Praise
You should have known it would come back to haunt you. One invitation, issued in post-orgasmic bliss, and he suddenly had the right to ask you the same thing. Just a little thing, not really formal, but he wanted you to come with him. Now, you’re stepping out of a limousine onto a red carpet to the tune of a thousand voices cheering, their voices lifting into the sky as they clamored for a look or a touch. He smiles and pats the hand that rests in the crook of his arm as he strolls forward toward the Met, either ignoring or unaffected by the wealth of talent that surrounds you. You do your best not to gape when Bono smiles at you, and you hope you’re not drooling when you catch sight of Lance’s ass encased in black leather. Still, you’re slightly uncomfortable by all the flashes of light and the insistent call of reporters who want just a moment of time. With a sigh of relief, you fade into the background as the five men are pulled forward to discuss their chances for a Video Music Award. Each of them smile and thank the fans and say that they hope for the best among the great competition. Moments later, he squeezes your fingers as you are slowly herded into the brightly lit building to find your seats in the large room. You’ve always wanted to visit the Metropolitan Opera House, but you thought it would be for Puccini or Verdi, not a raucous party with Aerosmith and Kid Rock. You smile, a little sheepishly, as you stumble slightly because you were so focused on the chandeliers and not the floor beneath your feet. He just chuckles and pulls you closer until you can gratefully sink into your seat. And while you’re thankful he came to your banquet with you, you’re not sure this is an even tradeoff because he didn’t have to sit through inane monologues and snide comments. Still, you smiled and clap politely until his category is mentioned. As the nominees are listed, you hold onto his hand and close your eyes. And when they stand to move to the stage, you stand with them and kiss him softly before he heads up the aisle with the others. You’re left with a seat filler who looks alternately bored and vacuous, and you ignore him to watch the other people. Later, at an after party, you wander along at his side and listen to the newcomers as they question and praise and soak up the tidbits of wisdom from those who have been around for a long, long time. You think that maybe you’re not so far apart after all.
		Pending Table of Contents Recognition