Ketchup Popsicle - 24

As Sandra and Marta entered the balcony, Champagne glasses in hand, Sandra was surprised to see Bobby sitting alone while Mr. Neason stood talking to two other men both wearing expensive looking suits. One of the men had shiny silver hair and taught skin and the other man was younger, perhaps in his forties with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a crocodile smile. They were all presumably clients.
"Ah Sandy, this is Mr. Smith and Mr. Kline from the National Ballet.
Sandra walked passed Bobby toward the group giving him a confused look. She shook the hands of the two men. The younger of the two, Mr. Kline, decided that he would be extra charming and kiss her hand while gazing at her with his penetrating blue eyes. "Call me Jim." He said and Sandra felt like he was undressing her with his eyes.

"This is Marta," Sandra said bringing Marta in the circle for a round of hand shakes. It was Mr. Neason’s turn to kiss a hand and Marta smiled back at him approvingly.
The lights dimmed and everyone took a seat. Mr. Kline decided that he would sit with Sandra unfortunately for her. Yet it was fortunate in a way because it left a seat open for Marta with Mr. Neason.
"Please Marta," Mr. Neason said cordially taking her hand and leading her to the red velvet chair trimmed in gold painted wood.
Bobby was on the Sandra’s left and she felt like an awkward little meat filling in between two slices of handsome men. One whom she had just met and one whom she’d known her whole life.

"What are you doing here?" Sandra whispered.
"That’s a damn good question. My father made me come."
"I mean, what are you doing back from your vacation?"
"You don’t want to know." Bobby grumbled.
Mr. Kline shifted in his seat. An indication that he wanted Sandra’s attention. Sandra sighed and turned to him. "Do you enjoy the ballet?" She asked.
"I’m the Senior Vice President of the National Ballet, so I guess I’d better." He said smiling ironically.

"But do you actually enjoy the ballet?" Sandra asked again deciding to have a bit of fun with him.
"Well, no. What man would admit to something like that?" he replied.
"I enjoy the ballet." Bobby interrupted, giving Sandra the impression that he was ever so slightly jealous of Mr. Blue Eyes.
There was an awkward silence for a moment until Sandra said, facing Mr. Kline, "Well, I won’t tell your boss that you don’t like the opera." And then turning to Bobby she said, "And I won’t tell your father that you do."

They all laughed and then Sandra began to watch the stage purposefully as the dancers floated gracefully below and the men at her sides followed her lead.
Sandra couldn’t help but giggle forty-five minutes later when Mr. Kline stifled a yawn beside her.
When she looked over at Bobby he seemed transfixed by the story that was being played out in dance. It was the tale of a maiden who had been knocked down again and again and yet continued to get up and dance and never give up hope. She had a husband who wore a black leotard indicating that he was a bastard and a smitten prince who once laid eyes on her in his garden began vying for her love. They were both dancing around her then, pressuring her to choose. Instead of choosing though, she collapsed dramatically and the curtains closed. Intermission.

Bobby’s hand was on the armrest only an inch away from hers and that was what she was observing when the lights came up. They looked into each other’s eyes for a brief moment before Mr. Kline took her attention away again.
"Shall we get some more Campaign?" He asked. "I need to stretch my legs, I think they fell asleep too."