Clarice finally managed to walk into her flat at quarter after five.  While it only took ten minutes for Julie to establish what needed to be done for the dress, it took a lot longer for Clarice to find complimentary jewelry that wouldn't bankrupt her.  Now, she trundled into her flat, the gown bagged over her shoulder, and a little straw handled bag from the jewelers, the bag that corresponded to the dress makers bag filled with her gloves and shoes, and a third bag with two new hat boxes clutched in her other hand.  She kicked the door closed, and dropped the whole lot unceremoniously by the front door.  She disentangled her feet from the pile and lurched forward to punch the little flashing red button on her answering machine.

            "Marguerite, it's Madison, about the Cheney account, they decided to change the living room to fuchsia.  What should I do with all the royal blue Ming vases?"

            Clarice paused the message and snatched up the phone, pinching the bridge of her nose with the other hand.  "Madison, yeah…. I got your message.  Get Gabby on the line… Hey, Gabby, Madison's client wants to change color, so we have six Ming style vases in royal blue.  You think your client would be willing to lean a little more towards an Oriental rather than Indian for their dining room?  Good, great.  Problem solved.  Anything else?"  Ten minutes later, Clarice finally hung up the phone, erased the message and pushed for the next one.

            "Margie!" Clarice positively cringed at Stella's voice.  "It's me, Margie.  Look, I was thinking, why don't I come over tonight and bring Gary and a little something to eat and we can get dolled up together!  You know, girl stuff?  Yes, I know Gary's not a girl, but he likes men, so close enough!"  Stella's recorded voice laughed obnoxiously at her own joke.  Clarice ground her teeth.  "Anyway, I'll be over at five, ma cher.  Okay?  Perfect?  Bye!"

            Clarice blew at a little piece of hair that had come undone.  It was 5:27 now, which meant that Stella would be here…

The bell rang, but the instant Clarice turned around to get it, the door pushed open and Stella appeared beaming, in a fur coat and with two men behind her carrying numerous boxes.  Without seeing Clarice in the dark room, she announced "Margie!  Oh, Margie!  I'm here!  Oh…"  Stella caught sight of the pile of clothes right in front of the door.  Her tone changed slightly.  "Margie?  Margie, are you okay?  Max, why don't you go in first," she stood aside for her manservant to go ahead.

"It's alright, Stella.  I'm fine.  Just a little exhausted," Clarice switched on the lighting in the dark room.

"Oh, wonderful.  I was a tad worried," Stella pushed Max out of the way without compunction now that there was no eminent danger.

Clarice gave a small smile.  "Come in, Max… Gary.  Make yourselves at home."

Stella already had, she was moving around the flat touching and commenting on everything.  Clarice figured there was nothing good in any of the comments, so she ignored Stella for the moment, picking up her things where she had dropped them.  Stella was still jabbering nonstop when she had finished.  What a long night it will be, Clarice thought wearily.

Clarice gave a belabored sigh.  Never again, she vowed in her mind, Never again.  Stella was a few feet away, giggling obnoxiously at the seven men surrounding her.  Clarice gave a little smile to Charles, who had brought her a glass of champagne.

"So, how are you, Charlie?" Clarice asked, politely.

"Surviving, I suppose," he gazed wistfully at Stella.  "I can't imagine what she sees in those guys.  They hardly have a brain cell between them."

Clarice scoffed.  "I have a feeling she's more interested in what's in their trust funds rather than their skulls."

Charles smiled.  "What about you, then, Marge?  You're beautiful, intelligent, a good conversationalist, why don't you have a date tonight?"

"Why, Charles," Clarice laughed, genuinely.  "Are you offering?"  She grinned at his flushed expression.  "I was kind of an add-on guest.  You know, riding in on someone else's coat tails."

"Ah, I see.  Crowd control.  Or should I say Charles control."

Clarice rolled her eyes as she smiled into her champagne glass.  It wasn't a bad party to be honest.  The best and brightest of Paris gathered in one hotel.  And she got to talk to one of the brightest.  Too bad he was hung up on the gilded star of Stella de Barbaou.  Clarice smiled.  Charles wasn't really her type truthfully.  Too sweet, too forgiving, too… safe.  Aye, there's the rub, Clarice reflected ruefully.  There was just something profoundly safe about Charles that made him nothing more than friend material.  A close friend, perhaps.  Someone interesting to talk to.  But hardly someone she would consider becoming intimately acquainted with.

"Madame?" a voice inquired to her left.  A waiter held out a tray to take her now empty champagne flute.

"Oh, merci," Clarice said.

Charles placed his glass next hers on the tray and then proposed, "We shouldn't wallow around here all night.  Would you like to dance?"

"I'd be delighted," Clarice agreed, and they swept into the center of the ballroom.