A/N: Hello! I'm leaving my author's note here because I thought y'all should have fair warning that the next two chapters are going to be pretty long, followed by a short one and then back to normal. Won't be updating until next week when I'm back from Vegas. Apologies in advance for any delays in responding to comments but many thanks to all of you who are reading/voting/leaving feedback. <3

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To my enormous relief, my tux arrived on time, as did Michael when he came to pick me up the evening of Armada's party. Unsurprisingly, although I felt like a gangly child playing dress up, Michael looked like he was born to wear a penguin suit... And from the smug grin on his face, he knew it, too.

"Nice haircut," he said, as he stepped into my apartment and my hand instinctively fluttered to my forehead. I rubbed the empty space where hair no longer hung down to my eyebrows. "No, I'm serious. Don't worry," Michael assured me. "It looks good."

"Thanks," I mumbled, still unhappy with how short the barber had clipped my hair. "I feel like this cut makes me look like I have elf ears."

Michael studied the sides of my head and shrugged. "Goblin, maybe."

"Great." I tugged at what was left of my newly shorn strands and willed them to grow quickly.

"I'm kidding," Michael said, elbowing me in the side. "You look a lot older. Sophie'll love it."

"Trust me," I said, sighing, "she'll let me know if she doesn't."

"Should we get going?" Michael asked, motioning towards the door. "I've got a bottle of champagne on ice in the car."

"What'd you rent?" I asked. I reached for my tuxedo's jacket and shrugged it on.

Michael's eyes twinkled with excitement. "A classic 1948 Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce."

"Is that nice?"

Michael shook his head with disbelief. "Too nice for you to appreciate, that's for sure."

I locked my apartment's door and followed Michael to the carport where a regal-looking vintage car stood proudly in the visitor's parking spot. I raised an eyebrow. I was the first to admit that my knowledge of cars was minimal but even I could appreciate that the antique vehicle in my driveway was a beautiful hunk of metal. "Wow," I said, casting Michael an approving look and he beamed as if looking at his firstborn child.

"Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, really," I said. "It'll almost look like we fit in when we pull up."

"About that," Michael said, sliding into the backseat of the antique sedan. "Armada apparently wants all the agents and behind-the-scenes folks to go in through a separate entrance."

I stared at him. "You dished out for a car to park in the B-Lister's lot?"

Michael looked embarrassed while he scratched his cheek. "More like the Y-List but, yeah, I did."

I climbed into the car and fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Suddenly I don't feel as bad about not getting him a present."

"No kidding," Michael agreed, reaching for a metal bucket fastened to the floor. Whistling, he produced two glass flutes from a compartment built into the side of the car's door and handed one to me. I took it, rolling the stem between my palms while Michael carefully lifted a bottle from the icy water that he'd left it to chill in.

"That looks expensive," I noted as Michael balanced the bottle on the leather armrest between us and slowly eased off the cork. It released with a loud pop and I watched while bubbles raced upwards, a small tendril of vapor escaping from the bottle's narrow mouth.

"Actually, it was," Michael admitted, studying the vintage's dark gold label with a frown. "I bought it for New Year's Eve but it's been collecting dust in my pantry for months."

"I'm surprised it's survived this long," I commented and held my glass out so that Michael could fill it.

The sparkling wine began to fizz wildly as soon as it hit the bottom of my flute and Michael waited for a moment before continuing to pour. "I'm excited for tonight," he mused offhandedly while he filled his own glass and then returned the bottle to the ice bucket. "Should be interesting."

"Yeah," I said, clinking my glass against Michael's. "Cheers."

"To a fun evening," he added, and then took a long swallow of champagne. He licked his lips and sighed. "Man, I wish I could afford to buy this stuff every Friday night."

"That's funny," I said. "I just wish I could afford to eat every Friday night."

Michael scoffed. "You're dating one of the highest paid celebrities in this town. You're telling me she doesn't feed you?"

I cast a glance towards the driver but realized he'd rolled up the privacy screen so we could talk without being overheard. "I mean, she does," I said, taking a swig from my glass while I tried to word my response. "But I don't like letting her pay for everything."

"You do know that she can afford it, though, right? Believe me, I've been reading over some of her recent contract offers and she makes more in ten minutes than both of us do in a year."

I laughed and knew that was definitely true in my case. "Never mind."

Michael studied me and tapped his glass against mine for the second time. "You're a good guy."

I stared out the window while the driver sped along and Michael chattered about all the big names who were supposed to be in attendance that evening. I listened with one ear and watched while the tiny apartments that made up my neighborhood turned into homes, and then when those homes turned into jaw-dropping estates. I should've been used to the wealth that existed in the city, especially considering the fact that I spent nearly every other night at Sophie's impressive home. Yet, as the Rolls-Royce climbed further and further up into the Hollywood Hills, I realized that Sophie's house would've been completely dwarfed if it were to ever stand beside the absurdly large villas that lined the streets we drove on.

Part of me wondered what on earth anyone would do with that much floor space, while another part realized that if I had even half as much money as the owners of the homes, I'd probably want to flaunt it, too. Still, it didn't particularly surprise me when our driver turned onto the driveway of the most over the top mega-mansion that I'd ever seen. Styled after a Tuscan villa in aesthetics and the Roman Coliseum in size, it made complete sense that Quintin Armada was throwing himself such an extravagant birthday party. It was obvious that the designer liked things to be big and flashy... And incredibly pricey, if the army of matching valet attendants that rushed to open our car's doors were any indication of what we'd find inside. A security guard hurried towards us with a clipboard in hand, clearly concerned that he didn't immediately recognize us. "Hello there," he said, mustache quivering when he spoke. "Are you talent or...?"

"I'm on the agents' list. Michael Donahue," Michael said to a security guard as he motioned for me to come stand next to him. "And Parker Jennings."

The guard grunted and flipped through the pages. "Donahue, Donahue, Donahue..." he muttered to himself and then frowned when he reached the end. "How do you spell that?"

As Michael helped the guard find our names, I peered around the massive courtyard and watched while it filled up rapidly with fancy foreign cars. It quickly became apparent that guests were being herded into two groups: those with the credentials to walk the crystal-adorned red carpet leading up to the main entrance of the house - and those being directed to enter the party through the back garden. Instinctively, I knew which direction we would be sent in and took a few hesitant steps towards the path of the B-Listers. Confirming what I already knew, a second member of Armada's staff appeared and waved for us to follow him.

"You both must be very excited to be here," our guide said, with the dull monotony of someone who'd given the same speech a hundred times already. He moved us quickly through the throngs of people who mulled around the pathways of the expansive backyard. A pool glimmered at the far end of the property and with the ever present view of the Los Angeles skyline on the horizon, I could only imagine what it must be like to have barbecues out there. The usher led us to one of the few unoccupied bar tables on the lot and stopped. "Here you are. I hope you have a nice evening."

He hesitated for a split second and then started to leave but Michael said, "Wait."

The man's demeanor brightened slightly when he saw that Michael was reaching for his wallet and he nearly managed to smile when he realized that Michael was handing him a twenty.

"Thank you very much, sir," our guide said with a slight bow before hurrying off, as if afraid that Michael would change his mind and snatch the tip back out of his hand.

Once the man was out of earshot, I gaped at Michael and asked, "What was that for?"

Michael blinked and tucked away his pocketbook. "What was what for?"

"Twenty bucks? To walk us, what, maybe three hundred steps?" I shook my head. "If I'd known, I would've offered you a discount and done it for ten."

Michael rolled his eyes and waved at a waiter who was passing by with a tray of wine glasses. "Sirs," the man said, handing us each glass before moving on.

"All the servers here have been contracted to work for a flat fee," Michael explained in a hushed tone while waiters and ushers circulated around us in perfect rhythm. "Everything they make tonight will come from tips."

"Listen, if everyone's handing out twenty dollars, then maybe I need to switch jobs."

Michael snorted into his glass. "If you're complaining about being broke now, you should try living on their salaries. Half of the cheap bastards at this party won't give them a dime."

"How do you know?" I asked, and Michael smiled at me.

"Because I worked at a lot of these events when I was in college." He peered over the rim of his glass while he took a sip of wine. "I've got to admit, it's much nicer to be on this side of the guest list."

Perhaps I'd once again underestimated Michael's clout in the industry but it didn't take long before people began coming up to him and saying hello. One woman who'd clearly already had too much to drink ended up missing his cheek when she leaned in to give him a kiss and planted it on his lips instead. Michael looked momentarily rattled when she pulled away but he covered it up with a hearty laugh and his never failing ability to smile.

"Nice one," I whispered to him as the lady moved on to her next victim.

Michael chugged what was left in his wine glass. "What's sad is that's the most action I've gotten all year," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Come on. It looks like us commoners are being let inside."

Michael weaved through the crowds and I trailed after him, careful not to bump into anyone while I made my way. If I'd been impressed by the exterior of the villa, the inside was nothing short of being grotesquely opulent. Fine art and tapestries covered the gold tinted walls and two ornate chandeliers hung from the main ballroom's ceiling. Judging by the detailed decorations that had been placed around the room with care, it was evident that the party had an unmistakable Arabian Nights theme. I stood slack jawed as I took in my surroundings, unsure of where to look next.

"Pretty ridiculous, isn't it?" Michael asked between bites of a finger sandwich that he'd managed to produce from thin air. "Rumor has it that he has a bowling alley and two movie theaters in the house, too."

"I can believe it," I murmured, painfully aware of the thirty bucks left on my primary credit line. I looked around for the first waiter passing by with food and I flagged him down.

"What are these?" I asked, eyeing the canapés on his tray with curiosity.

"Wild smoked Alaskan salmon paired with goat's cheese and organic chives, all served on top of a whole grain crostini," the waiter rattled off without skipping a beat. "The chef this evening is the three-star Michelin-rated, Ms. Gi Hoi."

"Cool," I said, reaching for one of the tiny morsels. "Can I have two?"

The waiter nodded and I grabbed the biggest pieces on the tray before thanking him. I popped one of the bites into my mouth as I turned back to Michael. "Good?" Michael asked, while I chewed vigorously.

I swallowed. "Amazing."

I paused then and scanned the room for a friendly face - well, one face in particular. Reading my mind, Michael laughed. "You look like one of those sad dogs that they use in shelter commercials, you know that? Sophie's not here yet," he said while rubbing his hands together.

"Do you know when she will be?" I asked, reaching up to touch my hair and feeling a jolt when I remembered that it was now significantly shorter than what I was used to.

Michael shook his head. "Eleven-thirty? Sophie and Richard are really the guests of honor so I wouldn't be surprised if they turned up pretty late."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "What sense does that make?"

"None," Michael agreed. "But it's Hollywood. It doesn't have to make sense."

The chattering around us died down as two lines of women clad in sequin bras and lacy skirts filed in through the doors and took their places around the room. Each woman wore a different color, creating a rainbow of movement as they began to twist in perfect sync with the song that had begun to play. Michael made no secret about his appreciation for the belly dancer performing near us but I decided to wander away, infinitely more interested in finding snacks to eat.

Unfortunately for me, however, the servers had all but vanished and as I made my way back to where Michael stood transfixed by the busty brunette's exposed midriff, it became apparent that the dancers were only the first course of entertainment. The fire jugglers came next, followed by a pair of snake charmers who set up their act on a small stage in the middle of the room. The excitement in the crowd grew with each trick and contortion executed by the performers until a woman standing near the door to the side garden exclaimed, "There's a camel in the backyard!"

A murmur rose up, followed by a stampede of people rushing to see if she was telling the truth. I stayed where I was; I'd seen enough throughout the night to know that there were probably fifty camels out there wearing saddles made of silk and diamonds. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if there were monkeys riding elephants around the garden, too.

I sighed while I waited for Michael to return from the bathroom, startled when drummers replaced the snake charmers on stage and began to play what sounded like a war song. A girl who I recognized from TV gasped and I turned to see what she was staring at. What I saw made me want to both laugh and vomit: six men built like battering rams carried a golden litter on their shoulders as they stepped forward in time with the drumbeat. Cameras began to flash wildly when the curtain of the cart opened and someone inside began to wave.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath and jumped when Michael appeared next to me again without warning.

"Oh, looks like Armada finally showed up," Michael said, craning his neck to get a better look.

"That's Armada?" I asked, as the litter was lowered onto the stage and the drumming rolled into a deafening crescendo. The pounding continued to swell and the people around me began to clap. I lifted my hands, unsure of what I was cheering for exactly, until everything but the clapping stopped.

Greeted by applause, a shock of purple hair emerged from behind the curtain, followed by the tiny body of a man who apparently had the entire world at his fingertips.

Dressed in a pale blue tuxedo jacket and knee-length kilt, I quickly deduced that Sophie hadn't been exaggerating when she'd called the designer a creative genius with no personal fashion sense. The applauding continued until the lavender-haired man finally lifted his hands for silence and began to speak. I pretended to listen, though his speech was predictable at best and boring at worst; the number of trilled 'thank you's that he offered his guests betrayed a glimmer of insincerity but the way he posed in front of everyone spoke volumes about how badly he wanted to impress the people watching. I stifled a yawn as Quintin Armada spoke about his new goals and Michael elbowed me sharply in the side, mouthing at me to pull it together. Trying my best not to fall asleep standing, I only perked up again when the designer announced that the food service would begin again shortly.

"Do you plan on chewing any of that?" Michael asked, shaking his head with disapproval as I stopped a waitress and began wolfing down the finger foods on her tray. I could tell that the poor woman didn't know what to say to cut me off but my stomach was too empty to care about being polite.

"I'm hungry," I complained. "Okay? I figured that—instead of spending money on camels—the guy would be serving us all a real dinner. Stupid me."

I tilted my head to glance at Michael and the waitress took that as her cue to scuttle off as quickly as her heels would carry her. "I'm gonna get a drink," Michael said, giving me a stern look. "Try not to eat the tables, will you?"

"Might be hard," I said, scanning the room for the next waiter whose tray I could pounce upon.

"Do you want anything?" Michael asked, as he smoothed back his hair .

I looked at him and thought, Yeah, Sophie. But instead, I replied, "A double rum and coke is fine. Thanks."

Mike glanced around before disappearing into the crowd, clearly disappointed that the dancer he'd been eyeing earlier in the night had vanished. I looked towards the bar every few minutes, noting that the line to be served was nearly wrapped around the room. Contrary to what Michael had said earlier in the evening, wallets were certainly opening now as the rich and famous decided they'd rather part with a few hundred dollars than continue to wait for a drink. The waiters serving them all looked gleeful but it didn't seem to me that the people paying were actually getting served any faster.

When the clock on my phone said that thirty minutes had passed, I resumed my hunt for treats and felt grateful that the long line at the bar meant that the competition for food was scarce. I couldn't say how long Michael had been gone but it felt like an eternity before I began to hear excited whispers around me: "They're here."

Not needing to ask who "they" were, I spotted Sophie the moment she walked in and nearly choked on the three hors d'oeuvres I'd stuffed in my mouth. Her hair was pulled into an intricate side swept bun, though a few tendrils had been artfully left out to frame her face. The black floor length dress that she wore looked like it had been hand-stitched to fit her body and it glittered under the lights as if beaded with a thousand diamonds. Sophie seemed to glow when she moved and people standing around the room turned to look at her like moths drawn to flames. If Armada thought his theatrical entrance was even half as captivating as Sophie's, he was sadly mistaken.

A concerned waiter strolled by and offered me water while I stood sputtering like a lunatic, still hypnotized by how beautiful Sophie looked. Grateful, I took the cup and drank from it, though I was unable to stop my face from heating up as I continued to admire my girlfriend from afar. She glided gracefully across the floor, stopping here and there to greet guests that she knew. Richard kept her hand in his and I grinned to myself as she tried repeatedly to shake him off.

A minute or so after she'd arrived, I watched Sophie scan the room until her gaze met mine. From where I stood, I saw her expression soften as her red lips lifted into a smile and I raised my eyebrows to signal a greeting. She tugged her hand firmly away from Richard's grasp and he turned to frown at her, following Sophie's stare until he saw me. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny but refused to look away first.

Aware of what was happening, Sophie glanced between us and then motioned at a passing waiter for a glass of wine, elbowing Richard slightly when he reached out to take a glass for himself. The abrupt motion caused the crimson liquid to spill over the sides of Richard's glass, drenching the sleeve of the white shirt he wore under his tuxedo jacket. Sophie furrowed her eyebrows and apologized while she dabbed at the growing wet spot on Richard's arm with a napkin but I knew as well as he did that had been no accident. Richard scowled and said something that I wished I could hear, though I had to admit he was good at putting on a show; by the time Sophie finished mopping him up, he was smiling again and he leaned in to give her a kiss.

Startled, Sophie turned her head at the last minute and her face filled briefly with horror when his lips met the side of her mouth. She stared at him for a long beat and I felt a silent exchange of animosity pass between the two. Wordlessly, Richard took Sophie's hand in his again and led her towards a group of people standing on the other side of the hall. She didn't protest, though she did look over her shoulder to give me a sad smile as she went.

"Brutal," I heard Michael say when he came up next to me. He handed me the drink I'd given up on ever seeing and I thanked him before downing half the liquid in a single gulp.

"Whatever," I mumbled.

"I'm really sorry about all this, you know," he said, sipping at his gin and tonic while I fiddled with my bow tie. "I didn't think things would drag on for this long."

"It's fine," I said automatically, and then added, "it's not like any of it is real."

"I know." Michael waved in the direction that the star couple had disappeared towards. "And from the look of disgust on her face when he tried to kiss her, I'd honestly be surprised if everyone at this party didn't know that now, too."

I shrugged, though a tiny seed of worry began to sprout in my mind. For a second, I wondered if she would've let him kiss her if I hadn't been there... But then I remembered that even if she had, it wouldn't be the last time she'd kiss someone other than me over the course of her career. I contemplated that while grinding a few pieces of ice between my teeth until Michael cleared his throat.

"Well, it'll be over soon," he said, still looking around for the girl he'd lost sight of. "The launch party is in six or seven weeks and then Sophie's all yours."

I didn't say anything but, for some reason, I had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy. Not wanting to talk about it anymore, however, I nodded towards a boisterous group in one corner of the room and asked, "Should we go mingle or something?"

From that moment on, I followed Michael's lead, laughing when he laughed and feigning interest as we listened to a slew of meaningless stories. Every passing second made me want to die a little bit more, especially when I could see Sophie flitting around the room from the corner of my eye. So close, yet so far; I had a burning desire to talk to her, to ask if this evening was really what people had hyped as the biggest party of the year. Although Sophie flashed me a few smiles, she never made her way over to me and I realized that I certainly didn't have the courage to join the crowd that surrounded her. In that regard, at least, the night had gone exactly like I'd expected it to. The rest of it, on the other hand, had been seriously underwhelming.

After a few hours of filtering in and out of conversations, running through nearly identical introductions with people who promptly forgot my name, and watching Michael rotate through a dozen different personas, something dawned on me. Although events like tonight were only one part of working in Hollywood, from what I could gather, that part was one you could never escape from. Maybe that'd be fine if I were like Michael but the fact of the matter was that I knew I didn't want to spend the rest of my life sucking up to others in exchange for their numbers in my phonebook.

It was strange: for years, my only goal in life had been to become a director and to dive into the world that now surrounded me... But the truth was that the more I learned about the industry's inner workings, the more I realized that maybe I didn't really know what I wanted at all.