Even in a city with eight-million people, it’s easy to run into a dozen familiar faces before the night is over. Thessaly waves to a few ladies she knows from her former tennis club, and then joins Mason and two men nursing whiskey sours. This is the second time this week a date has been foiled by other guests. “Tess,” Mason says, standing from his chair to greet her. Mason places his hands on the waist of her little blue dress and kisses her quickly on the mouth. Taking her hand and turning back around to the table of men, he adds, “Gentlemen, we’ll need our table now.” Gathering their drinks, the men stand from the table and stare at Thessaly with approval. “Good choice, Andrews,” says the man with the plaid bowtie. “See you out east tomorrow?” “I’m not sure, Clyde,” Mason replies, pulling out a seat for Thessaly. “Have a splendid weekend, gentlemen,” he adds, joining Thessaly’s side.
