At The Opera

This evening's striped tie is one of blush and ebony diagonals.  As the conductor raises his baton and bows are made ready, the rustle of silk heralds her arrival in the box.  Every tuxedoed man arises slightly; every gowned woman nods.  She smiles and apologetically shrugs out of her wrap and pats her coif unconsciously with an opera-gloved hand bedecked with a ruby and gold wristlet.  One man, holding the empty chair next to him, bends low and whispers in her ear, brushes his lips against her bare neck.  Her eyelids flutter downward as her cheeks color charmingly. She takes her seat with a smile.