59: Gala

“Who are we looking for tonight?” Evelyn asked, lounging in the luxurious bath as Andrew stood at the sink, shaving in the mirror.

They’d arrived at the Ambassador earlier that afternoon after successfully avoiding society journalists by assuming casual disguises as they departed the train. His had included the entirely uncharacteristic facial hair he was presently in the process of removing, a light cashmere jersey, blue jeans and pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses they’d picked up Chicago. In her humble opinion, it had done little to make him less noticeable—by her estimation, that and his dark hair left to dry without pomade gave him a certain rugged attraction that upped his masculine appeal.

By the same token, he’d scarcely been able to keep his eyes or hands off her, wearing her own blue jeans, a dusky blue shirt with a navy chiffon scarf wrapped over her hair and tucked into the neck of her blouse, and her own chunky sunglasses that completely overpowered her face. While he agreed it