No Strings Attached

I’ve always been the type of girl afraid of falling in love. I mean, what will happen if the guy I love leaves me? Then, I would be left all alone looking like I couldn’t keep a guy satisfied. So, basically it’s been just me, my violin, lots of Mexican food, and my best friend Regina Alex Biolage. Ok, so she plays the flute, is an amazingly talented singer, speaks mainly only when spoken to, and lives in her books, but she’s still a pretty great friend even though we have nothing at all in common. She’s always been there for me also. Like, just the other day, I locked myself out of our suite at the Julliard student dorms. I didn’t even have to call her, but somehow, she was there in like five minutes to help me out. Trust me, this isn’t the first time she’s lent me a helping hand either. Frequently, I get lost in my sheet music. Gina’s the one who breaks me out of my orchestra-outfit-clad shell. The girl is amazing with clothes and makeup too! For a party at her parents’ house last weekend, we traveled to their home in the Hampton’s, and well let’s just say the party began on quite an unexpected note………..

 

 

 

‘Are you positive I look good Reg?” I asked skeptically. She had given me a morning makeover. My hair was now a soft subtle shade of honey instead of its usual dull mousy dirty blonde, and it was twisted up on top of my head in a casual disarray of curls. A metallic coral colored headband kept the stylish updo from falling flat against my made-up face. I had cheek-bones for goodness sake! I guess bronzer really was the new blush. My hazel shade eyes were lined in deep copper eyeliner; surrounding the lid was a dusting of ivory eye shadow. On my lips was a light cherry gloss. My teeth were freshly brushed, bleached, and blended to a perfect white. I was sucking on a sour lifesaver nervously. Was my white empire-waisted sheath dress too eggshell for the famous Biolage Glaceau Vitamin Water white party? Were my shoes teetering on the edge of stripper high? Well, they were a towering five inch spike stiletto. With those goddess-like pumps, my height was a perfect 5″9″ and my legs looked taut and feline.
“Chill. God, Kane relax. This party isn’t even that huge.’ Regina chastised. She often corrected me; however we had been living together since we were kids together at The Greenwich House for Budding Musicians and Talented Vocalists, a.k.a.  Greenwich House or GH. I suppose we were the prodigies; see, my parents, Oriella, my mom, and Warren, my sometimes father, decided that I had a talent for plucking the strings of my father’s old Kiso Suzuki violin when I was the ripe old age of three years of old. Regina’s parents on the other hand, were begged to enroll their child at GH. Apparently, they were “beautiful people” back in the 60’s and having their love child at the school would be great PR. Anyway, we were both simultaneously attending the school and all the while growing up. Basically, there were no real classes; the school didn’t have a grade system. So, we didn’t learn any math skills till sophomore year. Thankfully, we are both certifiable geniuses so we picked up the material pretty quickly. I guess we were (and still are) a little bit socially challenged.

 

“Kane, darling, you know how much I seriously hate it when you zone out on me. Dear Lord, girl, it’s as if your mind is a sieve. Anyhow, we’re here.’ Regina was using her critically remarked “walk away. I’m pissed. Leave me alone” tone of voice. Literally, she had been written up in the Times for using that voice on a reporter trying to hit on her. She stood up out of the Benz and straightened her Buddy Holly Civic Lubbock Inc. scarlet red framed glasses. Dear Reg looked so much better without those heinously expensive spectacles, but oh god forbid she be without them. They were Gina’s constant companions; she even wore them when she slept. The flawless Asian-American gal had her thick raven black hair in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. Freshwater black pearls were strung around her neck; a titanium-zinc white pencil skirt fell to the top of her svelte calves gracefully; a sleeveless turtleneck sweater matched her skin tone in its ivory tone; and a pair of deep cadimum red Christian Louboutons wrapped her ankles with thin ribbons tying into a perfect bow at her mid calf. Regina was absolutely the image of grace and poise as she walked into her childhood home. God, she silently prayed, please don’t let Archer and his posse be here. Amen. Her slightly older step-brother was absolutely the bane of her existence and she was positively sure that he would fall head over heels for her dearest friend Kane Vassalia Yves, because what is an archer without a bowman, or woman in this particular case, after all.

 

 

 

 

Kane walked into the pristine buttermilk colored home. Ha-ha, she thought mercilessly, the house doesn’t match the theme. Almost every single piece of Russian suede furniture was a creamy shade of freshly milked…. well, milk. The only pops of color in the entire building were: the shutters outside (a warm blushing apricot), the fireplace’s mantel (the marble was a crisp slate toned with a few dashes of bright Habanera pepper-colored red bits of ruby), and the kitchen cabinets (the hardwood was a brilliant mahogany and the handles were a vintage taupe brushed copper.) Kane’s dorm room suite was exploding with color. Everywhere there were brightly toned magentas and shockingly hued Azorean blues. Her pillows were pieces of fringed leather in a wild elderberry color. Honestly, she couldn’t understand how a house could be so lacking in warmth and pigments.

 

“Ahh, I see our guest of honor has arrived,” Ms. Biolage remarked jubilantly as Kane entered the foyer. A long sleek belgian cream colored silk gown flowed from her toned shoulders all the way down to her bare-foot feet. The only drop of color on her androgenous body was located on her long toe nails. There on those perfectly shaped feet, it was rumored that she had had had them reconstructed back in the golden days when she was a Jimmy Choo model, perched a vibrant marigold. She may have grown up, but her heart still was in the 60’s, as was her wardrobe. Around her suberbly elogated head was a thick shining headband. The gold was inticately worked into an exemplar design reminsce of a flowing stream of twenty carat goldtoned water. The beautiful Asian woman had immaculately high cheekbones and flawless almond shaped coal black eyes. Both of these traits had been passed down to her daughter.

 

 

“Oh, well, thanks but I can’t honestly be the most important person here,’ Kane replied. Everyone in the room noticed her flustered attitude; she had clearly never been to any party of this caliber before. However, her appearance made up for the fact that she was so green.  

“Darling, don’t be so modest! A scholarship to Julliard, playing with the New York Phil Harmonic when you were only 16, and living with my daughter and not committing suicide nor homicide, well those are all amazing feats!” Ms. Thu (Autumn) Eliana Matrix Biolage raved. Every action she preformed was loud and confident. Kane caught a glimpse of Regina cringing behind her mother.  She heard steps coming from behind her. Quickly, Kane turned to see who it was, but she was a little to late and smacked head first into a much sculpted chest. Whoa, I got to see who this guy is, she thought, and definitely let him know that I’m single!

 

God, Regina mused furiously to herself, he walks in and already she’s under his spell. She couldn’t stop herself from stealing a glance across the foyer where Kane was gazing lovingly into Archer’s dark hazelnut shaded eyes. A deep incomprehensible pain seemed to radiate from those dusky eyes. Girls and women alike were instantaneously drawn to him because he had a certain gens se qua, a special air about him that caused accidents on the streets, literally, because people turned their heads around in their seats to look at him. The accident he had caused in the foyer, for instance, was nothing new to the womanizer. Although Archer may have looked like he was constantly being nagged by an ever persistent pain, Regina knew of no such event that could have ever harmed the young man. She suspected that her sharp step brother was just acting, that his “pain” was simply a ruse to draw in unknowing females. Mr. Biolage, Regina’s father, entered the the mansion through the French doors that led out to the massive back yard. His hair was wet and tangled, as if he had just meandered out of a steamy shower, but the older man’s full head of lush hair still looked like it had in his prime: thick, blonde, luscious, and straight from the set of a Pantene commercial.

“Where’s my fille?” Talon Theophile Tristan Thoussaint Biolage bellowed with an inquiring gaze and an alluring French accent as he entered the house. Mr. Biolage often inserted French phrases into his speech; he was one hundred percent French and often claimed that he only spoke English in consideration of the others around him.

 ”Dad! It’s wonderful to see you!” Regina dashed across the lilliputian space between the foyer and the kitchen in seconds as she sprinted towards her beloved father. Although she did not have a close relationship with her mother, Regina and Talon couldn’t have been more continguous. She absolutely adored everything about her fifty-four year old father; from his hair-brightly highlighted from the sun-, to his clean cut Romain Kremer wardrobe (the new robe length, frosted pomegranate,thick ,1000-count Egyptian cotton jackets were to die for), even down to his habit of leaving little warm cognac hairs shaved from his chin in the porcelin lacquered sink. Regina saw her father as everything she wanted in a man for herself.

‘Ooph! My darling you become more lovely every time I see you!” he gushed as he ran his eyes over the length of her toned body. Regina acted as if she were posing in front of a camera and she pouted her lips in a voluptuous way. Her father laughed out a clear high sound long and piercing like the French bells of the church in his hometown of Bordeaux.

“Dad make him stop.” Regina complained as she heard the same laugh her father had echoe from in the foyer. Evidently, Kane was much more funny than Regina had ever believed so.

“Oh, my dear girl, he is only flirting! Why in my day……” Mr. Biolage began to ramble on about his young years in France.

“Ok, ok I don’t need to hear another story of how you slept with so many women, you filthy womanizer! He can flirt all he wants, but he can’t lead Kane on. She’s very sensitive.” Regina defended her concerns for her closest friend.

“Fine my dear. We shall call him over here then!ARCHER!!!! COME HERE THIS INSTANT!”"” Mr. Biolage roared across the large house.

 

 

God, what does the old man now? Archer though pessimistically as he bid Kane farewell. His thick frosty colored leather Gucci bowling shoes clanked with reverbeating thuds. In a few short steps with those nettlesome wing-tips Archer knew that he was aggrivating his scriptulous step-sister; she hated anything that made superfluous noise. His smooth coffee hazel eyes flashed with malicious mischief.

“Yes, Father?” Archer asked innoncently. “What is it that you want from me on this belle jour?”

“Oh, c’est bonne attemot avec le francais! Nice try, but you can’t win me over as easily as you do those poor unsuspecting girls,” the patriarch of the Biolage family said in awe. Talon was constantly praising his elder son with compliments and presents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

No Comments Yet »

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a comment

XHTML: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <pre> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

Blog at WordPress.com. | Theme: Pool by Borja Fernandez.
Entries and comments feeds.