Then Kiss Me by Jade C. Jamison

in a long time, so this dress was quite a treat.  I got a pair of new black heels to go with it as well, and the dress was short, its hem stopping just above my knees.  Sexy, but not too sexy.   It was fun.
    I thought the showing was a success for me.  I met a few local artists (all of the ones with works showing that night, though, were at least twenty years my senior), and probably at least one-hundred people showed up.  A few people were from out of town (Colorado Springs, I guessed) but most of them were from Winchester.
    Lots of people commented positively about my paintings; ultimately, though, no one bought anything.  Maybe they were just being nice to my face.  I certainly wouldn’t want to tell an artist I didn’t like his work to his face.  That just wouldn’t be nice.  But that was okay.  Isabel wanted to keep them.  I felt relieved.  After all, this showing was almost like my big break.  Well, not exactly.  Until my work actually sold, I was still a nobody .  Well, I’d sold one painting, so I shouldn’t complain.  And these two paintings had a little more time, so I was just going to bask in the compliments I received and not look at all the Sold signs on other artists’ work in the gallery.  I reminded myself that the Denver gallery where I’d worked never even showed any of my stuff because I wasn’t known, but I wasn’t known because they wouldn’t show any of my work.  Isabel told me my paintings had gotten good reviews (apparently she’d heard nice things too), and it was only a matter of time before someone decided to buy them.  My ego was pumped, especially hearing news like this from tight-lipped Isabel.
    I left the gallery around eleven that night, high from my success.  I would have blamed it on the champagne, but it had already burned out of my system.  I was sober and able to drive, so I headed over to the party.
    I’d never been on this side of town, but David had given me good directions.   I didn’t have any problems finding it, and it wasn’t too far from the gallery.  The music was loud but I rang the doorbell anyway.  No one answered the door, so I wound up just let ting myself in. Their place was halfway full, mostly of people I didn’t know.  I looked around for a friendly face and didn’t find one, but someone did hand me a beer.  I finally ended up in the living room, and that was when David spied me.  “Hey, Casey!   We thought you’d never show up!”  A couple of other guys from work were there— the night manager and another cook —but no one else I knew, at least not there in the living room.  There was one guy with long black hair in the corner, and I couldn’t remember for sure, but I thought he was the bassist in Scott’s band.   David crooked his finger at me until I walked over.  “We’re playing quarters.  Sit down.”  He stood up, partly stumbling (all the way trashed).  He whistled.  “Wow…don’t you look fantastic?”  I looked down.  Yeah, I guess I did still look pretty good.  I’d almost forgotten about the cocktail dress.
    “Thanks.”  I sat down next to David but kept looking around.  I couldn’t see Scott anywhere and I wasn’t about to ask.  I went ahead and joined the game of quarters.  I relaxed as I realized Metallica was playing and, even though I hardly knew anyone, at least the quarters folks were people I knew, except for one girl sitting next to the night manager .  I’d never played this drinking game much, so I started getting buzzed pretty quickly, the more beer I had to drink.  And, of course, the more I drank, the worse I got at the game.  And the worse I got, the more I had to drink …a never-ending cycle.  There was no way for me to avoid not getting drunk.
    After getting pretty buzzed, I came to the conclusion that Scott wasn’t there, but I kept looking for him anyway.  David finally asked, “You looking for someone?”
    Maybe the alcohol had loosened my lips or maybe I