My Dear Laurens (Lams)

A. Hamilton

1780, A Winter's Ball.  

A soldier's uniform adorned forty-percent of the male census present at the ball. Blue coats covering wrinkle-free, battle-ready white underneath. Every new woman entering the venue caused at least two or more soldiers tripping over themselves to win her praise.  

One soldier entered and found a familiar face. Alexander entered, and found Burr, whose eyes wandered over the crowd of people in search of a companion of friendship, or otherwise. At least, that's what Alexander assumed. He approached Burr, eager to soothe his inactive vocals with a conversation.  

"Aaron Burr," he said.  

"Sir," Burr replied, twisting his body to give Alexander his full attention. "I haven't seen you since you and I met in Washington's office. How have you been?" 

Alexander held his hands behind his back and took in the passing sights of cotton and silks combined with the scent of delicate, floral perfumes, alcohol, and roasted meats and bread, all leading him down a rocky path of sensory overload.  

"I've been great. I've faced battle and survived, and I continue to look for any more distractions available in these fine halls." 

Alexander scanned the faces of the interlocking rooms around him. Hercules Mulligan danced with a Miss Elizabeth Sanders in the middle of rhythmic bodies moving with the same tempo around them. Lafayette held a glass of red wine in one hand, and a woman's hand in the other. The conversation must have been wildly humorous due to their loud laughing carrying over the music and voices of others all the way to Alexander and Burr. The last of his friends he found was Laurens. Laurens had a pint of Sam Adams in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. Alexander was almost too enraptured by Laurens' nonchalant, yet obvious attraction, he barely registered the face of the man Laurens was facing. Whoever this man was, didn't seem at all attractive to Alexander, and best-described as boring by all evidence available to him other than meeting the man. Alexander's eyes met Laurens' for a split-second, but Alexander turned back to Burr before anything more than eye-contact could ensue. He did his best to gain control of the conversation he unintentionally left behind. If only for a moment.  

"Has anyone caught your eye since you arrived?" Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow at Burr.  

Burr let a playful smile take hold of his previous expression, followed by narrowed eyes and full cheeks.  

"Not until now, actually," He nodded toward the entrance of the ballroom, and Alexander's gaze submitted to casual order. "The Schuyler Sisters. If you can marry a sister, you're rich, son." 

Alexander nudged Burr's shoulder with his, then said, "Is it a question of if, Burr, or which one?" 

Alexander's eyes locked with a dark-skinned, dress of sunset orange-clad, woman, then to a much fairer skinned, mint dress-wearing woman next to her. He didn't notice the third girl because she had already run out of view into a sea of blue-coated soldiers.  

Burr slapped a hand on Alexander's shoulder, dipped his head in a curt goodbye, then left to... do something Alexander was sure he didn't care about. He only saw the women across the unsteady terrain of people. The sunset dressed woman captured his attention just a fraction more. He knew the lighting must have been dim throughout the beginning of the night until now, but he could have sworn it held a richer shade just for her. She glanced at her sister next to her, then moved. She moved forward toward him. He straightened his posture as much as needed without putting out an air of rigidity or ineptitude. He had to admit he liked the sway of her hips and the mystery in her eyes before she reached him. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a notion Alexander was incapable of ignoring. Finally, she was there. Her skin glowing in the warmth of the room and the candlelight.