rival told her. You wanted to mingle with these big shots, so go for it!
Nearby she saw a long white-clothed table where several well-dressed women were taking the white and gold-embossed invitations with manicured fingers and dropping them into a big fishbowl. Thank God she had an invitation, although she noticed that not every guest was asked to authenticate him or herself by showing one.
A steward approached and asked for her coat, pointing out a makeshift closet in the left front corner of the room. She handed over the black jacket, feeling guilty because she had no cash for tips. She’d had so many other things on her mind, she hadn’t thought of it.
As the steward whisked her coat away, she drew a deep breath, opened her clutch and pulled out the invitation her colleague had given her. She passed it to a perfectly-coiffed middle-aged woman wearing a light-fracturing rock on her ring finger. A chubby balding man stood at her shoulder, ogling Shannon’s chest. Fearing her tattoo showed, Shannon pressed her silver clutch against her breast and sidled away from the table.
She squeezed into the crowd where throngs of the well heeled and impeccably dressed schooled like glittering fish among tinsel and colored lights. She had attended some professional events over the course of her six-year real estate career—meetings, seminars, parties, even—but she had never attended anything quite like this.
Energy and the smell of money filled the air. She imagined passionate conversations about profits and deals that would make sweeping changes somewhere. Stewards rushed about carrying trays of colorful drinks. She spotted a table with a multi-tiered ice sculpture lorded over platters of artfully arranged boiled shrimp. Other trays held a variety of sushi delights and a dozen different kinds of canapés.
On another table stood a flowing chocolate fountain that saturated the air around it with the decadent aroma of the rich dark brown condiment. Plates and plates of fruits and nuts and little cakes for dipping surrounded it. One huge tray held chocolate-dipped strawberries decorated to look like little tuxedos and lined up like soldiers. She instantly thought of taking one home to Grammy Evelyn, but couldn’t figure out how. One wouldn’t fit into her clutch without being squashed and making a big mess.
Never having witnessed or been a part of such blatant excess, she was as awe-struck as if she were at Disneyland. Sheer fascination chased away her initial fears and she was happy she had come. She eased through the room, watching one person she recognized as a Fort Worth politician, listening to another well-known TV anchor woman whose voice she recognized without seeing her face.
An inexplicable emotion rose from deep within her. Not envy, but something more like a
weighty longing. For her whole rocky and uncertain existence, she had wanted to someday, somehow, be a woman of substance, a person who had earned a place in a room like this. Now, for the first time in her life, that nebulous pining seemed like a possibility. She might have experienced a few detours on her journey to this point, might have behaved impulsively, might have made some errors in judgment, but she had put her life on track now. She had learned self-discipline and goal setting and these days, there was little she would let deter her from her chosen path to success.
Letting herself be carried along by the crowd, she sought Jordan Palmer, the man who had provided her with entrée to this hoity-toity soiree. They didn’t have a real date. With an air of the huckster about him, Jordan wasn’t a man she would ever feel comfortable dating. They had run into each other in a continuing education class a few months back. When he told her he had an extra ticket to this affair and no one to use it, she had offered to buy it from him. He had refused her money and given it to her for free.
Shannon might be a small town girl, but she hadn’t just fallen
Nearby she saw a long white-clothed table where several well-dressed women were taking the white and gold-embossed invitations with manicured fingers and dropping them into a big fishbowl. Thank God she had an invitation, although she noticed that not every guest was asked to authenticate him or herself by showing one.
A steward approached and asked for her coat, pointing out a makeshift closet in the left front corner of the room. She handed over the black jacket, feeling guilty because she had no cash for tips. She’d had so many other things on her mind, she hadn’t thought of it.
As the steward whisked her coat away, she drew a deep breath, opened her clutch and pulled out the invitation her colleague had given her. She passed it to a perfectly-coiffed middle-aged woman wearing a light-fracturing rock on her ring finger. A chubby balding man stood at her shoulder, ogling Shannon’s chest. Fearing her tattoo showed, Shannon pressed her silver clutch against her breast and sidled away from the table.
She squeezed into the crowd where throngs of the well heeled and impeccably dressed schooled like glittering fish among tinsel and colored lights. She had attended some professional events over the course of her six-year real estate career—meetings, seminars, parties, even—but she had never attended anything quite like this.
Energy and the smell of money filled the air. She imagined passionate conversations about profits and deals that would make sweeping changes somewhere. Stewards rushed about carrying trays of colorful drinks. She spotted a table with a multi-tiered ice sculpture lorded over platters of artfully arranged boiled shrimp. Other trays held a variety of sushi delights and a dozen different kinds of canapés.
On another table stood a flowing chocolate fountain that saturated the air around it with the decadent aroma of the rich dark brown condiment. Plates and plates of fruits and nuts and little cakes for dipping surrounded it. One huge tray held chocolate-dipped strawberries decorated to look like little tuxedos and lined up like soldiers. She instantly thought of taking one home to Grammy Evelyn, but couldn’t figure out how. One wouldn’t fit into her clutch without being squashed and making a big mess.
Never having witnessed or been a part of such blatant excess, she was as awe-struck as if she were at Disneyland. Sheer fascination chased away her initial fears and she was happy she had come. She eased through the room, watching one person she recognized as a Fort Worth politician, listening to another well-known TV anchor woman whose voice she recognized without seeing her face.
An inexplicable emotion rose from deep within her. Not envy, but something more like a
weighty longing. For her whole rocky and uncertain existence, she had wanted to someday, somehow, be a woman of substance, a person who had earned a place in a room like this. Now, for the first time in her life, that nebulous pining seemed like a possibility. She might have experienced a few detours on her journey to this point, might have behaved impulsively, might have made some errors in judgment, but she had put her life on track now. She had learned self-discipline and goal setting and these days, there was little she would let deter her from her chosen path to success.
Letting herself be carried along by the crowd, she sought Jordan Palmer, the man who had provided her with entrée to this hoity-toity soiree. They didn’t have a real date. With an air of the huckster about him, Jordan wasn’t a man she would ever feel comfortable dating. They had run into each other in a continuing education class a few months back. When he told her he had an extra ticket to this affair and no one to use it, she had offered to buy it from him. He had refused her money and given it to her for free.
Shannon might be a small town girl, but she hadn’t just fallen
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