Short Story Sunday: Faye

Faye held her clipboard to her chest and watched the revellers undulate on the dance floor. In her ear, Franco was muttering about another screw up in the kitchen. She smiled and delivered her usual advice: “Make it happen.”

Franco retorted, as always, “Faye, I cannot work like this.”

It was a routine they had rehearsed over the years. She was the calm one and Franco the diva. It was a system that worked and was what had made F&F Functions achieve success.

“Tell the chef to replace the crème fraîche with cream cheese, Frankie.”

“But that is the most cliché combination.”

“It’s canapés at a fragrance launch, darling, not the Embassy Ball. Besides, the way these dancers are going, I don’t think they’ll care what they eat as long as it tastes good.” The silence on his end confirmed her gut feeling. “You know I’m right, Frankie.”

“Yes, and for once I wish I was the one saying those words.” His microphone caught the first of his orders across the kitchen and she imagined his arms flailing.

“You look pleased with yourself.”

Faye strained her eyes at the man beside her. “Oh, god, yes, Mr Mitchell, sir.” She took a deep breath. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

“Call me Brian. These types of things are much of a muchness as far as I’m concerned.” He glanced at the Tag Heuer on his wrist. “I’d prefer to be home, with a glass of wine and a bowl of pasta.” He stared at the dance floor.

The music concealed her snort. This man had less than nine percent of fat on his body.

Faye’s earpiece crackled with Franco’s voice and she jumped.

“Cream cheese as requested. I hope you are happy.”

She gestured an apology at Brian and turned her back on him. “I am eternally grateful, Frankie. What’s the ETA on the canapés? I think we need to start counteracting the cocktails.”

“He’s there, isn’t he?”

“Frankie? Canapé ETA?”

“I know you, Faye. He’s there. And he’s hot, right?”

“Two minutes, you say? Good. Thanks, Frankie. I’m out.”

If she were alone, she knew she’d have told Franco something very different.

“Here they are.” Brian gestured at the waiters carting trays of bite-sized food around the dance floor. “Right on time.”

Faye hoped the disco lights would hide her colour.

“You look flushed.” One hand landed on her elbow and the other rested on the small of her back. “Let’s get you some fresh air. You’ve been working too hard.”

They wove between the tables that had been set for the banquet and stepped into the foyer. The absence of noise was a relief and Faye’s ears popped.

Brian summoned a waiter. “Ice water, please. And hurry.”

“Thank you, Mr Mitchell. I’m fine, I promise.”

The waiter materialised with a glass.

“Drink up, Faye.”

She knew it wasn’t a request. She felt like a five-year-old who’d scraped her knee on the playground and was now being made to drink sugar water for shock.

“Much better. You look your old self.” Her face must have given away her sentiments. “You know I don’t mean ‘old’ in that way.”

Franco’s quickstep filled the foyer. “Is everything all right, Faye, darling?”

She nodded.

“Mr Mitchell, you are needed backstage. You’re due in four minutes.”

It seemed Brian had no intention of letting her go. “Thank you, Franco. Might Miss Duncan escort me?”

“I’m afraid Faye is needed in the control room. Allow me.”

Faye cleared her throat. The icy water tickled her lungs and she feared she might cough. “Thank you again, Mr Mitchell, for rescuing me.” Her professionalism was back. “The control room, Frankie? Excuse me, please.”

The mirror in the lift confirmed what she’d feared. She was pink and her lips had swollen from the combination of the cold drink and desire. Teasing her fringe and smoothing her hair, she lamented the unflattering light and resolved to steer clear of Brian Mitchell. The lift doors opened and a waiter met her.

“Faye Duncan? Call for you.” He handed her a Smartphone.

“Hello?” She kept walking to the control room.

“It’s Brian. I wanted to thank you for your exemplary work this evening. I’m due on stage in about 45 seconds and I wanted to check whether you’d meet me for a drink at eleven. I’ll be in the foyer.”

“I don’t think so. You’re technically still my boss.” She opened the door and waved at the AV crew.

“Only until ten-thirty. After that, I used to be your boss.”

Through the control room windows, she saw the emcee invite the audience to take their seats in the arena.

“Say yes, Faye.”

The emcee cracked a joke and the audience tittered.

“One drink is all I ask.”

The AV team kerfuffled around her, trying to locate the file with the intro material about the fragrance launch.

“Make mine a gin and tonic.” She ended the call and tossed the phone onto the desk.

Brian smiled. He’d have to remember to give the emcee a bonus; he was outdoing himself with a boring launch and a tipsy audience. He glanced at the Tag Heuer again. Eleven o'clock couldn't come soon enough. He'd been dreaming of the moment when he’d finally get to sink his teeth into the tendons of Faye’s neck and taste her blood.