“You look great. Red is your color. Come on.” I take her hand and tug her into the benefit.
The enormous theater has been decorated for the event in the spare-yet-elegant manner of most charity functions: Large plants in every corner, donated by a local nursery. Strands of lights hanging from the ceiling in graceful arcs. Bars in each corner, staffed by the usual grad students in white shirts and black vests. (If I hadn’t won a scholarship, I might be one of them.) A lectern and microphone wait for various speeches, standing on the stage in front of the red velvet curtains.
We ran late because Carmen was still neck-deep in math when I came to pick her up, so the gala is already in full swing. Geordie must have been waiting for us the entire time, because he immediately waves and heads in our direction, weaving through the elegantly dressed crowd.
Tonight’s cocktail reception benefits the public-interest law center Geordie sometimes volunteers with. Austin residents wear casual clothes almost all the time—but give us a chance to dress up, and we’ll take it. Carmen’s red satin sheath shows off her curves to perfection and fits perfectly with the tone of the party: cocktail dresses for the women, tailored suits for the men.
Me, I’m slightly overdressed. But I come from New Orleans, which means I usually wind up attending a Mardi Gras ball or two in the spring, which means I’m one of the few women who genuinely needs to own a full-length evening gown. This one is simple—emerald-green silk, spaghetti straps, skimming my body to the waist, then widening into a soft, flowing skirt. I adore this dress, and putting it on only twice a year always seems like a waste. Tonight seemed like a great excuse to wear it. However, I’ve already received a few glares from women who seem to think I was trying to show them up. Whatever.
“There you are!” Geordie holds a plastic glass of something amber in one hand but uses the other arm to hug me and Carmen in turn. His breath smells slightly boozy as his lips brush against my cheek. “Been wondering when the two most beautiful women in Austin would arrive.”
Carmen laughs. “Let me know when they get here.” Geordie shakes his head at her in disbelief, as if wondering how she could deny how gorgeous she is. I’ve got to hand it to the guy; he’s a world-class flirt.
“So what do we do?” I say. “Walk around, talk about how great it is when lawyers do pro bono work, drink the free wine?” After you pay fifty bucks for a benefit ticket, they don’t bother with a cash bar.
“That’s pretty much the idea,” Geordie says. “Mingle. Network. Definitely don’t neglect the free wine. And check out the silent auction! Your print’s the prize attraction, Vivienne.”
I doubt this. As proud as I am of the etching with the dove, most bidders will be more excited by luxury spa packages, gift certificates to high-end stores, box seats for football games, the usual swag. Still, it’s nice of Geordie to say.
The free wine turns out to taste like it should be free, so I don’t bother after the first couple swallows. Instead I talk with a few of Geordie’s law school friends and browse through the various artworks and gift certificates laid out for the silent auction. My print is prominently displayed—Thanks, Geordie—and for a moment I try to see it as someone would for the first time. Would they pay attention to the stark lines or the soft curves? The shadows or the light? You’d have to stand very close to notice that the ink I used isn’t black, but a midnight blue.
I try not to be overly pleased with myself when I see that my print has already received a few bids. But I don’t let myself look at the clipboard in front of the art too closely, because there’s nothing like seeing someone bid five dollars for your work to drag you down. Better to enjoy the party. A smooth-jazz band plays at the far end of the room, so the murmuring of the crowd flows around the soft strains of piano and bass.
When I wash my hands in the restroom, a woman stands in front of the mirror, reapplying deep red lipstick. The red brightens her smile as she sees me. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all night,” she says. “That’s a fabulous dress.”
“Thanks. So is yours.” The white sequins are dazzling against her dark brown skin, and the high hem reveals her long, gorgeous legs. “And God, I wish I could carry off that haircut. You look amazing.”
She laughs. Her natural curls are cut close to her scalp, making her come across as both feminine and bold. “Give short hair a try sometime. You might like it.”