Diaspora: Chapter One: Eyebrows

EYEBROWS


EVENT: NYPD FUNDRAISER
LOCATION: CENTRAL PARK CONSERVATORY GARDEN
COMPANY: EXTRAVAGANT FEASTS


CALL-TIME: 4PM


Three-stack of rocks glasses in hand, Vladimir races across the tent practically flattening a small middle aged lady and flooring a couple pretty boy model caterers in the process. He's got no time for peripherals. The two hundred some-odd caterers around him are invisible.


This is set up, and Vlad knows if he's going to hold onto this job he'd better look useful and what better way of looking useful than carrying heavy crap from one side of the tent to the other. Heavy crap starts here. Heavy crap ends up there. Team Leader happy. Vladdy gets paid.


"That doesn't go here! Who put that there?! No wonder you temps get paid twelve dollars an hour!"


Vladdy's gone. Only Hector remains to take the blame.


"I am so sorry for that. Where would you like the rocks glasses to go?"


"Other side of the kitchen! This side is food prep!"


"OK sir! Not a problem!" Hector chirps politely, looking grotesque, his stocky frame withheld awkwardly in submission. You do what the Captain says when he works for Extravagant Feasts, especially when he's got blue eyes, even if he is only three years your senior.


Thirteen seconds later, the rocks glasses are on the other side of the kitchen and, as quickly as set-up began, two hours have gone by and the guests begin to arrive.


TIME: 6:03PM


New York City cops saunter in behind their bellies, pairs of glowing red lipstick lips float beside, above dresses; held by a hip here, a bosom there. A shiny brown head pokes out of a penguin suit, right arm steady with a tray of champagne flutes, left behind the back in standard catering posture.


Jack's gaze is calm, his smile direct and detached.


"St. Germain Prosecco cocktail?"


"Don't mind if I do," hands grab in the affirmative. Shoulders nudge. Cheeks flush. A few guests are quickly becoming a few hundred. The art of the innocuous is strong with this one. Minimal interaction. The tray is empty. Jack snakes his way back to the bar where Kelly is pouring the next dozen.


"They're thirsty tonight eh?" he beams as he whips the blonde from his eyes.


Jack smiles. They exchange a meaningful glance. A few yards away, a few pretty boy model caterers look on anxiously, apparently stuck behind a crowd of particularly rambunctious types, shaky trays neglected by the raucous laughs in their midst.


A man with thick eyebrows gazes beyond the crowd in amusement as he sips his vodka. A lean red-head with a pretty face coos in his ear. Contentment.


"Excuse me. If you could all take your seats, we'd like to begin the dinner portion of tonight's event. Thank you."


TIME: 7:10PM


Warm red streaks of light billow from the corners of the vast tent; then blue; then purple. The floral arrangements erupt from their tables like little volcanos as David Brubeck's sax moves the grey figures from seat to seat pouring red, then red, then red again, then white. What kind? Pinot Grigiot, since you ask.


"Armando!" comes a voice from behind.


The young Spaniard snaps out of his daydream to find a very disgruntled looking man staring him in the eye-sockets vengefully. The sleeve of his uniform was splattered with red wine, his glass filled to the brim.


"So sorry sir! So very very sorry!" his accent still audible beneath his years of international schooling and trips to America. Hector shot him an angry glance. He had hardly been afforded such luxuries in his own journey to Nueva York.


In the next couple of seconds, the younger Armando quickly dabbed up the spilt wine and continued around the table. No time to dwell on the little things. At twenty five, Armando could always see the forest from the trees.


"Good evening to you all. Throughout his two terms as Mayor of New York, he has shown nothing short of spectacular commitment to this city's prosperity and to the good men and women that keep it's streets safe, the men and women of the New York City Police Department."


Applause. A whistle. Jack and Kelley exchange a smirk. "Yea, tell that to the people in my neighborhood." The man with the thick eyebrows smiles two tables down as he sloshes the ice in his drink around.


"It is my humble honor to introduce, the man that has made so many proud to call this city their home, Mayor Albert Fineman!" the man's voice bellows like trumpets in a symphony, seeming to come not from his voicebox but from the bushes in the park; from the spaces between the ornamentation; from some deep artifice of privilege.


The words of the speech are absorbed in a hum of gravelly Italian men's voices and the teasing little Puerto Rican wives. Glasses clink, the wine keeps flowing, and a lull of self-satisfaction has descended over the party.


Beneath the drone, the deep steady thump of a kick drum rouses people from their table. The dance begins.


TIME: 10:31PM


Eyebrows number one gets up to dance. I will hereto refer to him as X. Vladimir watches him slither to the dance floor and remembers having seen X once before. At a bar. He was seventeen, his second year in New York since leaving Kiev.


His cousin Dmitri was sitting with him at a small round table drinking vodka. He had preferred red wine that night; a cheap glass of Cabernet. They spoke in Ukrainian with the occasional, "Cool man!" or "Fucking awesome!" to feel like they were really in America.


Vlad's pops was there too, sitting alone at the bar getting wasted. He had expected great things since he got off that plane. His brother, Ivan, Dmitri's father, had promised that they would start a business together and take the city by storm. What business, you ask? Well, that was hardly the point.


The point then and there was that they had been painting apartments for two years and Alexei could barely make due, while Ivan got treated to nice dinners and movie nights by his ever resourceful wife, Agafya.


Vlad didn't care much for school back then. He and Dmitri would spend their days getting drunk and chasing older women.


X does an easy little one two sidestep on his toes, shoes shined impeccably, looking oafish and carefree, the red-head from earlier under his spell, his accomplice in seduction.


Their dance draws looks from couples around them. Envy. Admiration.


Vlad remembers his father speaking with an old client of his at the bar, a stately-looking Polack from the neighborhood. The man looked proud and flustered, the kind of look one gets when he feels he's been cheated out of something.


The next thing he knew, the Polack had his hands around Alexei's throat and it was not until a sharp knee to the groin and a half empty vodka glass to the temple that the man let him be.


As the Polack stumbled away, blood and vodka dripping down his face, he happened to call someone over to help him. Mr. Eyebrows. X the dancer. Carried his poor bleeding buddy right out of the bar, like a child, draped over his back.


A few minutes later, Vlad's dad had left for home. And that was that.


Since then, Vlad had lived with Dmitri's family. Alexei was never seen again.


TIME: 12:45am


Now X had appeared out of the smog, just as Vlad has started to find himself through his current gig has a caterer. The man looked dapper, clean, and made, everything anyone in Vlad's position would reasonably want for himself. That was enough.


This should have ended at midnight.


Vlad carries a tray of empty glasses back to the kitchen now, moving fast, not letting his thoughts catch up with him. He drops off all the glasses in their proper crates but leaves two for some reason he hasn't figured out yet. He moves off his line of fellow penguins and lingers unnoticed.


To his left is a gallon of ammonia. Doesn't drinking even a few drops of that blind you for life? I don't know. Vlad apparently thnks so.


Next thing, he's back in the tent, en route to X's abandoned table. There it is. A half-full glass of Chardonnay. Chasing the hard stuff with class; of course. No more water on the table. He'd better be thirsty. A little ammonia will get him to bed tonight, Vlad thought.


It was done and he was back to bussing tables. Jack stopped his own round of bussing about twenty seconds earlier when he saw Vladimir roofying a man's drink. "Fucking kid."


X and the redhead were leaning up against the DJ booth chatting up the DJ. Jack took the roofied glass onto his tray, and replaced it with an empty one as he quickly glided away to the bar for a bottle of Chardonnay to fill it with.


"Workin hard?" Kelly laughed, whipping his blonde bangs again as he spoke.


"No time for that. Give me a bottle of Chardonnay," Jack quipped putting his tray down.


"Okaaaay buddyy. Take it easy alright?" Jack grilled him as he snatched the bottle from behind the bar.


X had already sat down and was looking perplexed. "My wine's gone now? Ha! Whoever wants to hurt me really knows my weakness!" Red-head fawned over him reassuringly.


"So sorry sir. Someone must have cleared your glass by mistake. Allow me to pour you another glass."


Eyebrows responded by raising one of them and smirking, face flush from a hard night's drinking. They maintained eye contact for an awkwardly long time, Jack focusing his gaze to complete the ritual.


"You know what? I think I'm ok after all. No more wine for me huh baby?" he chuckled, beaming at the girl beside him.


Jack briskly walked away but not before pausing long enough to overhear the man, whom he may have just saved from permanent blindness, say dismissively in a thick Russian accent, "You give them freedom and they choose to act like slaves. How can I want to drink after being confronted with such servile nature? I prefer to die than to accept service from such a man! Ptoo!"


A couple bussed tables later and the party was a wrap. Vladimir noticed that X had left the party seemingly unfazed and, on top of that, in pretty high spirits. Weird. Backpack strap over his right shoulder, he signed out with Hector and headed for the exit.


On his way, Jack bumped him as they passed, grilling him hard. "Watch yourself kid." Vlad turned his head and kept walking as a strange grin crept across his face.


END