Page 46 of Jack Frost
"You're going to leave me here to watch your purse?"
"Um—yes?"
"I'd rather circulate with you. I can be your arm candy." His smile, white and brilliant, proves his point for him. "And I'll help carry your camera bag, hold your equipment, whatever you need."
"Fine. Come along."
Alice bustles up to me, glittering in a red gown. "Emery, we've got a problem in the prep room. You need to go in the back and—" She hesitates, eyeing my gown. "You need to go and mop up. Could get a little messy."
Jack's knuckles graze the back of my arm, and I glean confidence from the subtle touch. "Actually, I was asked to take some video of the event," I tell her. "And I'm also supposed to network, meet people, and talk about my Antarctic trip to donors. So I'm afraid you'll have to take care of the cleanup yourself, Alice."
Gracefully I sweep away from her.
"Savage," Jack whispers.
"I don't understand why she hates me."
"She's jealous. You're talented, beautiful—you've traveled to fascinating places—you've got passion and interesting things to say, and she doesn't."
I want to protest that women aren't that petty, that he's stereotyping or assuming—but I know, deep down, that sometimes it's really that simple. Sometimes it boils down to pure jealousy, both professional and primal, in this case. And while I'd love to think that the human race has evolved beyond that, the sad truth is that we're as petty and ridiculous as ever. Despite Auxesia's flawed solution to the problem, she does have a point. The world is full of careless, ignorant, vindictive people.
The more I circulate and chat throughout the evening, the more disgruntled I become. I feel like a judgy Ebenezer Scrooge, outwardly smiling and conversing, while inwardly I grouse at the finery and the endless little excesses of the people around me. The guests must care about the preservation of natural resources, or they wouldn't be here, would they? Or are they only attending because it makes them look good, because it salves their guilt, because they need a tax write-off, or because they wanted to attend a fancy party on Christmas Eve?
"You're beginning to look dour," Jack says in my ear as we glide away from greeting yet another cluster of guests. "Anything I can do?"
"I'm just hungry."
"Well, you're in luck, because I believe they're going to start serving. Shall we sit?"
Two other couples share our table—a pair of charming businessmen who wear matching wedding bands, and a paunchy older fellow with a woman younger than me. The older guy keeps playing with the young woman's hand, touching her wrist and her palm, even reaching under the table once or twice while he leers suggestively. The rest of us pretend not to notice. Clearly the man paid well to be here, and I suppose his money is as good as anyone else's, even if he has the foul manners of one of my mother's boyfriends.
The food, at least, is delightful. And while most of the auctioning has been done silently, there's still the live auction to look forward to. Something about the competition and the high stakes of a live auction has always excited me.
I'm savoring the last bite of my cheesecake when Newt Minnick approaches our table. He nods curtly to Jack and lays his humid hand on my bare shoulder. "We're about to start the live auction," he says. "I'll do a short presentation first, so be sure to get some footage of that. You don't need to film the auction itself, though. Okay?" He squeezes my shoulder.
"I understand."
"Good. Enjoying yourself?" His hand slides along my skin, just a fraction—too slight a shift for anyone else to notice.
"It's all very nice, thanks." I shift away from his touch, but he follows the movement, maintaining contact.
"Wonderful. And you look stunning tonight, by the way. Just the person we need at the conservancy. A pretty face helps draw in them ducats! I had my doubts when Marian chose you—there were a couple other candidates on the table, with more experience—but she said we needed somebody young and photogenic around the place. Has she talked to you about posing for the website photos?"
"I—no."
"Ah, she'll probably talk to you about it after the holidays. Too expensive to hire models, you see. Better to use someone in-house." With a final caressing squeeze, he releases my shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of the evening."
My face burns, and I stare at my plate while Minnick saunters away.
I thought they hired me because of my skill with a camera and my passion for the cause. Not for my face. Tears sting the corners of my eyes.
Jack's hand presses against the small of my back, rubbing gently.
The two businessmen are off chatting at another table, and the older man is too enchanted with his date to notice Jack and me, so I let a tear or two fall quietly onto the crumbled crust of the cheesecake.
This clearly isn't the job for me. But if I leave right away, how will that look on my resume? I should try to stick it out for at least a year—endure Alice's subtle needling and Minnick's not-so-subtle lusting. If I were braver, I'd leave right away. I wouldn't put up with any of it. But where would I go? What would I do? I need this paycheck.
"Emery."
