The City: Sasha, Jude, Oliver Who: Sasha J, Jude C, Oliver K What: Party like you're totally not here to make off with the art! Where: Ritzy Mansion (TM) When: Reeecently
There was, Jude knew, a certain cachet a man had, when there was a beautiful woman at his side. It was classic, like black and white movies and panama hats, like cigars and smoky voices, like blues and whiskey. Classic. Jude had read too many broken-spine books folded into inner coat pockets to think that classic read so well in the modern day, but black-tie was as close this world got to that one. He wore borrowed black and white, the fit of the coat over his shoulders slightly off (given that it was thrifted and fitted to the man it had been made for, this could be forgiven) and the wild thatch of curls had been dampened and a comb dragged hastily through it.
Of course, the party wasn't a party even if Jude had asked a pretty girl to come along. Sasha was the eye-candy. The distraction, because Oliver and Jude were noticeable by themselves, even if they were both trying hard not to be. And when Oliver had to be charming, he could, but Oliver charming with someone who knew how to be charming in an ordinary sort of way was a lot easier.
Particularly when you were here to lift the priceless Zandberg picture that you'd read in the paper had been bought at auction for a cool two mill, and knew a collector wouldn't bat an eyelash over getting it a little hot off the presses.
Jude held out an arm, always the gentleman, to Sasha, and the other to Oliver. "Lady. Oliver." And then they swung into a party that was cool jazz and champagne flutes and seriously heavy money.