Not Quite Perfect

Gaylord nodded his head once. “Probably a good thing you have some fire behind you, dating this one.” He pointed at Glen.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“I’m not sure either,” Gaylord told him.

Before anyone could comment further on Gaylord’s assessment of Glen’s character, the rest of the Morrison clan joined them.

Glen made the introductions.

Jessie hugged her like they knew each other. “Monica has told me all about you.”

Mary told Jessie nearly the same thing and the conversation spun around to Dakota and Walt . . . How was the baby? And how was Dakota doing with a broken leg?

It didn’t take long for the waitstaff to shuffle the party into the dining room that seated close to three hundred guests. A podium sat on a small stage with a single microphone.

Once everyone was seated, Jason and Gaylord moved to the podium to welcome their guests. Luckily Jason wasn’t a rambler of bullshit, and Gaylord always had a way to cut to the chase.

Jason started before dinner was served. “On behalf of my brothers and everyone at Fairchild Charters, we want to thank you all for continuing to call on us when you need to fly. I’ll skip the PR portion of my speech and suggest everyone drink up and enjoy the evening.”

Glen leaned over to whisper in Mary’s ear. “Always had a way with words, that one.”

Gaylord took the podium. “Not a bad looking group we have here.”

The audience laughed.

“Years ago when Jason’s father and I met . . . I remember a bottle of Kentucky bourbon being involved . . . we both brought out our phones to show off the faces of our children. It didn’t occur to either of us to bring our client pool together. It took those young children to find lives of their own to bring the idea to fruition.” Gaylord slapped a meaty palm to Jason’s shoulder. “Your father would be proud of all of you.”

Jason nodded his thanks.

“Now I had some Texas beef flown in for this shindig, so eat up. Those of you who ordered the fish . . .” He shrugged. “Can’t help you there.”

The applause was minimal and the waiters descended on the room with the first course.

The tables where the Fairchilds and the Morrisons sat were spread among their guests. This was an event to make the customers feel special, not for the families to pull into themselves and ignore everyone else.

Still, Glen had a hard time concentrating on anyone other than Mary.

Their table was a mix of business executives and their wives or dates. It wasn’t uncommon for Glen’s table to house a bachelor or two, but nearly no one arrived at this event dateless. The bachelors seldom returned with the same date unless they were on the fast track to remove their bachelor status.

Hugh Darnell sat beside his flavor of the year. He’d started dating women who had sleek black hair and olive skin and who wouldn’t be caught eating pizza in public. Glen never did understand the pencil thin look, but Hugh leaned that way. Glen didn’t bother putting to memory the name of Hugh’s date. He was talking with the Lowtons, the token married couple at the table, about his dot-com, which he’d created in the frenzy and managed to keep relevant and lucrative ever since. Hugh’s date looked bored with the conversation and started talking fashion with Irvin Murray’s date . . . someone who Glen had met one time before . . . but her name still evaded him.

At one point during the meal Mary leaned close so only he could hear her. “How well do you know these people?”

“The Lowtons did business with my father. Hugh’s been a client for half a dozen years now . . . new money, spends it, and isn’t afraid of sharing it either. He’s generous with his executive management. Charters planes for his team constantly.”

“I would think most of the people in this room would do that.”

Glen did a quick shake of his head. “Businessmen are the worst about sharing. Our celebrities and sports figures, they share and play often.”

Mary reached for her wine and spoke over the rim of her glass. “What about Irvin?”

“Don’t know him well. Trust fund,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“What about Delilah?”

“Who?”

Mary nudged her head to the opposite side of the table. “Hugh’s date.”

“Never saw her before.”

The waiters moved around the table removing salad plates and replacing them with the main course.

“And Pnina?”

Glen made the deduction that Pnina had to be Irvin’s date.

“We’ve met, but I don’t know her.”

“Hmm.”

From what Glen could tell, Mary was deducting things inside her head with the little bit of information he’d given her. He wanted to quiz her on her observations but knew that would have to wait until those he wanted to talk about were more than a dinner plate away.

“Is your therapist hat on?” he asked.

“Is it ever off?”

Yes, he wanted to tell her . . . when she was in bed.

Dinner felt like it took forever to get through. Once the plates were cleared, Glen took the liberty to excuse both himself and Mary from the table with the ploy that he needed to introduce Mary to a few people. He did make a show of stopping at Jason’s table, where some of the guests were already up and mingling before the second half of the evening took place. The stop was brief before Glen pulled Mary to an outside patio.

The cold instantly slapped him in the face.