Fresher than Ever (Mason)

[JENNA GRAY]

((so I kind of reused-ish an old post from a thread a while ago that died. I hope that's okay ^_^))

She stepped from the limousine, the heel of her right shoe clicking against the sidewalk. “Thanks Joe,” she said nonchalantly as she rummaged through her handbag, dislodging a thick roll of quarters and flicking it expertly through the driver’s window. “See you at five thirty.” She allowed her chauffer a small smile as he saluted, pulling away from the curb and into the blurry mess of movement that was New York City traffic. Jenna took a deep, haggard breath, feeling the familiar twinge of pain jabbing her vehemently across her chest.

She was blessed with about two seconds of cool evening air, the aroma of gourmet delicacies and street carts selling late dinners laced with the stench of the city streets. Then the paparazzi pounced. Jenna’s sight was clouded with camera upon camera, blinding lights flashing hostilely in every corner of her vision. Don’t photograph me, she thought, wrestling back the torrents of tears that were pushing to spring to her eyes. I’m hideous. I’m hideous. I’m hideous.

Then came the voices, as they always did. “What are your plans for the club tonight, Miss Gray?” “Got any special guests tonight, Miss Ward?” “When’s closing tonight, Miss Gray?” “What’s this we hear about a renovation, Miss Gray?”

Jenna steadily made her way across the sidewalk to the door of her club, pasting a smile on her face until her lips throbbed almost as violently as her chest. She made clever, witty, and poignant remarks to even the most vapid of questions, winking and nodding and nudging until she felt nauseous. “Just a normal night, sweetheart. We’ve got Rick Johnson and the Pepper Corns in the lineup for tonight, with Optimal Orange dropping in around one tomorrow, and a special surprise on Sunday, dear. I can’t disclose the details now, but know that we’ll certainly be upscaling some aspects of our look in the near future, honey.” Why do you crowd me? I am disgusting. I am disgusting.

She twinkled her fingers in a princessy wave as she stepped through the glass revolving door and into the 40/40 Club. She accelerated her gait, strolling briskly through the marble lobby, nodding approvingly at the various attendants busily setting up for the night. She reached the bouncer on the far end with the remnants of a smile still sending pulses of pain through her face. Pain. She was going to be drowning in it for the next eleven hours. “Evening, Zeke. Slow tonight?”

“You’re just in time, Miss Gray.”[/b] Zeke blushed a bright shade of pink, shuffling to the side to allow her to enter. “Things are heating up in there.”[/b]

“Please, call me Jenna,” laughed her voice. Please, call me Jay, said zir mind. Jenna smiled, dipping her head politely as she entered the club.

The crowd was decent, if not the largest that the 40/40 had ever housed. The members milled throughout the floor, clinking glasses and chattering politely. Jenna knew that this sophisticated atmosphere would not last long by any standards. Still, it was nice to enjoy the hour or so before the music and the guests turned raucous. Jenna moved forward into the room, knowing that she should mingle.

But first, a drink.

She made her way to the bar, slipping elegantly between guests, waving and exchanging greetings while keeping her eyes on the bartender. She was a new hire, and Jenna needed to observe her technique. Also, she was awfully thirsty.

“Tutankhamen please, Linda,” she said, pulling herself onto one of the stools. She kept a close eye on Linda’s hands, her technique as she drew the glass smoothly towards the tap. She had about twelve bartenders lined up for this job, and she knew that Linda knew this too. She’d have to see how the girl acted under pressure.

[MASON HOWARD]

If given the opportunity and willpower, Mason would have quite liked to just drown himself in a drink. Literally. Then again, maybe it wasn’t willpower that was necessary for such things—just stupidity and even more alcohol in one’s system. It couldn’t be that difficult. Just drink until you passed out, and be sure to fall smack in the middle of your glass. Bam! Death by sin. Sweet, bitter, drunken death by distilled potatoes. Vengeance via Vodka. Maybe then Mallory’d be happy—if he just up and drowned himself in booze. And even if she wasn’t, at least it’d mean he wouldn’t have to think about her anymore. Unless doing so was his punishment in Hell.

Perhaps he was being a bit overdramatic. Maybe the one shot he’d already had was getting to him. Now wouldn’t that have been pathetic ? A college-aged boy, tipsy off one lousy shot of Vodka. Jason would probably have a field day with that one. No, he was just being outrageous. What he needed, what he really needed, was something to take his mind off things. Or—more specifically—someone to take his mind off it all. He could call the girl from the cocktail party; in fact, he’d even considered it, until he’d reminded himself that it’d been her to cause this whole fucked-up issue with Mallory, anyway. So she was out. He could have gone to a frat party and picked up any number of the girls his age bound to be there on a night like this. But that involved sloppiness. Mason didn’t do sloppiness. He liked his ends tied neatly and tucked away safely, thank you very much.

So, naturally, he’d been left with only one option: a club. Or, more specifically, the 40/40 club. There hadn’t been a time they’d not let him in back when he was underage (being rich enough to afford good IDs had helped, of course), and only twice had he ever been discovered. He always came back here in the few months that he’d been able to do so legally, almost as a tribute to their unknown generosity when he’d been underage. Still, everything looked far less appealing now it wasn’t forbidden.

…Everything except that bartender, that was. Linda, her name was; they’d been talking for a solid ten minutes between her mixing drinks, and Mason thought it was fairly safe to say she found him just as endearing as most did. In short, brining her home would take little more than a snap of his fingers, if that was what he wanted. Mason was still deciding if it was.

The dilemma of extra bed space quickly fizzled out, however, as he found the stool next to him being taken by a woman infinitely more attractive than dear Linda could ever dream of being. Truth be told, this new bar-mate might have given Mallory a run for her money….no. That was blasphemy. 40/40 was his chapel, and he was not about to allow thoughts and images of Mallory to pollute his time of worship. So instead he turned to the girl—woman, she was clearly a woman—almost positive he’d seen her before but unsure quite where, and offered her a small smile. Small, but exceedingly genuine. Mason was good at that, faking real smiles. Faking real everything.

Before he allowed himself time to dwell on his various acting talents, however, he tipped his head back and downed his Jägermeister, unable to keep from shaking his head slightly as he set the glass back on the counter.
“You know, I bet if you stared at her any harder, that glass could actually shatter,” Mason spoke absentmindedly to the blonde, inclining his head towards Linda as she mixed up the woman’s drink. A bit of a rude way to start conversation, perhaps, but Mason wasn’t always good at faking pleasantries. One of his few faults.

[JENNA GRAY]

Jenna watched as Linda scurried around, grasping the glass, hefting the lid of the tap, drawing a thermometer in to observe the temperature. Jenna nodded almost imperceptibly. Her technique was good, though her mannerisms certainly left much to be desired. As she fumbled with the faucet, Jenna could practically read the stress in her face: her cheeks were flushed with pink and her hair drifted before her eyes, caked with sweat. Jenna drummed her fingers upon the countertop, feigning impatience, though she really couldn’t have been in less of a hurry. Her eyes drifted from the woman’s fingers to her quivering lips as she slid the drink to Jenna’s waiting hand. “There y’are, Miss. “

”Thank you, Linda.” Jenna mentally added her to the “maybe” list, hoping that perhaps tomorrow night would turn a more impressive showing. And if all else failed, there was always the rigorous orientation session that the older girls ran every Sunday or so. Jenna had to restrain a small chuckle. The bartenders who’d been given the classic “maid’s makeover” always brought bigger tips. And with the new face to her fashion line, this had been something of a year of plenty.

The chuckle sent a stab of pain through her chest. Jenna gritted her teeth to suppress the gasp, fluttering her eyelids to shove back the tears. Today had been worse than usual. Jay had been nagging at her gut from the minute she’d opened her eyes this morning, and her utter shame from the awareness of her legs, her armpits, her curves, the two abominations sprouting from above her heart, had been almost too much for her to bear. She’d felt the weight pressing on all sides as she’d strolled down the city sidewalks curtly dismissing the paparazzi, arranged several business deals, and donned her plastic nails and blue eyeshadow for the night. This wasn’t a day to change things. Routine was what she needed, ease, comfort, a night free of anomalies and other things that provoked disphoria and Jay inside her.

“You know, I bet if you stared at her any harder, that glass could actually shatter.”

Ah, the younger male. The demographic of human beings who thought that female bartenders were actually attracted to them. Jenna felt Jay’s cynicism and tried her best to channel it into her staple endearing and implicative grin. As false as dentures. And that was the name of the game at the top of the heap, wasn’t it? ”Would that I had such powers.” She laughed carelessly, clenching her fists beneath the bar as the waves of pain washed over her torso. ”Maybe I’d be able to hire capable bartenders for a change.” She glanced at Linda on the other end of the bar, who was clumsily sloshing another drink onto the countertop. Jenna made a mental note of the incident.

”And anyway,” she added, making a show of casual interaction while keeping a close eye on Linda’s fingers as they tucked a fifty dollar bill beneath the folds of her shirt. ”I might ask the same of you. The way you’ve been hitting it off, one might think you’d found your soulmate.” Another small and girlish laugh. A feminine gesture that made Jenna want to hurl herself through the fourth story window of her office. But suicide was hardly on Jay’s agenda for the night.

[MASON HOWARD]

He could have called her beautiful, but even that would have been crude. She was stunning. Gorgeous. Angelic, even, were he in the mood to go that far in description. This woman with her naggingly-familiar face and iridescent blue eyes was other-worldy, and he really didn’t think it was just the alcohol talking. Thankfully it wasn’t, really, because it would have been a shame, slurring in front of someone like this.

Unable to help but agree with her, Mason shrugged, a glace towards Linda warranting a small smirk. It took him a second, but her words reached him soon enough. “Wait, did you say—?” he paused and shook his head. If she’d really meant it—that she owned the place, that she was the one everyone always talked about—well, chances were she didn’t want it brought up in everyday conversation. At least, not if he wasn’t speaking strictly for business purposes. And he wasn’t. Technically speaking.

All thoughts of club-owning aside, Mason too turned to watch Linda, if only for half of the time this mystery woman did. His eyes had found other places to linger, much more toned and infinitely tanner. A small smile crossed his lips at her jab, followed by a chuckle. She was good, he had to admit that. Observant. Then again, that was probably her job, if she was who she said she was. Which Mason wasn’t quite sure he believed. Still, to imagine—say, escorting home—someone of that caliber. Well, there were certainly easier ways to make Mallory’s skin crawl, but none which would be quite so satisfying. Not that he wanted anything to do with Mallory’s jealousy. Nothing at all.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far just yet,” he offered, charm seeping through his very pores. Jesus, she was beautiful. What would it feel like, he thought momentarily, to—no. None of that. They were talking, that was it. Flirting, perhaps, but it was just talk. Neither of them were nearly drunk enough for that.

“Nice girl and all, but…not quite my type, I’ve come to realize.” he shrugged. “There’s more interesting conversation elsewhere.”

[JENNA GRAY]

For some reason, no matter how hard she tried, Jenna couldn’t stop her thoughts from going anywhere but Elle Fairchild. Even as she pulled her Blackberry from her pocket to scan a text from the CEO of Goldman Sachs concerning a possible marketing investment, Jenna’s mind faded back from the crux of reality to Elle Fairchild’s face, warm, passive, observant. There was something about that woman that appealed to Jenna more than any other face at the moment, something she couldn’t quite place a finger on, but that was definitely and without a doubt there.

And this man, around her age, if a bit younger, wasn’t so different from her, was she? Jenna could definitely see a similarity in their faces. Maybe it was the way…

No, she was being silly. She was grasping at straws where there weren’t straws to grasp. She and Elle had just had a very interesting conversation. That was all. Right?

“Wait, did you say—?”

”Jenna Gray. At your service.” Jenna smiled airily, stretching out a hand to shake. She held her corporate persona about her as she conversed: something about him gave off a privileged air. He certainly wasn’t one of the “college kid” crowd that often frequented the 40/40 on Fridays and Saturdays, though he could easily have been the age.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far just yet.”

There it was, that Elle Fairchild vibe again. Just that small something…but no. Elle Fairchild was nothing to Jenna. She had to be. They’d only talked, a single conversation and nothing more. Jenna was still as free and open as she had ever been. As if to assert this fact, she grinned at Linda. ”A Utopia for this fellow, please,” she ordered, gesturing. ”Oh, I didn’t even catch the name.”

“Nice girl and all, but…not quite my type, I’ve come to realize.” he shrugged. “There’s more interesting conversation elsewhere.”

”Is there?” Jenna twirled a lock of hair around her finger, a gesture that was revolting to Jay, but certainly gave off the casual air she’d calculated that this situation called for. ”I’d hope so.” She left the remark dangling in the air, wondering how this young man would respond. It was the kind of ambiguous reply that Jay always loved.