Max hadn’t given the pigeon lady Rynda’s address and there was no way he was going to risk distracting her from the road again. However she seemed to know exactly where she was going. In no time they were drawing up outside Rynda’s apartment building in the affluent part of town. Max smiled to see Rynda standing outside, primped and polished, wearing a violet evening gown. Punctuality was another of her many charms.

They pulled to a stop. Max was about to get out and greet Rynda, when there was a ear-piercing squawk from the front. The pigeon chauffeur shrieked and flapping her arms wildly. A cat had jumped from somewhere, landed on the bonnet of the car and was now dabbing with its paw on the windscreen, trying to reach what it could obviously sense was a pigeon. The pigeon woman thrashed and then released the clutch, causing the whole car to jump violently as the engine stalled. This seemed to discourage the cat, which ran off yowling.

“There there, it’s alright.” Max tried to emulate Effie’s soothing tones. “It’s gone now. The nasty cat’s run away.”

There was a tap on the window next to him. It was Rynda. She didn’t look pleased. “Darling,” she exclaimed, flinging the door open. “Why didn’t you get out and open the door for me?” Her nose wrinkled. “And what’s that smell?”

“Rynda!” Thank goodness the chauffeur seemed to have calmed down. Max greeted his date with a beaming smile, offering a hand to help Rynda as she settled herself in the limo’s broad leather seat. “I’m so sorry, darling. We had a bit of a surprise. Did you see that cat jumping onto the car?”

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” She greeted him with a quick kiss then took out a mirror to check her lipstick. “Seriously, it smells like a Starbucks warehouse in here. Did you spill something?”

“It’s a new gimmick! Scented limousines. I thought you would like a mocha scent. Although it’s slightly overdone if you ask me.”

“Slightly!” Rynda opened the window and not very subtly fanned her face. “And what’s with the feathers? Is that another gimmick?”

“Oh! Um…” A few downy feathers hung in the air. They were most concentrated around the chauffeur, whose attention was now on the road as they sped towards the Winston venue. “Yes, they’re… a special extra.”

“Darling, it was thoughtful, but you would have done a better job of impressing me with a bouquet of flowers.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Max apologised. “I don’t think I’m going to use this limo company again,” he muttered to himself.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Rynda wanted him to pose with her for a couple of selfies that she immediately uploaded to Instagram. Then she ignored him for the rest of the journey as she replied to texts on her phone. Max bore this neglect patiently, thanking his lucky stars that she didn’t notice their chauffeur’s tendency to disregard driving conventions.

When they reached their destination, the limo joined a line of luxury cars queueing to deposit their glittering occupants onto the red carpet outside the venue. Finally it was their turn and Max hurried around the car to open the door for Rynda. He tried not to wince when her nails dug into his wrist as she stuck out her perfectly groomed legs and heaved herself onto her heels. She adjusted her dress and patted her hair before squaring her shoulders. There was a Hollywood-worthy smile on her face. “Ok, I’m ready,” she beamed. “Let’s go!”

As he escorted her towards the entrance, Max shot a look back at his limo. The pigeon driver had pulled away to make room for the next cars that were arriving. He wondered if she would be okay while the ball was in progress. Hopefully she wouldn’t encounter any more cats. He could do without coming back to a car full of feathers.

At the door, Max handed the engraved tickets to the steward, who examined them disinterestedly before tearing them and waving the couple past. Rynda was practically wriggling in glee as they entered the lobby and beheld the dazzling spectacle. Crystal gleamed from all directions, dangling in chandeliers from the ceiling and sparkling in the champagne flutes being carried around on silver trays. Diamonds glinted left and right, around necks and in ears. The opulent surroundings were matched only by the sumptuousness of the guests’ clothing. “I’ve been wanting to attend the Winston for ages,” Rynda turned to him in excitement, “but I never before found an escort who…” she broke off with a gasp as her eyes fell on his tuxedo. “What…! What the hell are you wearing!” She grabbed his arm, dragging him to one side.

“I…” Max looked down at himself. The purple tuxedo did look very striking now that he saw it in the light. “I thought it would compliment your dress,” he improvised.

“That’s ridiculous! No one wears matching outfits unless they’re performing in a dance contest. You look like a buffoon! Can’t you go home and change?”

“What? Go home?”

“No wait, I don’t want to be here without an escort. Oh hell, what will people think?” Rynda moaned, her hands over her face.

As much as he hadn’t been keen on the suit himself, Max found that he was offended at her attitude. “Look, it’s not as bad as all that. Plenty of film stars go around in things like this.”

She dropped her hands and glared for a moment before sighing dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to make the best of it. At least the cut is quite good,” she admitted grudgingly, straightening his lapels. “Perhaps people will think it’s a designer model.”

“It is a designer model,” said Max through gritted teeth.

“Who? I don’t recognise the style.”

Damn. He racked his brains for the name of a lesser-known designer. “Effie.” he said. Then quickly added, “Look do you want to dance?” They’d reached the main hall. A big band was playing old-style jazz numbers to one side of the stage. Several couples were swaying around on the mostly deserted dance floor.

“Don’t be an idiot, it’s far too early. I don’t want to be labelled as desperate. Besides,” Rynda wrinkled her nose, “you still stink of coffee.”