I wake up Saturday morning to seventeen missed calls from Victor.
Victor: “Charity auction tonight. 7 PM. Black tie. Adrian will pick you up at 6:30.”
Right. The Metropolitan Arts Foundation benefit. I’d forgotten after last night’s disaster with Marcus.
Adrian calls. “How are you?”
“Tired. You?”
“Same. About last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”
“After the auction. Can I take you to dinner? Just us.”
“Okay.”
At 6:30, he arrives. Navy suit. No tie.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“You look tired.”
“Didn’t sleep much.” He stops. “Later. We’ll talk later.”
The drive is quiet. His hand finds mine.
The Metropolitan Arts Foundation benefit is crystal chandeliers, designer gowns, people who think fifty thousand is pocket change.
“Paddle number?” A volunteer hands
