from his perfection.
“You look…perfect,” I said with a mixture of envy and admiration.
Jake, oh so modestly, made an exaggerated, Mark Vanderloo-esque turn.
“I really, really do—don’t I?”
He was only half kidding.
“But there is one, reluctant concession.” Jake pulled from his pocket a gleaming gray silk tie like a magician displaying his hidden string of scarves. Jake didn’t do ties. I was touched. “Just in case.”
“So, how casual is casual?” he asked as he made his way to the kitchen to deposit Crumbcake.
“Therein lies my predicament—I’m not sure.”
“Do we have any clues? Indicators?”
“None,” I responded solemnly. “She just said that it was a benefit for a children’s zoo and that it was…casual.”
A somber tone had overtaken us both. We could have been talking about global warming, missile treaties, or maybe the ethical consequences of human cloning.
“I see, so it’s ‘casual,’ but not casual.” He seemed to have gleaned a key piece of information.
“Maybe I should just call and ask?”
“Better you show up nude. Then she’ll really know you’re a neophyte.”
“Do we have to resort to name-calling?”
“I don’t think you’re a neophyte—and all the better if you are. I’m channeling the mind-set of a sixty-year-old socialite, that’s all.” He shook off the thought with a chill.
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