Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 39

"I need a drink."

Harry mumbles to himself as he slides tiredly onto a barstool, his hand moving languidly over his face before his elbows prop his chin up on the bar. His feet hurt, his back aches, and his jaw is sore from forcing so many smiles.

For the last several hours, Eleanor dragged him around the party, making conversation with every single person here — forcing him to listen to trite chats about the last thing they bought at Sotheby's or their latest yacht purchase. When the conversation finally shifted to him and Eleanor, it was always about the wedding. What flowers did they choose? Who was catering? Did Eleanor find her dress? The few questions that actually pertained to him had more to do with his artists and their careers than they did his own, which was so utterly depressing that it made him want to scream.

He stares at the wooden bar forlornly, jumping when a glass of bourbon and ginger slides into view. He looks up curiously to see the bartender from his restaurant, smiling in relief at her. She gives him a knowing smile before working her way down the bar to take care of the other guests.

"This is some party, man..."

Harry turns to see Nick slide onto the barstool next to him. His tie is already loosened around his neck, and he looks tired — and Harry can instantly tell that something is bothering his best friend. It's then that he realizes he hasn't seen Nick once during his rounds with his fiancé.

"You ok, man?" Harry asks, taking a sip of his drink. He sighs, licking his lips — and it's just what the doctor ordered. Nothing like a little liquor and his best friend to brighten the lull spot of his evening.

"Yeah..." Nick trails, waving to the bartender and pointing to Harry's drink to order the same. "Candy called me as soon as we got here," he rolls his eyes, "...crying."

Harry's brow furrows as he takes another sip. "Why?"

"Well," Nick pauses, thanking the bartender for the drink in front of him. "I dunno, man. She's upset now because she didn't come with me. Something about being mean to me?" He sighs. "I dunno, man. She was just freaking out, and I was just trying to calm her down."

"That sucks, bro..." Harry pats him on the back, although there's a small part of him that is jealous. He wished Eleanor would apologize for being mean to him, just once in his life. But then again, Nick and Candy are in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. He and Eleanor are engaged. Apples and oranges, as they say. "Maybe you could —"

"Harry, darling..."

Harry cringes and freezes instantly as the high cultured voice of his soon-to-be mother-in-law assaults his eardrums. He turns to find an older version of his fiancé, tall and lithe with her white blonde hair pulled back into an elegant twist. Her eyes were blue, but not quite as bright as Eleanor's, the skin around them not quite as firm — but that's really more of a testament to her surgeon, not that she would ever admit to that. She comes from a long line of debutante Ladies Who Lunch, fulfilling a life sentence of throwing charity functions and jet-setting between Fashion Weeks — all of which has refined her to be poised and graceful, cultured and demure, but more than anything, vicious when crossed.

"Beatrice!" Harry exclaims. She holds out her hand to him, which he takes to squeeze and kiss the back of ceremoniously. "Glad you could make it."

"You know I never miss a good party," she smiles saccharinely at him. She never misses a good opportunity to gossip.

"Ronald with you?" He asks, curiously.

"Oh, no darling...he's in New York City for work," she waves her hand dismissively. "He was so disappointed he couldn't make it," she wrinkles her nose as she looks around, "...he loves barbecue."