Roger pulls his little red convertible into the half circle driveway in front of the white exterior of The Flood Mansion and we pause in the line of cars to wait our turn with the valet. So far he hasn't spewed comments about my attire so I'm hoping tonight's dress meets his standards. It's still a little black dress, but the satin material falls to the floor and the fabric shimmers in the light — more of an iridescent black. The fabric swoops at the top across the shoulders and gives the entire piece a fancier feel over what I wore to our last event.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asks from the driver's seat.
The house is an actual mansion, not just in name. The long white building looks to be made from marble or some other stark white material. Details around the windows and roof match the
