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Narrator buys clothes off woman.
As Jean took my arm and we sauntered into the Gala proper she snickered "Am I supposed to pretend that I'm your wife tonight? All the women here will think that I robbed the cradle."
"You actually look younger than I do, Jean -- but I better introduce you properly in case someone later meets my wife," I smiled.
I got Jean a glass of white wine, and myself a club soda -- I don't really drink much. They don't serve red wine or hard drinks at events like this, although you can scrounge up a beer if you want to look plebian.
We toured the part of the Museum that was open, marveling at the displays, most of which neither of us had seen before. When the dinner bell rang -- after I got Jean two more white wines -- we headed for Table #1. There was my benefactor Mabel Braxton and her husband, both all smiles.
"Blake, I'm so glad that you could come. This is my husband Winston," Mabel chirped putting her hand on the arm of the distinguished looking gentleman to her left.
"So pleased to meet you," Winston and I almost said in unison as we shook hands.
"This must be your lovely wife," Mabel continued, nodding at Jean.
"Actually, Mabel, this is Jean McCarthy. My wife is out of town and so is her husband -- hopefully not together," I said, getting laughs all around. "Jean is the co-chair of our local food bank and one of the most charitable people that I've ever met, her beneficence matched only by her beauty," I continued. Jean blushed, Mabel and Winston grinned, Jean and Mable hugged, Winston kissed Jean's hand.
We were then introduced to the others at the head table -- the Mayor and her husband, the Director of the Museum and his wife, the Senator from our state who lived in the Metropolitan area and his wife, and a movie starlet who recently won a Golden Globe and her boyfriend. Jean and I were bowled over. As I moved Jean's chair out for her to sit she whispered to me "How did you arrange this, Blake? I'm star struck!"
"I have no idea," I whispered back, "Just pretend like we belong."
Because the table was the smallest round table that would fit twelve people, there was no music blaring during dinner, and the head table was set off from the others, everyone at the table could realistically talk to everyone else at one time or another. I was seated next to the starlet, and Jean the Senator.
I have absolutely no idea why I was so "on" that night -- maybe to impress Jean -- but I was the best at conversation that I ever at been in my life. I got at least half a dozen genuine laughs from the starlet, and many more from others at the table. Mabel made sure that everyone was familiar with the volunteer work that Jean and I did. I tried to steer any conversation directed at me away from what I did for a living, although I did answer in response to a direct question from Winston that "I am not having any satisfaction from my work like I get from volunteering, and am looking for a more socially responsible job, likely in the environmental field."
During dinner Jean would occasionally subtly touch my hand or knee under the table. I reciprocated by surreptitiously putting my hand on her bare thigh for several minutes until I felt my Johnson trying to burst my rented pants. The speeches by the Director, Mabel (she wasn't just on the Board of Trustees -- she was the Head Trustee), and a keynote speech by a famous author-environmentalist -- were short, sweet, and to the point.
After as truly a delightful a meal as I can ever remember having music started playing in an adjacent room. Jean and I continued to mingle with other guests in between dances; it seemed like most of the times that we danced it was to slow songs, and after she consumed each additional ounce of wine she moved closer and closer to me. Some of the guests -- not at the head table -- assumed that we were married, including one woman who stage whispered to Jean "I wish that my husband would treat me as gently yet intimately as your husband treats you." We both smiled and chose not to correct them.
Jean and I had such