Roo tugged at his tux and grimaced. He’d last worn it a few years ago, and despite the weekly training, long swims, the pull-ups off the davits on the back of his boat, it still didn’t quite fit right. He wondered if anyone noticed, and then decided to shrug it off. Focusing on it would only bring attention. “A drink, sir?” one of the attendants asked. Her overly short cocktail dress revealed rather muscular legs. A sprinter? Roo wondered. She held up a tray of delicate glasses and looked artificially chipper. Roo stared at the tray for a moment. “I have a Château Margaux…” she started to say. “Is there any beer?” Roo asked. “Carib? Red Stripe?” “No.” In last year’s videos there’d been a temporary bar over at the corner. “Rum,” Roo said. “We have a wide selection…” “Mount Gay Extra Old,” Roo said. “No ice.” The rich, amber rum was easy to sip. The familiar semi-sweet of a good sipping rum with some fruity undertones and oak took the edge off as Roo began to circulate.
