Champagne in Art

Peter was dragged by Ellen to this social event which, in high society, is more commonly referred to as a soirée. He resisted as much as he could, asserting his disinterest in art in general and painting in particular, but ultimately yielded to her cast-iron argument that friends should support each other in times of need, and this was such a case.

Ellen, a journalist covering culture, had been assigned to report on the latest exhibition of another trendy artist. Judging by the guest list, the event promised to be a significant affair in the social life of the capital and "Opulent Charm", the magazine where Ellen worked, was expecting a juicy and very detailed account. And as often happens, it turned out at the last minute that guests were expected to arrive accompanied. Rick, Ellen's husband, was away, so without much deliberation, she invited Peter. The trio had been friends since school. Rick and Peter both dated Ellen, but she chose the lively and boisterous Rick over the shy Peter. Nevertheless, this did not prevent them from remaining close friends.

"Alright", Peter sighed in resignation. "But Rick owes me one..."

"You're a gem!" Ellen chirped, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Now, run off to Seventh Avenue; I've arranged for them to pick out a tuxedo and some decent shoes for you."

"A tuxedo?!" Peter's right eye twitched.

He had only once before been required to wear a formal suit - at Rick and Ellen's wedding -, and throughout the entire celebration Peter felt like a fish out of water. He much preferred worn, frayed jeans and old sneakers.

"Why a tuxedo? Can't I just..."

"Are you out of your mind?" Ellen's eyes widened in disbelief. "Do you really think they'll let you into a soirée in jeans? It's a different world, darling, with its own rules. There will be many celebrities. Have you never heard of a dress code?"

"Oh, great. Just what I needed," Peter mumbled.

"We're short on time," Ellen urged. "You need to be back by six. The magazine's limo will pick us up at half-past."

"Rick timed his escape perfectly," Peter thought gloomily as he stepped out of the door. "Oh, how I'm going to settle scores with him..."

On Seventh Avenue, Peter was already expected. A smiling clerk brought several tuxedos and quickly picked the right size.

"It fits as if it was tailor-made for you!"

Peter looked at himself in the mirror. The word debonair crossed his mind. Indeed, he looked very presentable in the tuxedo.

"How much do I owe you?" Peter inquired.

"Don't worry," the clerk responded. "The magazine's editorial office is covering it. For the suit and the insurance."

"Sorry?" Peter was confused. "But why the insurance? It's not a car, is it?"

"That's the policy," the woman laughed. "You never know what might happen. For instance, the jacket might get stained or torn. Parties can be unpredictable. We know this all too well"

Peter nodded. "In broad terms, I guess I understand."

On his return, Ellen was pleased with the tuxedo and how Peter looked in it. She herself was dressed in a black Ralph Lauren evening gown with an open back.

The limo arrived on time. They stepped outside, and the chauffeur opened the door for them.

"Hello, Ellen!" he greeted.

"Ah, how are you, Edward?" She recognized the driver. "Another evening shift?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And did the boss decide to send you to the terrarium today?"