After leaving Matthew Broderick and the others, Courteney walked a few steps before glancing back, then said to Simon with a touch of longing, "I really hope one day I can be like Matthew—throwing my own celebration party, surrounded like a princess."
Seeing the girl's wistful expression, Simon thought of the future Friends and smiled in agreement. "You definitely will. You might even end up more famous than him."
"Heh, you sure know how to sweet-talk a girl," Courteney shot him a glance, but her mood dipped again. "But it's tough. Matthew's agent is Norman Brokaw—he repped Marilyn Monroe back in the day, and now he's WMA's president."
Simon said, "Jonathan's not bad, right?"
Courteney's tone carried a faint dismissiveness, sounding very in-the-know. "He's just a newly promoted VP. Companies like WMA have VPs by the dozen."
Hearing her say that, Simon just smiled.
He'd planned to grab a drink first, but as they reached the dance floor, Courteney dove right into the swaying crowd, so he followed.
Courteney was clearly a classic party girl; once on the floor, she lit up. Her pretty face beamed with excitement, arms raised, body swaying to the music, a sliver of her slim waist flashing in and out of view. Under the dazzling lights, she was like a beautiful mermaid.
Simon had always been good at adapting to his surroundings. Watching the girl dance freely, he soon loosened up too, occasionally catching the teasing glances she tossed his way mid-move.
Pretty girls always drew eyes, and one who danced well with a killer figure was even more of a magnet.
Soon, a tall, skinny white guy in a blue shirt sidled up, gyrating near Courteney to try and engage her, completely ignoring Simon. Courteney obviously wasn't new to this; she gave the young man a polite smile but shifted her body away.
Seeing her dodge, the guy didn't back off—he closed in again.
Courteney had to evade once more, stepping around and shooting a glare at Simon, who was smiling and watching the show.
Only then did Simon step forward, positioning himself between the guy and Courteney, figuring the other would take the hint and leave.
But as soon as he did, a heavy slap landed on his shoulder. Before he could turn, the guy's loud voice boomed in his ear: "Hey, buddy, this your chick?"
Feeling the unyielding smack on his shoulder, Simon frowned but decided to keep things civil. He shook his head. "No..."
Before he could add "she's my friend," the guy bellowed again: "Then don't fucking block like some mangy dog."
At those words, Simon's eyes narrowed. Seeing the guy finish and roughly try to shove him aside, Simon raised his hand and punched him square in the face.
Since it was a public place full of guests, Simon hadn't gone all out—just aiming to teach a quick lesson.
But maybe the guy had been drinking, or he was just that fragile; Simon's punch sent him staggering back, landing on his ass in the crowd.
The dance floor was already buzzing with hormones—seeing a fight break out, the surrounding guys and girls didn't panic at all. They quickly cleared a space, some even whooping and cheering.
The young man on the ground touched his stinging cheekbone, feeling the mocking stares from above, and rage boiled over. He jumped up and lunged at Simon.
Simon had no interest in a brawl. He grabbed the incoming guy's collar, arm extended to keep him at bay, and advised, "Buddy, you'd better cool it."
The guy's height was close to Simon's, if a bit shorter.
But compared to Simon's tough build, honed from rough childhood days, the skinny guy's frame was no match. Held at arm's length, he couldn't calm down. He clawed for Simon's collar but his arms fell short; he tried kicking, only to be easily deflected.
Amid the crowd's unsparing laughter, the guy's face flushed red. Just as he was about to curse and salvage some pride, a furious voice cut through: "Who the fuck let you fight in here!"
Everyone turned toward the source and saw Matthew Broderick, falling silent.
With the commotion, the dance floor music soon stopped, and bar security appeared around them.
Seeing things quiet down, Simon released the still-flailing guy.
The furious young man, now free, started forward to attack again but noticed Matthew glaring at him and held back. Instead, he pointed accusingly at Simon. "Matthew, it's him—he started it."
Saying that, the guy quickly moved to stand familiarly beside Matthew, staring at Simon with a smug, borrowed authority.
Though he knew his friend wasn't the most well-behaved, given the one-sided scene and the buddy's preemptive complaint, Matthew naturally pegged Simon as the instigator.
He shot Simon a disgusted look, then turned to Kristy Swanson, who seemed to be trying to hide. "Kristy, this your friend?"
Kristy stammered, "K-kind of... but we just met this afternoon. Um, he's Court's friend."
With all eyes on him, Matthew hesitated but decided to act magnanimous. He said to Simon, "Buddy, how about this: apologize to Mark, and we'll call it even."
Simon glanced at the smug guy beside Matthew, waiting for his apology, and chuckled with a shrug. "I'll just leave."
With that, Simon looked at Courteney beside him.
Courteney met his gaze, her eyes flickering. She opened her mouth but said nothing.
Simon didn't say anything either and turned to walk out.
Matthew, having tried to be generous only to get brushed off, felt his face heat up. He glared at Simon's retreating figure until he vanished, then abruptly turned to Courteney, still standing there, and snapped without mercy, "You too—get out. You're not welcome at my parties anymore."
Courteney froze, looking pleadingly at Kristy. But her friend just leaned into the guy beside her, showing no sign of speaking up. Courteney could only turn and push through the crowd in embarrassment.
She regretted not leaving with Simon earlier, a regret that soon turned to faint resentment.
That jerk—would an apology have killed him?