....Jenny had come out to give a hand carrying the drinks in, and was stood staring, as her best friend deep throated her best male friend....me!She stood there, giggled, and then turned around and went back in.My head was now spinning, was she in there telling everyone.I quickly zipped up, we grabbed the drinks and walked in, everyone still in conversation, it would appear none the wiser, and jenny sat, or almost slumped on the sofa, smiling yet clearly about to pass out.Rob noticed her state of drunkeness and decided she was ready for bed, and with one arm under hers, he walked her up to their bedroom.He returned a couple of minutes later, saying she was out for the count and the four of us returned to 'normal' conversation.I had stopped drinking so much now, as the reality of nearly getting caught had sobered me up a bit. The rest of them were still drinking heavily, and at about 1am rob and pete were slumped on seperate sofa's, as sara got blankets and covered them both. He had begun to dread this evening when Paige first told him of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like art, he did. It fascinated him how a good artist could transmit any of a whole range of emotions with ink or clay or paint. It wasn’t that he didn’t like galleries, either. He and Paige had met in an art gallery – The Met, in fact. No… the fact was, he was dreading this opening, at this gallery, this night. There was something about the artist that Jack just didn’t like. Something about the way his voice could be lilting one moment, then rough as a lumberjack the next. Something about the familiar way he treated Paige. She denied ever having any kind of involvement with the artist – said she barely even knew him. But still… there was something about him that Jack didn’t trust. Jack tried to account for his feelings about it – he was generally a very organized man. There was no rational reason why Jack didn’t like the man, he decided as he straightened up his tie and donned his tuxedo.
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