“My fingers hurt. No really – like the actual knuckles. It’s so weird …” she babbled on as she wiggled each finger a few inches from the end of Jared Leto’s nose. He looked at her hands, not because he was interested at all but simply because they were in his face. He had nothing to say. Her nails are brightly colored, long and pointy. Her skin thin but not entirely wrinkled. She doesn’t have the hands of pianist or a painter. These hands don’t know hard work. Or any work for that matter. How does she even wipe her ass with spears at her fingertips? Jared pushed her hands back from his face with annoyance. Sucks for her that her knuckles ache but what the fuck did she want from him?
Goddamn this party is deader than dead.
“Maybe you should tell your doctor.” Jared suggested.
“Oh. I have.”
“Ok, then…” Jared gestured for her to fill in the blank in his sentence but she didn’t take the bait, he was forced to continue “So he told you….that you have nothing to worry about?” he guessed.
“Some kind of inflammation.”
“Ah. Take an anti-inflammatory and you’ll be good as new.” Jared sipped his glass of water and looked around the rest of the mostly empty room. Jared and his dull companion were early birds at an after party that followed the premiere of his movie The Girl in the Shower. He thought about going home and changing before heading here but the theater was right across the street … it made sense to show his face and then dip early instead of arrive late and dip early. He misjudged. And now not only was he wearing the same uncomfortable outfit as at the premiere when he is sure the rest of the cast is getting restyled, he was now stuck with the same vapid twit he sat with in the theater. His assistants were no where to be found. It was just him and Miss Sore Knuckles sitting idle on an uncomfortable couch.
The DJ was warming up an empty dance floor. Light show and all. Glowing drinks were being walked around and occasionally a flash would go off inside one of the photo booths along the back walls. It reminded him somewhat of the twenty minutes of prom. Or at least John Hughes’ vision of prom. Jared couldn’t remember if he went to his. He did go to a dance in 7th or 8th grade though. Who could forget jumping around like an idiot to Mony Mony. Yeah, ride the pony. He kind of smiled. Then he counted heads. 26 people were mulling about in a room with a capacity of 500.
Jared’s companion invited a faceless person to join them on the couch where they were sitting. He said hello but nothing more. The two girls – ladies – went into full gossip mode and Jared could feel his ears start to bleed. He stood up and stretched his back before telling his date he was going to mingle. She hardly looked up.
“Method is cool. But there’s something fresh about just diving in head first without a safety net.” the new chick was saying as he walked away.
Jared rolled his eyes. So ‘cool.’ Ack.
Jared was looking for his publicist, or the back door or a get away car when he ran in to a pudgy girl who was leaning heavily against a wall, her back pressed against the paint, one shoe on the trim. He ran her face through a rolodex in his mind, assuming she was an assistant or maybe some indie magazine reporter. Nothing clicked. He didn’t know her name. She smiled up at him and then turned her eyes back to her phone. He couldn’t tell what she was viewing, she has the same privacy screen as his (glad to know it really does work), but whatever it was she was enthralled. Twitter perhaps? Not snapchat – no sound. Facebook is doubtful. Or maybe…
Her nonchalance in a room filling with A listers and their entourages suggested that she’s part of the whole scene somehow but he had no idea how. Maybe she belonged to the hotel? Doubtful with so many tattoos visible. No lanyard usually meant she was higher up anyway. Wearing all black – maybe she is an assistant. Assistant to someone huge. She could get away with the tattoos and the extra weight if she’s behind the scenes and preapproved.
Jared started to feel like an asshole repeatedly noticing her weight. Something about her confidence sucked his right out of him. He’s been standing in front of this girl for half a minute and he’s already dissecting her and affected by her. Demoting her to behind the curtain because she’s a little thick in the middle. Maybe she has a thyroid issue. She is quite pretty. Has that Betty Page vibe without the bangs. Thick not fat. He’s not a chubby chaser, he prefers the opposite, but he had to admit this girl is cute. If anyone were to ask him, which no one is, he’d say she was a classic beauty. Better yet, he’d totally hit it.
She hardly seems aware that he is still standing in front of her. Why is he thinking about her in such a fucked up way? She doesn’t want you, he told himself. He has to do something about that immediately.
“Some party…” Jared whines.
She looks up from her phone “Party?” she laughs “Where?”
Jared laughs too. “Not here … um… Do you know what time it is?”
“I think it is 11:30.” she offers then she looks down at her phone again “11:42”
“Eighteen minutes until I turn in to a pumpkin.” Jared jokes uncomfortably.
She smiles and her teeth, god love her, are perfectly straight, alined by the Gods (and maybe an orthodontist or two) and as white as cotton. “Me too.” she says and then she waves a hand and whispers “Good night.” before sneaking out the back door Jared was so desperate to find earlier.