What a boring day. Another sketch of his idea was once again crumpled by his expectation of making a form of statement to one of his clients. The task was quite simple with the orientation that he had managed, and yet, his motivation and creativity were at his wit’s end. Feeling a sharp pain from the back of his neck, Marco took a halt on his project and went on to his journal to find a suitable time to go back and continue this project with a fresh mind. As he finished writing, he took a good look at his drawing room and saw bottles of brandy and crumpled paper scattered among the wooden floors. Picking up the mess he had made, a recollection came into his mind of the Thanksgiving Yacht Party that would take place tonight. At this age, he found himself secluded in his home, managing his boutique, and went out to parties a few times to meet with the neighbors. With a craving to go out and enjoy his 30s, he finally declared to himself that he would finally go out and be the person he was back in New York.
At an event that focused on a yacht, Marco sketched a plan for what he would wear to gain attention. Of course, he had to note: the invitation’s note on the color scheme, the environment, the weight and texture, and a suit that fits this’surrounded by the ocean’ vibe. He had a perfect suit for it, custom-made when he was invited to a New Year’s event, lucrative enough so as not to be noticed that it was reused. Searching in his closet, he pulled out each zipper to peek at the contents until he finally found what he was looking for: a nice bedazzled red suit with a shine that was as luminous and smooth as spilt red wine. Marco debated whether or not he would wear a blouse, but soon decided to go bear as he would be in a place where a pool and an ocean surround him. Jewelry was kept simple to give attention to the suit, along with pushing his hair back to give a cleaner, lean look in an otherwise baggy silhouette. With a touch of red makeup, a spritz of perfume, and a nice red shoe, he watched the local news as he planned to arrive at the yacht ‘fashionably late’.
With enough time in his hands, he went for a quick stop in a place where he would get the borrowed jewelry a friend had borrowed for an event. Before leaving, however, a tall man with hair as wild as a lion’s mane came upon him face-to-face. The man did introduce himself, delighted to see a friendly and handsome presence. After his introduction, Marco gave a subtle smile and said, “Marco Manzo. Stylist. Pleased to meet you.” With a swift hand, he pulled out a calling card to give to Blake, signaling a possible client in his hands.
Arriving just slightly late enough for the guests to arrive, his arrival gave a bit of attention to the paparazzies with his outfits. Pictures and some smaller interviews happened as he knew that his status couldn’t be compared to the celebrities, as much as he wished to get that kind of recognition, and so he went on to the yacht at lightning speed. In the casual background of other guests conversing and making some form of connection, Marco trolled along the yacht to bask in the view and look at some of the choices the stars and the scene had made for this event. Hearing some dramas and escapades is common in a room full of personalities, yet his eyes were focused on the clothing and what it entails about their tastes. Some were deserving of a nod, while there were others that did nothing but pucker his lips through the choices and basicness. And they say stylists are quite useless, yet here they are, lightly mumbling on his lips as he felt that he had perused enough.
After window shopping on the hottest and coldest fashions of Beverly Shore, a drink from one of the waiters was enough to quench his thirst as he basked in the view of the ocean. Nearby, he saw Emilio on the side as his grand entrance caused some form of commotion in the crowd. Of course, the golden boy himself would go around and make an ostentatious act. Such is the life of a celebrity. His heart took a beat when Marco finally saw his face, and yet, there was something he could not get out of his chest. A burning sensation. He had to talk to him; he really had to. Going to a vicinity somewhat near his presence, he noticed another familiar face. Dejay.
Sitting next to him, he had hoped that he would notice him by chance, as Marco knows that he has a certain type of energy that attracts and stays. Nothing. With his presence not acknowledged, he went on to clear his throat so as to circle Dejay back to reality. Still, no effect. Marco, slightly irritated, wondered who he was so transfixed by, only to look in the direction of Emilio. Of course, he is his bodyguard, after all. Bothered by the lack of attention from a good friend of his, he lightly flipped his fork so as to shock Dejay out of his trance. Finally, he did take action. Upon wiping the fork, both eyes met, with one having a face of realization on who he had given the fork to: “Thank you, such a gentleman. If only men are as courteous as you are.”
That playful tone in his throat was reinvigorated by the sight of him. A charming smile came upon Marco as he lightly teased Dejay in a coquettish manner. “Seems like we don’t know each other, eh? I’d be the first one to tell you that I’m Marco. What’s yours, handsome?" Letting out a laugh, he took a sip from his drink as he wondered something from the looks of Dejay when he was in pilot mode. Still keeping up that playful tone, Marco noted, “t seems like you were in pilot mode back there. Anything to look out for? Is it… him?” He continued on as he cleared his throat, “Is he… doing alright? Something’s fishy, and it’s not the ocean.”
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