Never Understand Part One ( Johnthen Trent Adult Romance 1) by Miranda Mailer

in the Entertainment Industry, but he’s against anything that resembles fun. He’s against anyone having it too easy in life - except himself. But even I can see something obscene about these wealthy people, whose outfits alone cost more than a thousand bucks, not even paying for their own drinks.
    But you won’t hear me complaining. After working at La Serenissima for the last year, waiting on all those rich folks, I have no problem whatever wasting some rich guy’s money for him.
    One of the young champagne-carriers seems to be following me. Is it his private joke to get me drunk? Again, not complaining, and neither is Phoeb. If I give a wave to young sticketh-closer-than-a-brother who is tracking me in his Bolero jacket, he comes over with his enormous bottle of champagne right on cue, like a healing zephyr. This kind of thing makes a girl feel different; no longer penniless out-of-work actress, Jana Kidd. Champagne makes a woman richer, cooler, and cleverer. And a patron of the arts, to boot. That’s how it works, isn’t it?
    The lightly bubbling nectar is going to my head. It tingles on my tongue, even slightly in my nose. Sweetly hedonistic. I don’t get to enjoy a party like this so often. After the first few minutes I am telling myself to calm down and resist the next refill of champagne – but mostly failing.
    Phoebe too has gone into turbo-bouncy cheerful mode and she’s loving the male-female ratio, which is nicely in our favour. She adores having Josh as a boyfriend, but tonight she’s off the leash because he’s not here. I remember why she’s my best friend. She really is the best fun. I try to get her talking about the art, which, as the title “Icons of Resistance” suggests, is mostly about symbols of freedom and the struggle against repression – Nelson Mandela and The Dalai Lama of course. A giant, Roy Liechtenstein-like image of Aung San Suu Kyi fluttering her eyelashes at Obama. But there are also people I’ve never heard of - like Liu Shao Qi, who sounds like some kind of Chinese Jesus, and also a scruffy American professor called Noam Chomsky. What’s he doing there?
    My thinking is to at least have some intelligent phrases to mouth when a handsome fellow tests me in conversation. ‘What do you know about Chomsky, Phoeb?’ I ask, gleefully, knowing the answer is zip. She doesn’t even see the joke. She’s fingering her champagne glass suggestively, while her eyes flick around the crowd of good-looking guys in suits.
    ‘Chomsky? All I know is, this place is full of hot guys,’ she says, distracted by the male eye-candy. She’s not listening to me at all. ‘This is a target-rich environment, Jana. You need to find a guy, and this could be your night. We usually stick together, but what do you say we give it an hour, then see who’s talking to the hottest guy at nine o’clock?’
    ‘What if they’re both hot and we can’t agree who’s won?’
    ‘Doh, then we’ll both have won. Let’s find each other at nine. And if the guy’s taken me up to that mezzanine, you’re not allowed to come looking!’
    It’s a deal, and we go off in separate directions to force our attentions onto one group of guys after another. Now, in theory this shouldn’t be too difficult for two single girls with all those men and free champagne to ease the flow of wit and laughter, but actually, it’s not that easy. Most of the guys have had long days at work and are happy just to talk to their friends. They’re not that interested. And if they are interested, they’re finding it hard to lift their eyes above my breasts.
    Thankfully, they are not interested in Chomsky either. Or even Mandela. I do get to talk to a couple of stunning male models, really lovely boys. Though they’re fun, they don’t really have much to say for themselves and despite they’re A++ looks airheads are not really my type. The wine waiter who’s following me with that bottle of champagne that holds about three gallons