Graduation

Last night, the Contessa says, Sometimes you need to do something naughty to feel alive. She says this as she shoves a large chicken finger into her mouth and do not know if the naughty thing she is referring to is the chicken (should be more accurately described as Chicken Fist, though that sounds nasty) or if she is refering to what she called her affair with the New Man. We are at the reception after graduation and haven't yet had a chance to talk, despite three phone messages left and two text messages sent, all unanswered by the Contessa. Right now she is more interested in finding another chicken finger and in telling me about how this year she insisted that she escort a female board member instead of a dirty old man. Ask, Did you actually say dirty old man to the president's secretary. The Contessa says, No, but she knew what I meant. A caterer carries past another large tray of chicken fingers. The Contessa performs a sort of acrobatic feat, snatching two off of the moving tray held above the caterer's head. She hands one of the chicken pieces to me. She says (maddeningly still speaking about the board member,) It was going fine until I had to take her to the bathroom. She needed help getting up. Have bite of chicken in mouth--chicken not very appetizing to begin with, takes a turn for the worse. Say, Yes, but what about the New Man. Place chicken on tray of passing waiter. The Contessa's eyes dart around. I'd rather not talk about it. Say sternly, You can't just call me a drop a bomb like that and then not say anything. She says, Get me some wine. Bring back to tiny plastic cups or white wine. She says, OK, this is really embarssing. We had one of those dinners with potential donors. I had to take notes and be my charming self. I was not going to be my charming self unless I had a Martini, so I had one and then wine with dinner. Everyone else did too and it turned out to be lots of fun---the donors were a sort of cool Italian couple who have money like you wouldn't believe--after dinner we went to ther apartment and looked at the art work. There was more drinking and then the man donor rolled a joint. It was inevitable, the Contessa says, draining her glass. Ask, What was inevitable? That I would go back to his apartment? But why? To see what it was like. Am momentarily sidetracked by own excitement over what the New Man's apartment looked like. Ask. Very nice, she says glumly. Real art on the walls and lots of books, but still manly--but I didn't see any of it until the morning because we went straight to the bed. Know that the story has been headed here, but am still shocked. Say, But we don't like the New Man. She says, I know, that is why I'm trying to put it behind me. There is a pause. Though, she says, he might not be as bad as I thought before. She counts on her fingers, 1. good in bed 2. nice kisser 3. took me out for breakfast the next morning and then we took a cab into work 4. asked me for a proper date this weekend. Ask, What did you say? She replies, I said no, of course. See the New Man out of the Corner of my eye. He smiles broadly and strides over Hi Fritz, enjoying your new job? The Contessa stares at the floor. He tries to give her a kiss on the cheek--she turns her head and it looks like he gets a mouthfull of hair. Oh, Sorry, she says. No, I'm sorry, the New Man says. Nobody says anything and have uge to do a little soft shoe. Thankfully, urge stifled. Do you--? The New Man says. Yes, the Contessa replies. He and the Contessa leave together. Am stunned.