By 9:00 PM, I was desperately clawing my way out of the high-society skin I’d been wearing all day. My hair was finally freed from that torturous bun, tumbling down my shoulders in messy waves, and I had swapped my stiff navy blouse for a faded grey t-shirt and jeans.
I needed a drink. Actually, I needed several.
"If I have to sip one more glass of champagne that costs more than my monthly electricity bill while pretending to understand the nuance of 'equestrian' polo, I am going to throw myself into the East River," I muttered, sliding onto a sticky vinyl barstool.
Joan snorted, waving her hand to catch the bartender's attention. "Oh, come on. Tell me you didn't at least enjoy the free caviar. Did you pocket any? I told you to bring a Ziploc."
"In an emerald silk gown, Joan? Where was
