Hey Boys and Girls

This is my 366th post. In honor of my second "year" of posting, here is a pathetic, incomplete little piece of fiction based on a prompt TG gave me a long, long, long time ago. It's less than halfway finished and not even close to edited, so don't judge too harshly.




Clint Davis straightened his tie, and brushed invisible lint off the jacket of his $1000 suit as he strode through the hotel lobby. He paused momentarily in front of a mirrored wall to check his appearance. After a small adjustment to his heavily gelled hair, he continued on to the Esplanade Ballroom. He was greeted by multiple balloon arrangements and a black and silver banner reading, “WELCOME PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL CLASS OF 1989.”

He stopped at the registration table and was given a name tag that also featured his senior yearbook picture. He frowned at the image of the skinny, acne-ridden seventeen-year-old, who also sported glasses, braces, and a mullet. He tried to shove the nametag into his jacket pocket, but the perky former cheerleader who was manning the registration table wouldn’t let him. Instead, he affixed it to the left side of his jacket, conveniently allowing the lapel to cover the picture.

The ballroom was filled with small groups of people talking, laughing, and reminiscing. Clint made his way through the room, nodding when he caught someone’s eye, or occasionally shooting them a finger gun. He ultimately reached his destination – the bar – where he ordered a scotch and soda. When he received his drink, he moved to the side of the bar and watched the crowds as he sipped his drink.

After a few moments, another man approached him. The man glanced at his nametag then up at him. “Clint Davis?” he asked with a note of surprise in his voice.

Clint looked at the other man’s nametag as well. “Bill Bradley,” he responded flatly. “Long time, no see.”

“Wow. You look…different.”

“I suppose.”

An uncomfortable silence lingered for a moment, then Bill asked, “So, what have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Clint responded. “I graduated college, founded a software company, sold it, and founded a venture capital firm that is about to have an IPO. And you?”

“Wow,” Bill paused as if trying of absorb all that Clint just said. “Well, nothing as exciting as that. I got my degree in marketing, and I’ve been working at a PR firm ever since.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Here’s my card.”

Clint looked at it before slipping it into his inside pocket. “Senior account rep. Impressive.”

“I used to think so, until I saw you.”

“Yes. Well, not everyone can achieve greatness.” Clint said, favoring Bill with a small smile.

Bill shifted a little. “No, I suppose they can’t.”
“I’m sorry I can’t reciprocate with my card. I just bought a new wallet at the Coach store, and I forgot to put my cards in it.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Totally understand.” Bill looked around the room for a moment and said suddenly, “Oh, I need to go. My wife giving me the I-can’t-believe-you-dragged-me-here-then-abandoned-me look. It was great seeing you again.”

“You, too,” Clint replied. They shook hands before Bill made his way across the room. After lingering at the bar a moment longer, Clint made his way to the hors d’oveurs table.

~*~*~*~


When Bill arrived back to the table where his wife was, he asked his fellow alumni, “Have you seen Clint Davis yet?”

Joe Smirna frowned. “Clint Davis?” he asked. “He was that funny-looking guy. Kind of a loner?”

“That’s him. Apparently he’s had a little success in life.”

“Yeah? What’s he doing?” Christine Heinrich-Cunningham inquired.

“Apparently, he owns a venture capital firm.”

The faces around the table appeared genuinely shocked. “Clint Davis? Are you sure?” Joe’s voice held a note of doubt.

“That’s what he says. He certainly looks the part.” Bill turned in his seat slightly scanning the room for Clint. “There he is,” he said when he finally found him.