6:30pm -- Gilman, Nona, and OPEN.
Gilman had figured Nona would be at the party, but he hadn't counted on her actually conversing with him. He was pretty sure even looking at him would knock down her social status by at least ten points, or earn her a demerit, or whatever other stupid yuppie garbage that ruled her life.
What he hadn't figured on was being wowed. Sure, she was a young hot blonde, but her shitty, snooty attitude was a major turn off: Nona barely ranked as one of his top ten hate-fucks. Looking at her now, though... it was the dress, even though Gilman wouldn't be able to tell a dress from KMart from a dress that had once walked down a runway. Somehow, that dress was perfect on her. It made him frown, in fact, and he ate an entire cocktail shrimp before he even answered her, completely thrown off guard.
"I'm on a date," Gilman finally said, "What's with the getup? Is this your debutante ball or something? You look like Honey Boo-Boo."
There wasn't an ounce of venom in his words. Gilman drank half his champagne flute and put one hand in his pocket, trying to stand a little straighter, to square his shoulders.