13. Cocktails

"Are you sure you're up to this?"

Grandpa B batted Bonnie's hands away from his necktie. "Stop fussing! If I'm going to spend five hundred dollars for a ticket, I may as well get something out of it, even if it's only inedible chicken."

"You know most of that money is going to fund Senator Wyndham-Pryce's re-election campaign, Gramps. Now, take your cane." Bonnie passed him the finely-turned ebony stick with its carved eagle-head grip. "You're going to need it to beat off the ladies." She took a step back, as if to assess his appearance, head to toe. "Yep. You've still got that dashing 'men in black' look going for you."

"Enough of your nonsense!" He crooked an elbow in invitation, and Bonnie obligingly threaded an arm through his. "The only thing people will notice about me is the eye candy I've got on my arm. You look like 100 Grand in that dress. Is it new?"

"This old thing?" She gestured from the funnel neck to the hem of the knee-length pleated skirt. While a recent acquisition, the garment was seriously old: it had originally been shown in Chanel's 2014 couture collection. A white, cinched-waist dress heavily-embellished with intricate gold beading all down the long sleeves and across the bodice, back and front, it featured a quality of workmanship and design that was rare to find in current fashion. Bonnie silently blessed the salesclerk at the vintage clothing store she patronized for having held it back for her. "It was made in Paris, many years before I was born."

"That right?" He looked at the opulent creation with new respect. "Guess some old things are worth hanging on to."

Bonnie gave her grandfather's arm a squeeze. "You know it, Gramps."

As planned, they were among the first to arrive for the cocktail portion of the gala event. Bonnie had wanted to be on hand early in case any last-minute tasks required doing, but everything was apparently set, thanks in no small part to a Miss Savannah Greeley, one of the campaign staffers charged with organizing and overseeing fundraising activities. "You'll meet her later," Trev assured Bonnie, as he welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek and a very warm smile. "And you, sir." He extended a hand to her grandfather. "It's so very good of you to come. I know my father really appreciates it. He'll want to thank you in person, but for now, can I show you to your table, or would you rather mingle out here in the atrium for a bit?"

"My legs can hold me for a time, I believe. If it's a scotch you're offering, now…"

Trev grinned. "Coming right up. You want your usual, Bonnie?"

"Don't worry about me." She picked a glass of white wine off the tray of a passing server. "I'll make do with one of these."

The atrium, unimaginatively decorated with red, white and blue bunting, napery and flower arrangements, was soon echoing with the boisterous conversation and tinkling laughter of elegantly-attired men and their bejeweled and expensively-gowned companions. A number of Grandpa B's one-time trainees and junior colleagues were in attendance, and not by accident, it turned out: the host committee had let it be known that FBI Associate Deputy Director Seeley Booth, retired, had accepted his invitation, and the prospect of seeing the man they considered their role model and mentor had induced them to spring for a two hundred dollar ticket to the cocktail party. To Bonnie's eyes, her grandfather, flanked on three sides by admirers, seemed to stand taller and straighter, rejuvenated by the positive energy and warm regard they radiated. Seeing his pleasure, she did not begrudge a penny of her five hundred dollar contribution, and that was before she discovered the exceedingly pleasant surprise awaiting them in the banquet hall.

A distinguished older gentleman had preceded them to the VIP table, and sat talking to one of their dinner companions for the evening, Freya Wyndham-Pryce. At their approach, he rose spryly to his feet, and smiled broadly in welcome. "Booth, old friend!" The Honorable James Aubrey, U. S. Senator from Virginia, stepped forward to greet his erstwhile partner, and took the hand held out to him in both of his own. "It's been too long! When I heard you were coming to this shindig, I had to drop by." He leaned in and murmured, mock-confidentially, "Word is, food's not half bad in this establishment. And the beauteous Bonnie," he continued more loudly, submitting to her peck on his cheek. "You look more like your grandmother every time I see you. I'll bet no one ever tells you that."

Bonnie chuckled at this blatant understatement. "Just you and Gramps, Senator. I'm glad to see you looking so well."

"Good, clean living, m'dear." Aubrey patted his barely-there paunch, and flashed his cocky grin. In addition to his trim figure, he retained much of his youthful good looks. His jet-black hair had turned winter-white with time, and was not as thick and lustrous over the crown as it had been, but he still boasted a fuller head of hair than most of his contemporaries. His face had not grown bloated and flabby, either: his cheeks had hollowed out, making the fine bone structure underlying his features more starkly apparent. The blue eyes were as piercing, both in color and acuity, as ever, and the crow's feet and laugh lines etched into his skin increased rather than detracted from his attractiveness. "And, there's the macrobiotic diet, of course. Jess insists on it, which is, frankly, why I attend as many of these affairs as I can get away with. A man's got to have a nice, juicy slab of prime rib every now and then, am I right? Oh, and speaking of Jess, she sends her regards. The old girl can't be bothered with these political dos. Drive her nuts, she says."

Booth shook his head good-naturedly at his former protégé. "Still yammering away a mile a minute, eh, Aubrey?" He clapped the younger man soundly on the shoulder. "All the same, you're a sight for sore eyes. So, fill me in. What's going on with you these days? Making those fat cats in Washington toe the line, are you?"

"Trying, anyway." Aubrey waited while Booth was settled in his seat, and then took the chair next to him. "This is it for me, though: my last term. Jess wasn't too happy when I stood for re-election last year, but the party bigwigs were adamant they didn't have another viable candidate so I let myself be talked into it. That's the other reason I'm here tonight. Wyndham-Pryce looks like a good bet to make the jump from state legislature to federal. The party's thinking about grooming him to take my seat."

"Reasonable choice," Booth nodded. "The man's served his constituents well going on twenty years. He has a reputation for being fair-minded and plain-dealing. I'd vote for him."

"I gathered that, based on your supporting him tonight…"

"Pardon me, gentlemen." Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce, who had excused herself upon Booth and Bonnie's arrival, had returned and now hovered at Aubrey's elbow. "Do you think I could spirit Bonnie away for these few minutes before dinner is served? I promise not to keep her long."

There was, of course, no objection. Bonnie rose, and followed closely on Freya Wyndham-Pryce's spike heels as she wended her way around the richly-set tables, greeting now one person, then another. "It's wonderful to see your grandfather out and about again," she said over her shoulder. "I'm so glad he's enjoying the event. He was a great draw, you know. I'm afraid the organizers dropped his name quite shamelessly. The Senator and I are so very grateful."

Bonnie had assumed she was being tapped to help with some aspect of the function, but Freya led her into the rapidly-clearing atrium, where she stopped only long enough to instruct a server to bring two glasses of wine to the pedestal table she indicated in the far corner. "That really is the most exquisite dress," Freya said briskly, as she resumed walking. "Chanel, I think? Yes," she went on at Bonnie's nod. "The craftsmanship is telling. You have such excellent fashion sense, Bonnie. I only wish my Emma had your style."

Bonnie might have observed, quite sincerely, that Trev's sister had all the model of impeccable taste she needed in her own mother. Freya was dressed for the evening in a sleek, royal blue sheath overlaid with matching lace that showed her tall, lithe figure off to best advantage. If not for the silver-gray hair she wore in a smooth, chin-length pageboy, she might easily have passed for a decade younger than her actual years. A competitive swimmer in her youth, she still swam every morning, and moved as a result with the suppleness and grace of a well-toned athlete. It was her face, with its strong planes and angles, that Trev had inherited along with her pale complexion and sapphire-blue eyes. Bonnie had always admired her svelte Nordic beauty. She contented herself with saying only, "You look especially lovely tonight, Freya. That shade of blue really sets off your eyes."

"Thank you, my dear." She said no more until the waiter, having served their drinks, moved away. "Bonnie…" Freya toyed with her wine glass, twisting the stem between her long, slender fingers. "We've known each other a long time, and, well, I like to think that we have a good relationship, you and I."

"Yes, of course," Bonnie rushed to assure her. "You've always been a friend to me."

"Well, then, I hope you take what I'm about to tell you in good part. I have gone back and forth with myself as to whether I should say anything at all, but it's best to be honest, don't you agree? And, the truth is, Bonnie, I'm disappointed in you."