A few days later, KC escorted me to the cocktail party. I was wearing silk, upscale clothes that seem to remain untouched in my wardrobe these last few months when I felt more at ease in leggings, tee shirts and anything that didn’t shout elegantly virtuous. I lost my yearning for perfect respectability. KC made that sort of inclination seem ridiculously hallow. Unfortunately, I hadn’t kicked all my stodgy habits and this event was going to be difficult enough having KC there, without adding to the stress of wearing something too unconventional. If KC noticed I was backpedaling, he was kind enough not to rub it in.
For his part, my biker boyfriend was miraculously charming in the midst of my pretentious world. He wore black—no leather—but his black turtle neck and jeans might have been a
