Jalane leaned back into cushions and stretched her long legs to the cocktail table in front of her. Balancing a drink on her belt, she smiled with satisfaction at the murmuring crowd. Just the right balance, she thought, of professionals, artistes, one bona fide artist and a smattering of the un-intimidated manual laborers that had made Jalane's parties fashionably democratic and bohemian.
And children. No more than five or six children, and all of them the quiet, well-mannered sort who came with their professional parents who, in turn, expressed gratitude to Jalane for including the offspring they themselves usually neglected.
The laughter of a girl drew Jalane's attention -- the Romans' elder daughter. Geneva was the girl's name, but she appeared less girlish than Jalane expected. In fact, leaning as she was into the crook of Harold's arm, little Geneva was indistinguishable from the adults. And wasn't it kind of Harold, Jalane thought archly, to pay such attention to the Romans' daughter? Compelled to protect the old fool from exposing his old foolishness, Jalane rose from her perfect lounging place.
"Having a nice time?" Jalane asked warmly, sliding an arm around Harold's broad waist. Harold coughed and, as Jalane curled beneath his arm on one side, he discreetly removed his arm from Geneva's shoulders on the other side to cover his cough with his hand.
"Very nice," Geneva replied shyly, "Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy."
"Ha!" Harold kissed Jalane soundly on top of her head. "You rescued us just in time, hon. I was about to fetch my old college sweater. Little Ginny here has been telling me about college life. She's just home from her third year at Loyola-Antares."
"How lovely, Geneva. When will you be going back again?"
Hours later, in the dark, Jalane slipped into bed where Harold held the covers open for her. "Perfect shindig, hon," he said, "those shmucks are lucky to have you to take care of them."
"Yes," she purred, curling against him. "You are."
For a long moment, the warm and jovial bulk of him seemed to freeze. He coughed. "Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me," he said, uncharacteristically serious.
"Because," she nuzzled her face into his neck, "You're mine."
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