Modern Tête

Orange, celery, parsley blancmange in pastry cups; brown thin baskets that contrasted primly with their delicious modern fillings creating luscious bites for the conversational pauses at the start of the evening.  The prosecco fizz would ease this later but, for now, Lucea was grateful to take a bite, even if it meant an awkward grab with her other, free, hand to catch the tiny triangle that flaked off with the cut of her perfect teeth to tumble floorwards as her lips wrapped around the quivering white jelly.  She nodded understanding at the droning old elephant lumbering her time with his take on local economies, licking her lips and swallowing as she considered her options.

The elephant laughed phlegmily at some riposte that made no sense and continued answering a question no-one had asked.  Lucea fought the urge to check her mobile for texts and emails and instead made desperate eye signals at George, standing to the rear of the room alone, smirking at her discomfiture.  She knew she was enacting the cliché of young women at parties everywhere but she'd be buggered if she knew a better way into this clubby world of ties and schoolhood friendships, leg-ups and dull sadness.  

Across the way, George was eating his blancmange joyously, mouth agape and churning.