A Baby of Convenience

The room was lit up like the fourth of July. Neal was aware that he was being watched, but he was used to this sort of thing. People may look at him a little more than was comfortable, but they walked right up to George and started conversations. That was what Neal really wanted to avoid. He veered expertly through the growing crowd, the flashing lights from the crystal chandeliers were already starting to give him a headache.

He would have liked to spend these parties with his brother so that they could walk around together, laughing at what people wore and passing jokes between them to pass the time. That was just a childish dream he had nursed since the first time he had been called upon to attend one of these events.

He had never once spent a business party with his brother. George attracted too much attention as the president of the company and Neal hated small talk. What was worse than the small talk was when people started talking business. They assumed that being a member of the board and the elusive second Hargrove brother, he would be as intimately involved in the co

mpany’s business dealings as George was. He had to stand there, with a knowing expression on his face and nod along as though he understood what they were saying.

Apart from the other board members, Neal knew few others at these parties. He felt more comfortable talking to the waiters than he did to the guests. He saw George some distance away, a champagne glass in hand, looking particularly debonair in his tuxedo. A small group of men and women, who seemed to be hanging on his every word, surrounded him.

Neal sidled behind one of the large Doric columns of the ballroom, and watched the open floor. He was always amazed at how people twice his age could look at George with so much respect. He knew that their respect was justified. George had been only twenty-six when their father died, leaving him to run a huge company. He had a lot of help from the board, particularly Cliff Stanley, but he had risen to the challenge with a perseverance and a determination that was not common among very many men in their twenties.

George sacrificed the remainder of his twenties to keeping the business successful. The company was forefront in his mind and anything else was relegated to the back. Neal knew that he would never have had the courage to do what George had accomplished.

He was too selfish and too unfocused to ever pick a project and stick to it. He pondered at the differences between himself and his brother. They were so different in personality and character, but you could never tell from looking at them. They were so similar; even as young boys, they might have been mistaken for twins had it not been for the obvious age difference that separated them.

Both were tall and lean, both had hazel eyes and strawberry blonde hair. They shared the same square jaw, thick eyebrows and thin upper lip. A few differences set the two brothers apart. George’s nose was straight, while Neal’s nose was slightly crooked in the middle – a result of his first and last sports injury. George, at six feet, was an inch taller than his younger brother, who was constantly aware of that missing inch, and while George liked to keep a neat layer of stubble hiding his jaw line, Neal preferred to be clean-shaven.

Neal leaned back on the pillar he stood behind, his head resting against it, wondering how long it would take for this night to be finished. He fidgeted with the lapels of his expertly tailored Armani suit, and cast observing glances at the wait staff.

He was disappointed to find that they were mostly men. The few waitresses he did glimpse were stony faced and morose. He moved out from behind the pillar and walked along the sidelines, picking at the passing hors d’oeuvres on the circular trays that the waiters carried. A few people caught his eye and smiled but he gave them cursory nods and moved past without stopping.

He moved slowly into the center of the room, where a large and dramatic sculpture stood. He had actually attended the board meeting in which this event had been planned, and Neal remembered now that there had been some discussion about a sculpture. It had been Cliff Stanley’s idea. He had always been one for unnecessarily grandiose gestures.

The sculpture was of a beautiful, athletic young man standing in a dramatic pose, his clothes emblazoned with the Hargrove Brothers logo. Neal had to suppress a laugh while looking at it. It was so overdone, so obvious. He couldn’t believe his brother had signed off on this, but then again, Neal realized, George often passed the lesser decisions on to other board members, given how much work he had to juggle himself. Neal felt a tiny stab of guilt for being as distant as he was from the running of the company, but he had no real interest in business, and he wasn’t about to force it.

Neal was about to wander off in another direction, when he noticed a pretty young woman standing opposite him, looking up at the statue. She wore a wine red slip dress and black pumps with a sensible heel. Her skin was a dark mahogany brown, the color of honey and chocolate all mixed up together. Her hair was black and curly, and it fell down to her bare shoulders.

Neal could tell from where he stood that her eyes were a warm brown shade. She had focused them on the statue with an appraising expression, and she did not seem to be aware of his gaze on her. Neal was not shy when it came to women. He usually saw what he liked and he went for it, without reservations. He was not looking for anything serious and that meant there was no emotion tied to his conquests.

If a woman liked him, he spent a fun night with her, with the understanding that they would part ways amicably the next day. If she turned him down, he would walk away without any bruise to his ego. This philosophy had worked for Neal over the years. He had his fair share of flings and it suited his lifestyle perfectly.

This woman was no different. Neal approached her with single-minded purpose. She didn’t seem to notice him despite his close proximity. He noticed her gorgeous figure beneath the red material and raised his eyebrows with interest.

“You like the statue?” he asked conversationally, shifting his gaze and looking up at it, instead of her.

She gave a start of surprise.

“Oh…” she looked at him and back at the sculpture, “… it’s alright, I guess. Nothing to write home about. I probably won’t remember it tomorrow.”

Neal nodded, trying to pretend he was interested.

“No… you’ll probably remember all of the overdressed people and the blinding chandeliers.”

She smiled politely, but Neal could tell that his attempts did not impress her. Jumping straight to the point, he turned towards her and gave her his most winning smile.

“I’m Neal,” he said putting his hand forward.

She hesitated only briefly. “I’m Elena.”

“Do you want to maybe cut out early and get some real food?”

His directness seemed to take her by surprise, but she nodded and moved in the direction of the exit. Gratified by her response, he followed her. Then he remembered his brother and stopped her for a moment.

“I need to let my brother know that I’m leaving,” he told her.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Elena told him.

Neal watched her retreating figure appreciatively for a moment and then went in search of his brother. He found him at last on the other side of the ballroom, with a fresh crop of people, all dressed to the nines and smelling of money. Neal caught George’s attention and motioned him forward, so that he could avoid suffering through pointless introductions. He saw George’s eye roll, but he watched as his brother extricated himself from the conversation and moved towards him.