With a playful raise of his eyebrows, Marco’s reaction to Dejay’s playful yet calmer energy gave him some sort of enjoyment to come out of his mouth. Maybe it was due to his presence or his sense to make some sort of comeback. Marco gleefully played back at his reply, alluding to the whole book allegory in a literal sense: “That’s what they call a filler, Dejay. You usually don’t add that in your book if you don’t want your audience to steer unto another author’s contents.”
Dejay’s comment did give Marco a laugh, as the compliments did stray away from his dig on certain men who play dressy by picking the queerest men with the most laughable execution. With amusement, he continued on with his ruse, “Thank you for the compliment. Though I was going for Miss Piggy, who skinned Animal, but in sequins.” Though comparing both men who dressed bodaciously, Marco added a bit of tidbit on his opinions of their styles: “Trust me when I say this: Elton John in the 70s was swoon worthy for the furs, glasses, and glitter. Liberace… is a talented pianist.”
With his flirtatious comments, Marco had nothing but a blush on his face. There was such girlish enthusiasm with the stroke of words he uttered that Marco had nothing but intrigue laced in his eyes. Coming closer to Dejay with a soft voice, he relayed, “Color me intrigued. With all these coy interactions, I’m starting to feel sweaty in these garments. Care to scandalize, add to another rolodex of those stories?” Pulling back, his eyes shifted unto the intricately placed plates with timid eyes as to withdraw his previous comment. “Of course, I’m not here to ruin someone’s life today. I’m here to fatten myself, be a size 7, and really push myself off the fashion industry.”
With his chivalrous kiss at his hand and the wink and smile Dejay gave to Marco, a blush simply wasn’t enough to display such flattered emotion. With the clink of the champagne glass, Marco felt as though a laugh had come out of his mouth. In his head, it felt as though it were loud, and he felt slightly embarrassed to think he had gained some attention by being too much on a calm evening. His laugh was fine, despite his consciousness saying so, but he had to keep some form of reservedness to avoid looking loose to others.
His emotion did run to a sour turn once Emiliano rang around the lips of every vowel he spat. Marco felt as though there was a bit of suspicion about what had happened to both of them. His eyes went shaky as soon as he saw the crease of his brow forming. He was probably curious, and yet Marco knew his agreements and kept a reserved face to hide any form of suspicion. But he still had a notion of annoyance toward Emiliano and his sudden appearance, especially. Masking his beating heart, he placed on a put as to appear mostly irked to play on his workaholic side, “Stuffing words into my mouth, I see? I did not say anything about being close. I’m more pissed at clients who necessarily don’t inform me about their whereabouts and just leave me out of the open to—” Marco coughed. Something to stop him from saying anything as his emotions would run. In a silent manner, he drank another round of champagne as to clear his throat, continuing as to what he had said for clarification: “Excuse my tone; normally celebrities who have such high standing get on my nerves to care more about their legacies and forget every single person who makes them look… presentable.”
With that, he returned to a presentable smile. With convenience, he felt as though his phone vibrated as he looked before excusing to turn the other side. In that opportunity, he had time to scroll down to look at past conversations. Further turning the other cheek to hide any content, he looked at the history and murmured to himself, “How dare he, leaving me on read. If he wanted quits, he should’ve… It’s fine. It’s fine.”
With Dejay’s efforts to shift the mood, it seems as though the good-ol’-fashioned conversation about food would calm his nerves. As with his story and his amused state flushing away past frustrations like an ocean, did he notice some form of invitation to hang out and connect for a while? With a light chuckle, he leaned in closer to tease Dejay for a bit. “I love a quaint invitation; just make sure to schedule what we’ll do instead of inviting me to watch a movie and chill. Do a picnic, hire a dancer, invite him for extra sensitivity, and aftercare.” As he went back to straighten his posture, he chipperly thought of a meal that Dejay could try out and see what his hands could make in such a dish: “Make sure to make Saltimbocca for me. I’ll make sure to inform my ancestors that you’re new to this, so they won’t curse on you and me.”
And when he thought the night would have been bad, the thought of Dejay asking for tips from Julius on fashion shook him to the core when he lightly took back his comments after a worthy contemplation of such fashions. With fear set in his eyes, he lightly touched his shoulders as Marco’s head voluntarily shook from the words that spewed out of Dejay’s mouth: “Oh, please don’t. Take the advice from me. You may be a bodyguard, but your clothing should suggest a formidable presence. That includes suaveness in your suits, down to the tailoring and detail.”
Naturally, Marco understands that wearing a suit may feel uncomfortable. And with the numerous comments on its lack of comfortability, he wonders if tailoring is a dying art or if it is just polyester, abundant in fashion. Whatever it was, he had to clear out the air of such ridiculousness in such statements, primarily to spite Emilio’s view on suits: “Men say suits are boring because they don’t know how to style them and burden themselves with a sea of monochromatic masculinity. Add a flower, give your vests patterns, experiment with the suit’s silhouette, accessorize your cufflinks, or add or toss essentials! Any variety, really. I’m not wearing a button-up and tie just because I know this is an event where water would go on my face.” Crossing his arms, he took a breather as he looked at Dejay with a look that he would give to his clients when a change of style was needed. “Yes, yes, and for an event out in the sea, I would’ve ditched the tie and made the button-up loose. It’s all to 'match the event’. I know you hide crazy gadgets here and there, but it is my job to make people look good and work around their situations.”
Hearing that Dejay was well did release any guilt on conversations falling all on him, and yet his ears rang another comment on him enjoying Marco’s company. With a playful snark, he noted, “You like the company or the invitation that goes after? No judgement; we’ve talked about the limits of my service, but I am still human so…” Marco paused as his look softened, reminding himself to make it about Dejay and not him. Still keeping up the playful ruse, albeit much softer, he continued, “But… do keep yourself safe. Don’t let the work get to you; you won’t be an efficient bodyguard if I see you limping around the lanai.”
“If you limp, make sure it’s with a strong man. God gives a good image of you using an ice pack after furious jumping,” Marco joked. He couldn’t miss the opportunity that was right in front of him.
Excited to tell what has happened to him, Marco responded, "Oh yes, I went back to New York to converse with my old boss. Talking about a new opportunity for some influencers who’ll pay good in the next New York Fashion Week. Who knows, next time it’d be Milan, Paris, or London. " His smile did fade once going to his recent activity, “Here in Beverly Shore, same old. I’ve had the usual clients here and there, but not enough to make me worthy of styling a red carpet look.” Taking a sip from his drink, he would then contemplate if the direction of his work would mean his rise or doom. There was fear, yet he couldn’t show it to Dejay, not to him. With a musing wonder plastered onto the fear beneath, he uttered, “II don’t know, man, I was told there’d be good opportunities here yet my boutique is still doing okay. I want more than okay; maybe then I’d be worthy of opening a fashion house in France. If only Marco Marco was still an original name.”
With both the boil and appetizers served, after tasting some of its appetizers, Marco naturally took a piece of the boil, eating it as he judged its taste. It was okay. Lightly nudging Dejay, he proclaimed, “I sense as though the boil was seasoned to taste. Not enough for my taste, but good enough to stuff me through the night. Although… I am interested if you are still open to that quaint invitation of you serving me food. A midnight snack, perhaps? I am craving some creamy chicken Alfredo.” Marco winked, moving on to some of the appetizers for another small bite.
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