I saw you across the room tonight and wished desperately that we could speak.
When I purchased my ticket for the Equestrian Center charity dinner in Thousand Oaks, I assumed I would eat a handsome dinner, chat with my favorite farrier and see that race horse Johnny Come Nightly gets the imported vitamins he needs to take one more second off his lap time.
I did not think I would see you.
When I arrived, the night seemed to be going as expected. I stepped into the sea of single-hued donors and felt right at home. I chatted with them about their summering plans, complimented them on their argyle and reminisced over how fetching Bibi Neuwirth looked at last week’s Tony Awards.
I felt welcomed, comfortable and settled. And then I saw you.
A flash of darker than expected hair caught my eye as it moved across the room. I looked toward the source of the confusion and saw a lovely cocoa complexion beneath it. At first, my natural and logical assumption was that you must in someway be responsible for the food or cleanup at this event.
But then I saw that you were handed an auction paddle.
I saw you mouth the words “Geffen Center season ticket holder,” and I wanted to know you.
The crowd parted and I saw that you were about the same size and shape as I was, and somehow you wore the cashmere just slightly better. I saw that you knew the game and thought that together we could take it to the next level.
But that is the ultimate Oreo sacrifice. To know each other would both be helpful and antithetical to the cause. And so we could not take the risk.
From where I stood on the other side of the room, I saw you raise your glass slightly and nod as you turned away from me. And I knew what you meant.
Cheers to you, my comrade. Congratulations on the winning bid for the Renaissance-style family portrait. I hope that one day we can meet again. And if it happens to be at an AKA fundraiser, I’ll never tell.