After.., Part 5: Of course, everyone knew Sty's party was but a stepping stone, and

that the people in the right circles would condescend to stay, maybe an hour, that is, if Daisy and her league cared to show up at all.  And of course, the glaring fact of the set appearing early, carried the unspoken message that the much sought-after guest was on it's/her/his way to somewhere else.  The party, like most others, began around 8, but key people usually didn't arrive until around 9 - but before 10 if the guest wanted to grab a plate; most caterers usually began packing up shortly after 11.  

Needless to say, Sty's biker days were behind him, and so were the rib-sticking bowls of scalloped taters, pasta salads, salami and cracker trays, cheeseballs, oatmeal raisin cookies...  Such foods were...well below-league.  Of course, Sty - still having his common sense about him - missed those wonderful dishes the wives and girlfriends brought; dishes which, the biker buddies he'd left behind, were still enjoying second and even third helpings.

The food table, all set, contained the usual league-appropriate stuff.  One large tray of veges - each containing an undersized bowl of some sort of fat-free lobster-yogurt dressing; the other tray - half of which contained those little carrots - had some sort of similar low-fat, and even less flavor dressing.  Nearby, sat a plate of various cucumber, topped with some sort of caviar-topped open-faced sandwiches.  Yes, the table contained dessert:  a plate of decorated cookies and small square cakes.  To the side, two carvers had begun serving thin slices of pork-loin (which appeared to have been just a tad undercooked) and roast beef.  

The rather wanting food tables weren't a result of Sty experiencing cash-flow issues.  A nearby table contained ornate chests, brimming with bottles of wine coolers, bottles of the area's finest micro-brews, and various flavored sparkling waters.  The party, just having started, already, the bar-tender was busy enough mixing and serving cocktails.

In short, if the food got low, or ran out...oh well.  But, oh no, if any of the "drinks" were gone - from now until around 3am - talk about a major flop.  One of the most popular - and much coveted cocktails - was available behind another bar; but that one was located in another room, and so, only available to certain guests.  

Ellen hoped she could score some of that, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.  Rick, her ticket in, had received her update, per the account, and he was all smiles about the news.  But, evidently, not smiles enough to introduce her.  Instead, Rick and his companion stood there and lickey-faced a bit, then sauntered off - as if the third person (Ellen) had never shown.  

She spotted Margaret, who was currently conversing with some guy wearing an orange leather midriff hoodie and matching mink-hemmed shorty-shorts.  The guy's boots alone, looked enough to have paid Ellen's rent for the best end of a year.  Margaret was, of course, in an outfit - either bought, or rented, for the occasion.  Well, of course, one could hardly rent an outfit's more expensive absolutely must-have.

That was the peek-a-boo - the, preferably jewel-encrusted band which held ones thong in place.  That piece was no knock-off.  Ellen had seen the display, the advertisement, the one that took the brand soaring - poking fun at a rather absent-minded old lady asking the clerk where the white cotton briefs were.  The woman, of course, was directed next door - to the adult diaper section.    Ellen rubbed her lower back region; the knock-off encrusted band chafed - well, they all did, knock-off or not; was just the way it was...especially after ... that was a bit of rough-riding the previous night.  Maybe, she reflected, they'd hook up again.  He had ordered her to don a full leather mask, and keep her spiked heels on.