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There was always a certain entertainment in the antics of Dejay and his actions from the day they met. True enough, it was once formal until they properly knew each other; he could never really be mad at Dejay and the way he would apologize for all those certain embarrassments. If only a blush were in Marco’s inventory, he could even make his embarrassment a feature in his face. Naturally, he had nothing to say but a girlish giggle at his statement and apology. He had given him time to at least regain that certain suave energy he needs, but Marco certainly doesn’t mind both, and with his lighter tone reappearing, he grinned, “You’re a good book in my eyes, cover and content.” With a subtle wink and sparkle, he assumed his position and lightly drank from the glass of champagne.
In usual fashion, he played along with his foolishness as he walked around the fence, acting as coquettishly subtle as possible. Avoiding too much contact with him, Marco played around with his fingers, as if fidgeting with a glove from his hands as if they were there. With a calmer tone, he matched his subtleness by saying, “Charmed. Usually men don’t wear sequins from head to toe unless they want to look comically bad for a role. Not my fault Elton John and Liberace are their main inspiration; these actors don’t even value and understand their camp.” As if enticing for a catch, Marco got closer as he whispered with a pretend girlish attitude, as if telling gossip from one another, “Isn’t this the part where you kiss my hand and I’d swoon like crazy?” With a deeper voice, he lingered on with his act, “If only I had the power to ask for your number again and again, now that’s a load of charming stories I could tell at numerous parties.”
As if nothing had ever happened, he returned to his usual seating as he took another sip with satisfaction. With a cheeky smile, he shrugged, “With anonymity, of course.”
With the tone being as different as the introduction, he expected the atmosphere to go down dry as soon as a topic of his would be discussed, like a casual talk about the weather. As expected, he got nothing out of Dejay about Emilio. Naturally, even their closest friends won’t know their inner turmoil. He was curious. Simply curious. He had met a different man a few years ago, and now word comes of his reappearance, like an artist with a rebranding in music. Keeping his tone light, despite his face already creasing, he went back to talking about his career. “Interesting. I haven’t had contact with him in a while, and he’s starting to bother me by postponing meetings to continue the f^cking portfolio. Honestly, I’m a busy man and am out here making a living as well.” Keeping face with the decision on keeping his sunny disposition, he gave a crooked smile with a tone slightly reeking of a demand: “Tell Mr. Golden Boy, a certain seamstress is looking for another fitting and needs to finish it pronto. He’ll know who said it.”
To his surprise, Dejay also had a trick on his sleeve to scurry the conversation into another, as Marco was left dumbfounded by his comment. Looking at the seafood boil, he had nothing to do but laugh alongside his chuckles. A playful roll in his eyes began to direct into Dejay’s direction as he voiced out his opinions on seafood. “Ugh, and I hope the next time the seafood here will be well seasoned.” Going closer to Dejay, he had an anecdote on his last experience as he chuckled on the predicament, “Did you know, I ordered lobster thermidor in a chic restaurant and tasted nothing but raw sea. I couldn’t even finish the meal, and it cost me a fortune.” With a bewildered face, he nudged him as he continued on with his story, “They’re lucky they know how to make risotto, or my ancestors would’ve come down and slapped me for eating an abomination of a dish.”
With the boil served to the table, Marco patiently awaited another set of appetizers as he looked in Dejay’s direction once more. How weird. He claims to be a stylist and has not yet taken pleasure in making comments on one’s fashion. Looking up and down and seeing a plain suit, he did nothing but pucker his lips and sit back in his chair properly. As he was about to grab a piece, he halted and made a comment on his seatmate’s outfit: “You look… acceptable today. I don’t really blame you, however, since you know. Bodyguard. You could loosen up the collar since you look like a five-year-old on Sunday service.” With clean hands, he pulled his collar so as to give it a looser look, feeling the crisp collar of the shirt. Starched, as expected from a respectable man. After fixing his suit, he sat back and continued, “Does Emilio have a strict dress code in a bodyguard’s suit? If so, I’m going to say a few words about workplace freedom. Have you seen Beyoncé’s bodyguard? Woof, that’s a man who knows his body.” Thinking for a moment, however, he had thought that ‘no, not all of the outfits Julius wore were a good choice.’ With a sour look on his face, he gave a friendly smile as a way of apology for his rough comments, “Well, we’re not all blessed with a good fashion day. I would exempt Beyoncé, but she wore that crusty microbang.”
With the appetizers finally served, he grabbed a few of the cheese sticks and beef skewers on his plate. There was a certain guilt, however, feeling as though he had spoken too much with little to no breathing space for Dejay. In a valiant effort to know about his day, he gave him a nervous smile as he wondered the best way to speak about him and only him: “Gosh, I made it all about me that I haven’t even asked a lick about you! How are you doing, Dejay? All well?”
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@Kristi | Dejay
