there early on, but we lesbians are known for trusting our partners completely. Her awful wife never noticed any new hairstyle, outfit, or even remembered her birthdays. That diva spent too much time with her gay male friends (just like straight women do), then started visiting plastic surgeons for tweaks here and there. My friend accepted it all like a fool, only to discover her toxic wife was sleeping around with men while using my friend for financial stability. I wonder if I would notice if someone did that to me — used me.
Feeling down in my corner, I regretted blowing off Libby's stupid interview. I should have been honest with her from the start. It would be great to have her here now instead of standing like a perfect wallflower.
I saw Bo returning and smiled, but she ran past me without even a glance.
The situation was really starting to get to me. On one hand, I understood this was a big night for Bo and she was busy. On the other hand, I was her woman, and this was our first public event together.
Lost in my thoughts, I hardly noticed what was happening around me. A few photographers snapped my picture, but realizing I was a nobody, they quickly moved on.
"Good evening, we haven't been introduced," said a tall guy with white hair, perfectly groomed eyebrows, and a gangster-chic look. A colorful entourage of what seemed like his followers or fans fluttered around him like little chirping parrots.