Darlene stretched comfortably across Brenda's bed and chatted while her friend dressed. "You should have seen the chick going in next door."

"Across the hall?"

"Yes. I thought this was a nostalgia party." She fingered the material of her long dress. "She's straight out of Carnaby Street."

"I'm not surprised. The guy across the hall thinks he's God's gift; he attracts all those types. I've had a few occasions to shut him down." Brenda toweled her hair dry and sat on the windowsill to dry her legs. "There's another guy on this floor that I'll introduce you to tonight, he's really quite nice."

"Hey! I' didn't come to get fixed up, Bren. I had enough of that today at work."

"What happened?"

"This creep, after trying to peek up my skirt while I was getting something off the floor, then comes out and hits on me and when I brush him off, he stomps out and practically calls me a slut."

"You should report him, that's harassment."

"Aah, it's my first week. I probably won't even see the guy again."

"Don't make the mistake of taking that from men, Darlene. It's a new day. That guy across the hall is a jerk just like that, they don't give up." She padded over to her dresser and took out her panties and hose. "You should read some of the stuff I have to edit, you'd think we were still in the last century. I think that's what some of these guys read. Talk about Harlequin Romances, man, some of these housewife writers need to get some fresh air."

"They're not all as liberated as you, Bren." Darlene sat up and made room as Brenda laid out her dress on the covers. "Besides, I bet you pick up plenty of tips and pointers reading that stuff," she teased.

"Tips and pointers are what they're all about," Brenda snorted. "Listen, I'm serious about this guy down the hall. You'll really like him."

Darlene rolled her eyes and pushed at the air with her hands. "What's the use, you'll get me fixed up whether I want it or not."

"Well if you don't, there's always me as a fallback."

"Been there, done that, Bren. Not my cup of - well actually it wasn't that bad..." She giggled at her friends expression.

*****

Gary Dasher slid to a noisy stop in his parking place and killed the engine. While he finished his phone conversation he flipped through the files in his briefcase propped on the console. He checked the dashboard clock and cursed, fifteen minutes to Millicent's show time, he would be late again this year. He gathered up his stuff, clambered out of the car and bolted for the shortcut over the hedge, beeping his remote lock as he ran.

"Baby, you made it." Geena blew an air kiss and continued across the room to her closet. "I just got here about ten minutes ago. I had to leave TriTech an outline of the proposal, there just wasn't enough time to get into it." She smoothed her slip over her hips and pulled on a semi see-through white sweater with beading across the bust. Gary shook his head in disgust and ran some figures through his calculator. "Is the computer on?"

"No, baby, I didn't think we'd have time. Maybe we can slip up during the evening and crunch some numbers." She wriggled into a slim beige midi and fastened a large gold belt around her waist.

"Guess your right. Nice outfit." He mentioned, barely looking as he stripped down to his shorts and darted into the bathroom. The phone rang and they both dove for their cells. "Must be yours," he pouted, marching back into the bathroom. When he came out, Geena was brushing her long hair in front of the mirror. "Who was it?"

"Marty Epstein. He gave me the numbers for Galloway Enterprises, we should clear an easy six grand on that one, baby."

"Great, get Monty on the phone, I'll start the data switch with him." He pulled up his pants and unwrapped a fresh shirt from the cleaners. "Better still, boot up and I'll patch through our forecast data straight to his account."

"It's after seven, Baby, we should be going down." Geena did a quick check in the mirror and shrugged with powerless resignation. "Just text message him to leave his account open and we'll do it when we get back."

"Good move." He did up his shirt while he stepped into his loafers, grabbed his jacket and phone, and they left in lockstep to attend the party.

******

Stanley gave Haggis his dinner, freshened his water and patted him on the head fondly. "Won't be too late, old boy. We'll take that short walk later. Don't be barking when you hear Spade, okay? We'll get him another time." He locked the front door and strutted down the front steps of the building and around to the side walkway that led to the garden.

Millicent was standing talking to the bartender; her copper coloured dress flowed from beneath a lacy, long-fringed shawl. She wore a silver headband with a miniature peacock feather that stood proudly over her forehead and she carried a rice paper fan, waving it with emphasis as she spoke.

"Good evening, Millicent," Stanley took her free hand and kissed the soft, wrinkled skin, before turning to the young man behind the bar and ordering a large whiskey and soda.

"Stanley, don't you look dashing," she smiled coyly, noticing it was the same outfit he'd worn for the past ten years. "I hope Haggis didn't mind being left."

"Not at all, my dear. Like myself, Haggis faces his duties with firm conviction.

"My goodness, I hope you don't treat my gatherings as a duty. I would hope they would be a welcome interlude in the humdrum days of business and commerce."

Stanley accepted his drink from the young man and raised his glass to Millicent. "They are, although business and commerce are not my domain any more, but my duty at this one is to tell you how utterly ravishing you look in the light of these lanterns."

"Stanley, you old roué." She batted him lightly with her fan. "Oh look, here come the Dashers and Alec Fletcher."

"Hi Molly," Gary and Geena said informally in unison.

"Millicent," Alec smiled and held her hand for a moment. "You must have a great deal of pull with someone to get weather like this for all your parties."

"Yeah, give us a name, Molly, we'll put out a public offering and round up some investors. You could stretch out on margin and make a killing in one season." Gary poured his own drink, leaving the bartender to dab up the spillage.

"The name would be God, Mister Dasher. Do you really think you could find enough people these days willing to invest in that person?"

Alec smothered a laugh and slid around to the bar while Gary and Geena traded takes on Millicent's remark. There was a sudden bang and they all looked up to the fire escape door where they saw the Morano's making their way down the slim stairs. Sophia trailed her husband, who bounced down with little regard to her passage, and followed him across the lawn to the group at the bar.

"Sophia, you look lovely," Millicent cooed her stock greeting. "And Sebastian, such an interesting shirt." She raised her eyebrows and slid a glance to Stanley who hid a grin behind his glass.

"Silk," he boasted. "Real Egypt silk. Feel it." He held out an arm and Millicent rested the tip of her finger on the sleeve. "Lovely... Egypt you say. I imagine the Egypts are very good at shirt making." Stanley snorted into his drink and turned away coughing. "Let's have some music shall we?" Millicent signaled to another of the catering staff stationed behind the arbour and a few seconds later the garden was filled with the slightly tinny sounds of 'In the Middle of a Kiss', by the Hotel Great Northern Orchestra.

"Evening Sophia, you're looking very chic." Alec smiled, holding it tight as he noticed the redness in her eyes. "May I get you something to drink?"

"She can get it, Fletcher," Sebastian said, pulling his wife away and toward the bar. Sophia's face signaled her sad apology as she was led away.