Chapter Nine
Michael
Claire seems to know where our table is. I follow her through the dining room, winding our way around dozens of tables covered in white linen. Each table has a placard held upright by a silver stem; each placard has a table number written in fancy lettering.
Ultimately we come to Table One, which is front and center. She takes a seat close to the small set of stairs that lead up to the stage and the podium. I take the seat beside her.
“Wow,” I say. “You must have made a huge donation to get the head table.”
“Not exactly,” she says, looking embarrassed.
I kick myself for having called attention to the difference between us—especially when we’re both still riding the high of our bathroom hookup. Still, the thought is never far from my mind. She knows nothing of what it means to get dirty, or how to do without. How could someone so perfect be such a mismatch? Disney never made a movie about the Princess and the Gear Head.
Our table starts to fill. First, a couple that Claire introduces as “Justice Palmer, and her husband.” Then two more couples, both of them gray-haired. Not all of the men in the room are in tuxedos, but the three at our table are. I don’t think they’re rentals, either.
We exchange the normal small talk, then the salads are served. The conversation is all about the charity, the law, recent cases... Nothing about sports or cars or anything I can contribute to. I finish my dinner before anyone else is halfway done.
Claire is quiet, too, though I think it has more to do with me than the topics of conversation. She’s fidgety. Maybe she’s noticing my silence. Maybe she’s realizing how out of place I am at this gala of hers. Maybe she’s thinking about all the reasons why we don’t work. Can’t work. Will never work.
I do well enough with my classic car restorations to afford whatever I feel like doing, whenever I feel like doing it, but I will never earn enough to live in a lakeside palace, or drive a new Mercedes, or drink champagne on the regular, or do any of the high-class things she’s used to.
So much for being an arrogant prick. The guys back at the garage would laugh their asses off if they knew how much I was questioning my—
“Stop it,” Claire whispers, leaning in. “You’re making me nervous.”
I drape my arm around the back of her chair and turn my mouth toward her ear. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking,” she whispers back. Her lips are still swollen from my kisses.
I look at that mouth for a second, then say, “You know, you’re kinda hot when you’re bossy.”
She glances at the others at our table, but when she sees they’re not listening, she gives me a wicked grin. “Yeah?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Then hold that thought, Mr. Sexy. I can be very demanding.” The way she says it sends an electric shock straight to my cock. It’s worse than I feared. I am completely out of my league with this woman, and our bank accounts are just the start of it.
* * *
As desserts are served, an older woman in a navy, floor-length gown moves across the small stage to the podium, and we all look up. She smiles and says, “Good evening,” into the microphone. She has a small stack of index cards in her hands.
“Welcome to The Green Light Foundation’s annual gala. It is one of the highlights of our year. We hope it is also one of yours. We are eternally grateful for your donations, for celebrating the work of the foundation, and for your enthusiasm for all the items in our silent auction. There is still one hour before the auction closes, so after the award presentation, be sure to check that no one has outbid you on your favorite items.”
She clears her throat and Claire shifts in her chair. I put my arm around her shoulders but she leans forward, away from me.
“As you know,” the woman says, “each year we award the Torchlight Award to a member of our community who exemplifies the mission statement of The Green Light Foundation. We are dedicated to service, to the protection of children, the support of families, and to making sure all citizens, no matter what their socio-economic background, have equal access to the legal system and social services.”
I look around the room. It seems others are doing the same thing, wondering who the winner is.
“The recipient receives this handsome plaque.” She holds it up for everyone to see. “And a check for five thousand dollars. This year is quite special because the recipient was once a child on our caseloads.
“A child with no family, no support, and no personal resources other than her intelligence and bright wit. A child who took full advantage of all The Green Light Foundation had to offer, ultimately going to college on a full-ride academic scholarship and moving on to law school.
“Graduating first in her law school class, our honoree was courted by all the big law firms in town, but rather than take a large six-figure salary, she paid it forward by taking a job with the public defender’s office, representing the youth in our community. She is more than just their attorney, she volunteers as an after-school tutor, and career counselor and mentor.
“Some of her clients have contacted us with their testimonials. We don’t have time to read them all, but I wanted to read this one in particular: ‘No one has ever cared about what happens to me. For the longest time, I didn’t care what happened to me. But my attorney taught me that even though I’ve made mistakes, that I can rebound. That I can do something special. That I am special.’”
People clap. It’s a nice testimonial. Claire even seems moved by it because there are tears at the corners of her eyes.
“This is exactly what the foundation is all about,” the woman says into the microphone. “This year’s honoree has all the riches of the world because she is rich in heart. And that is why this year’s winner of the Torchlight award is Ms... Claire... Sweeney.”
What?
The woman at the podium glances down at Claire, who stands slowly. She smooths her dress with her hands and moves toward the stairs while I stare, open mouthed, as if seeing her for the very first time. A child with no family, no support, and no personal resources... A child who paid it forward...
When Claire gets to the podium, Mrs. Walker hands her a check and the plaque. They pose for a picture, then Claire leans into the microphone while gripping the podium for support.
“Thank you, Mrs. Walker.” She clears her throat and looks at me, then out at the crowd. “And thank you to everyone responsible for putting on such a lovely evening. Beats beer and pizza in front of the tube.”
She laughs, looking a little embarrassed, then she clears her throat. “When Mrs. Walker called me last week to tell me I had been selected, I was quite overwhelmed and actually a little confused. So many of you sitting out there have done as much, if not more, than I have.”
It’s just a hunch, but I have a hard time believing that’s true. When I glance around the room, my hunch is confirmed by the smiles and good-natured chuckles as a few people shake their heads in denial.
“I started out with very little in life. After my parents died, I had barely anything more than a suitcase. I want to thank those who have given me all the wonderful opportunities that have made my career and tonight possible: the foundation, of course, and all the hard-working attorneys and staff at the PD’s office. Our compassionate bench and their clerks who keep the system running so smoothly. And finally, thank you to one certain knight in shining armor who rescued me today on the side of the road and made sure this Cinderella got to the ball on time.”
Claire blows me a kiss and I feel it deep in my gut. Then she turns to Mrs. Walker, and gives her a hug. From my vantage point, I see Claire slip the check back into the old woman’s hand. Mrs. Walker glances down at it in surprise, then gives Claire a look of both thanks and pride.