6:30pm -- Gilman and OPEN.
That Gilman found out about the York’s party was a foregone conclusion; how he would attend was another matter entirely. While normally he would’ve been happy to let well enough alone, the longer Gilman was alone with his thoughts, the harder he thought about the blank spaces in his album and the film he’d driven all the way to Portland to purchase. The powerful smell of chemicals would flood his senses, and the unnerving stare of the old man came back to him. Accusing. Knowing. And then he’d think about other things, like who would fill in appropriately for the three girls still left in the album.
He’d think about what was next in the series. He’d imagine how he’d do it and where, and then he would be thoroughly disgusted with himself. Gilman would never pretend he was a prude, and maybe he was even a little perverted on a good day, but he wasn’t the type to torture anyone. Not the type to... well. He just wasn’t the type, despite popular rumours to the contrary. Distraction was the name of the game, even though it was bleeding his account dry. He’d be broke by New Years, at this rate, and it was worrying him how little he cared and how more and more often, his thoughts continued their dark spiral.
Schmoozing his way into Dr. Sherlie Devers good graces had been easy enough. She was a nice old widow, aging out of the MILF category but far enough inside for his flattery to stay sincere. Predictably, she hadn’t wanted to go to the party alone, and Gilman had ‘reluctantly’ agreed to go as her date. He wore his best (and only) cheap suit, his tie a clip-on, but was on his best behaviour, making sure to have Sherlie on his arm when they arrived. He took her coat and got her a few drinks, and was generally a perfect gentlemen. Gilman treated her better than he did any girl he took on an actual date, but he was well aware that one wrong move and the Yorks would have him out on his ass. She’d gotten caught up in chatting with someone people she knew, and Gilman was surprised by the amount of familiar faces lurking in the crowd. Not one to pass up free food, he slunk over the buffet table to get a better vantage of the room, helping himself to his best meal in weeks while he scanned the crowd. The champagne wasn't bad, either, but he had resigned himself to only a glass or two, not wanting to wear out his welcome or lose control of his currently well-maintained gentleman persona.