The Board members had the nerve to look like they were in a good mood. Even Patricia, the shady blonde who always looked fierce, left her scowl in her Mercedes. Last time it was the Hermes scarf just because, this time a terra cotta dress and topaz broach, along with a gaudy diamond ring that must have made the leash for her Yorkie harder to hold on days her valet wasn’t available. Like I said, fierce. But she never likes anything and makes me wonder why she fucking bothered at all. Constance was there looking like a Stepford wife with her teeth shining. She lied right through those high priced Colgate bitches when she said she was so happy to be on the Board (we knew she was only standing in for her husband and the minute the divorce was final she stopped showing up to anything resembling dance). She’s the kind who probably keeps vials of Jim Beam right next to the lipstick in her purse just in case she needs to push a recovering alcoholic off the wagon. It’s a wonder Jean didn’t choke her with that calico scarf.
At least these ladies are interesting; the guys were mostly old, white and out of shape. Maybe one of them is secretly more inspired by a masculine ass moving around in front of him than the wife knows about, but that’s not new.
They filed in and sat there in the front of the studio, which drastically cut down the space we were left to dance in. That’s not new either.
What was new was the voodoo at a high stakes lec-dem…