Second Rule: Be unfailingly polite, even when being dissected.
We finally arrive at the Martinside looking like we have been caught in some kind of weather event, even though it is a fine, clear evening. I dash to the restroom to do some rather serious damage control and I can only assume Ducky does the same. We then check our coats and approach the maitre'd.
"We are here to join the Mallard party," Ducky states, with emphasis on the last syllable of his surname.
"Of course, sir." He beckons to a young man in the wings. "Johnston, if you please."
It's my best friend, Oliver Johnston. I chuckle quietly. He's currently one of my housemates while we're in London on work/study. Both he and my other male housemate, Ron Schillinger work at the Martinside, and Ollie just got a promotion from busboy to host. The pay is an improvement and the tips are far better. As much as I'd like to tease him, I can't. I couldn't jeopardize his new position.
"I know I have to pretend I don't know you," Ollie whispers, "but hot damn, Celly! You look terrific!"
"Told you!" Ducky replies.
I feel my cheeks start to warm. "You're just saying that so Ducky will slip you a nice fat tip, you dweeb!"
My outfit is rather stunning. My third housemate and best female friend Vivian Hecht helped me pick it out. Viv has great taste and an eye for style that I can only sit back and admire. She looks great in everything, including the au pair uniforms we both have to wear when we work. She looks like a stylish Julie Andrews/Mary Poppins; I look more like the Elsa Lanchester/Nanny-From-Hell.
For this evening we chose a red satin mini dress with an empire waist. The hem hits about four inches above the knee. The neckline is squared and reveals what I consider to be a discrete amount of décolletage. Viv says I look sensational in it, an opinion upheld by my sweetheart and my best friend Ollie who doesn't even like girls. I am also wearing red flats for two reasons: because I'm still recovering from a very bad ankle injury and because I don't want to appear taller than Ducky. A two inch height difference is nice when you're not wearing shoes, and it's perfect for kissing, but not so great when out and about. He's never really said anything, but I really don't want to draw too much negative attention to myself tonight.
Ducky's hand rests lightly on the small of my back as he guides me around the room past elegantly dressed people. They look toward us as we pass. Some smile and nod, others just smile as we walk by. An elegant middle-aged couple occupies a table near the center of the room. They are also looking at us, but with expressions more veiled than the other patrons. They rise as we approach.
The resemblance between the gentleman and Ducky is striking. The father is an older version of the son; he has the same facial bone structure, the same ever-changing blue eyes, hair graying, but clearly once fair. They are dressed in the same color suits and are wearing their identical school ties. If Ducky grows older as gracefully, aging will be quite pleasant. But Mr. Mallard watches us almost impassively.
Mrs. Mallard, on the other hand, focuses on us keenly. She is ash-blonde and elegant, dressed in a light turquoise evening dress. She is petite, quite a bit shorter than her husband who is actually a couple of inches taller than Ducky. Her intelligent blue eyes miss nothing as she watches me approach. I am being scanned, assessed, evaluated. She takes in my appearance, my carefully considered outfit, looks me over head-to-toe. I feel like I've been x-rayed.
Her stern expression changes to a smile when she turns her attention to Ducky. "Donald!" She reaches out with a hug, plants a kiss firmly on her son's cheek.
"Mother!" He smiles and returns the hug and kiss.
I have become invisible.
Mr. Mallard stands next to his wife, all emotions veiled. He extends his right hand as Ducky looks up from his mother's embrace. "Son."
"Father." Ducky shakes the older man's hand. There seems to be a reserve on the part of both men.
Ducky steps back and takes me by the hand. I tense. He pulls me forward, places his hand on my back for reassurance. "Mother, Father, may I present Miss Celeste Porter? Celeste, I'd like you to meet my parents, Victoria and Edward Mallard."
I smile as warmly as I can manage under Victoria Mallard's stare. I extend my right hand toward her. "Mrs. Mallard." I am careful to use the preferred pronunciation.
She clasps my hand briefly, dismissively. She looks me over from a closer perspective as she might look at an aphid defacing a rose in her garden. "Miss Porter."
Well, lady, the rose is mine now…
I extend my hand toward Ducky's father. "Mr. Mallard?"
He grasps my hand with both of his and smiles slightly. "Miss Porter." He kisses my hand. "Charmed." His crystal blue eyes hold intent quite different than his wife's. I've seen the look often on his son's face. A combination of approval and interest with a touch of lust.
I feel myself start to blush and nervously glance at Ducky. He is oblivious to the implied leer. He smiles and holds my chair, indicating that I should sit down.
As I settle in, Mr. Mallard leans forward slightly, undoubtedly hoping to get a better look at my cleavage.
Ducky notices that. He gives his father a sharp look, then leans over and whispers, "Don't worry, Love. It's the first thing I noticed about you, too." He grins to try to take the edge off, but I'm still unsettled.
"May I bring you something from the bar, sir?" Ollie inquires professionally. He witnessed that entire exchange which should save me some time when I get home and start dissecting my evening to Viv and Ron.
"Single malt and a glass of cabernet sauvignon for the lady," Ducky tosses off with a wink at my housemate.
"Very good, sir." To his great credit, Ollie doesn't even crack a smile as he walks off.
