The Library building looks unchanged. The interior, lined with easels, displays posters that direct us to the elevator to the ninth floor. The stands with ads for Bon Appétit, Illinois Restaurant Association, US Foods, and many names and brands I have not heard about advertise the event.

The glass-paneled dome lets in the darkness. The chandeliers bathe the tables, the elevated boxes with live trees and the marble floors in a yellow light, muting the mish-mash of dresses and suits to colors the designers didn't intend. My dark blue turns into an almost black. Mom's taste never failed me. This vintage find didn't attract my eye, but she insisted I try it on and when I did, she bought it for me. The high neckline fools from the front, but when I turn the star feature is the décolleté of the lower part of my back. The place where Ben's hand is in direct contact with my skin. His thumb moves up and down and I appreciate the ingenuity of the designer even more. You can't look at the cleavage of your date without raising some eyebrows, but his touch on my back goes unnoticed by the crowd. It's for my pleasure and the privacy of it emboldens me.

"Ben." A slim bald man in a velvet dinner jacket opens his arms wide and advances at us. Ben stretches his hand out and the potential hug changes into the man shaking Ben's arm with two of his. "So glad you made it." He emits a vibe the generationally rich people posses. Even his stubble says 'designer'. "Who do we have here?" He doesn't have to look down much. Between his short stature and my heels, we are close to eye-to-eye. "Didn't think you'll be brining anyone after the Baxter scandal." The man narrows his eyes at me, lets go of Ben and uses the same 'I'm about to hug you' body language as he angles my way. "I'm Mo," he says. I thrust my hand forward, following Ben's example, and Mo takes my fingers and kisses the top of them. He keeps holding on to me and Ben pulls me closer.

"And you are?" asks Mo.

"Amelie," I say. "Nice to meet you."

"It was her grandmother's recipe," says Ben. "The one I made for our episode."

"I smell history here"-Mo lets go of me- "and I'll find you two later to learn more, but host duties." He shrugs his shoulders and makes a face to show he has to do what he has to do. "Enjoy the open bar and you'll be sitting at my table tonight."

Mo disappears, and we join the milling guests. Between the invitations from Mom and Nicolas, I attended more events in my five years in France than in my twenty-five in Chicago. The sheen of the guests' couture and expressionless faces of the staff are a variation on what' I've seen before. The first step is to find something to put into our hands, so we can pretend we are part of this crowd.

"Let's go to the bar. I could do with a glass of white."

"I don't-"

"You don't drink, I know. We'll get you something non-alcoholic." I lead us to the table with an array of bottles overseen by a girl in a standard black-and-white server attire. We leave with a tapered at the top glass of Prosecco for me and a squat tumbler with club soda for Ben.

"I see you've found the beverages." Linda stops us before we make it much further. "You made Ben drink? You do have him wrapped around your finger." She bends to sniff at his glass. "Or not. Smart move with the water. She raises her cocktail glass. "Sparkling lemonade. Have to work the room but encourage the patrons to imbibe." A careful sip doesn't smudge her red lipstick. She scans the room. "Mo sure knows how to hype things up. Stay on the Mo train, Ben. He'll take you places." Linda runs a hand over Ben's lapel. "Never thought I'd get to say these words, but you fit right in." She leans over and whispers something into Ben's ear. "OK?"

"OK," says Ben.

"Sorry," a woman in a red dress joins our semi-circle. "Are you Ben Leonards?"

Ben nods.

"Aw, your episode with Mo was oh so wonderful. I've started watching your other videos and I didn't know cooking is so sciencey. And you explain to so well, I might just be learning something." She smiles at Ben. "I'm one of your newest subscribers. Can we take a selfie together?"

"Sure." Ben stays where he is and the lady comes to the side where I am.

"Would you mind, dear, this is my good side."

I move away from Ben, and she get he face close to his shoulder and starts taking pictures. Another woman stops by and recognizes him. The selfie requests keep coming.

"He's always been delicious to look at." Linda's watching the stream of people who recognize Ben and want to either snap a shot or tell him how 'cool, awesome, educational, sick, amazing' his channel is. "And he picked up an additional one hundred thousand followers on his channel in the week since the collaboration with Mo." Linda threads her arm through the crook of my elbow.

"Let's give him some space," Linda says. "The fans need to see he's available."

I try to catch Ben's attention, but he's not looking my way. He's listening to the next person's questions and goes into a detailed explanation around the difference between bacon, pancetta and lardon. He doesn't look like he needs my help. I finish my Prosecco. "Maybe I can get a refill," I say.

"That's the spirit. I can do with some more lemonade as well." Linda and I take our eyes off Ben and head back to the table where two servers are helping with the drinks. "He's going to make it big-mark my words. I have a feeling for things like this. It's not simply because of Mo. Ben has this quality...earnestness? Trustablitiy? The audience will be eating out of his hand. And he isn't even faking it."

This conversation Linda and I are having is not at all something I've ever imagined happening. I've been anti-Linda for so long, it's hard to look at her in any other way but competition. I wait for a wave of hate or irritability, something unpleasant to mark my close proximity to Linda, but I don't.

"What do you want from him?" She is not leaving him alone, and I don't like it. I'd much rather never see her again, especially around Ben.

"From him? Well, nothing really. We've always been better as friends. We should've stuck with that."

She gives her empty glass to the server. "Could you please put some soda water in a clean glass for me?" She addresses the girl on the other side of the table.

Once she gets her glass and I pick up a second one of Prosecco, we turn back to what's now a small crowd around Ben. He seems to be the center of attention, and I'm not sure that's a good thing for him. I pick up speed, but Linda holds me back. "Let him be. He needs to see what's involved. He'll have to handle events like this. It's not all about the work in front of the camera."

"But his..."

"He might not be fine, but he has to figure it out. You should've seen him standing up to my parents and the reporter. I've talked him through today. He knows what to expect. He came prepared."

"You what? You are still talking to Ben?" My lunch with Nicolas was making me feel guilty, like I did something I shouldn't have, like I was sneaking behind Ben's back and all this time he's been in contact with Linda and never even mentioned it to me.

"He didn't tell you? He called me the moment you agreed to come." She looks at me. "Oh, no. Am. I can assure you, I have no romantic feelings toward Ben. I wish I did. Or he did. But we truly are better as friends, and you have nothing to fear from my side. I'm not my sister. Cheating is a sore point for me, as you probably know. I'll never do that to another person. Never." She stares at me and I see something change behind her eyes. The cold, calculated heiress is gone and for a split second I see a woman I might actually like. She's been behaving like herself this night with the innuendos and raspy breaths, but there's no threat, no tension between us. I won't call us friends, but we are not enemies either.

"He's all yours right now," says Linda. She brings back her toothpaste commercial worthy smile, reinstates her air of high-society dominance, and pulls me through the circle of Ben's admirers.

"Let's give our gracious Ben a break, won't we?" Linda's voice rings in the air before an elderly lady with a large broach on her chest asks another question. "The bar is not very busy, so it's a perfect time to get your refills, before we have to find our way to the tables. I see the appetizers are making it into the room as well. They're all the creations of Mo Ballerini and will be some of the fare he'll offer at his new restaurant "Lago del Cibo" that opens the first of December, in time for Christmas. You can make reservations online at "lagodelcibo.com"-the address and all the information are on all the posters and the commemorative menus I encourage you to take home."

The crowd disperses, and I get back to Ben's side. "You OK?" I check him over and don't see anything amiss.

"It wasn't as bad. Treating it as I do the parents and kids at the Taekwondo Academy helped. Linda was right. I'm the authority and I don't have to answer all of their questions." He finds my hand and pulls me behind him, before another person starts talking to him.

We near the French doors on one side of the piazza and I know where he's taking me. "The mural?"

"And the stairs. I'll need to run a couple of flights up and down and you can sit and wait for me. You don't mind, do you?"

"No. I do not. I can take off the heels and join you."

"You're too perfect. I don't want to mess this up for you. It won't take long."

Harold Washington's words are in the same place over the door.

'Most of our problems can be solved. Some of them will take brains, some of them will take patience, and all of them will have to be wrestled with like an alligator in a swamp.' Harold Washington

A couple is standing in the hallway looking at the mural that decorates the walls. We walk around them and head further in and to the door that leads to the flight of stairs. I lower myself onto the top step. Ben takes off his jacket and places it on my knees. He does what he said he would: runs down several flights and then comes back up. He repeats it three more times and then sits by me. His breaths are fast and a sheen of perspiration covers his brow. I dig in my purse, find a tissue and wipe it off.

"Thanks," he says.

His face is close, and the seclusion of the stairs is too tempting. I press my forehead to his. "Are you really OK? We can leave any time."

"Fine. Better now. I'll be the first one to drag us to the car the moment I think this is no longer sustainable for me. Meeting my viewers, people who watch my stuff for the first time, it was ...great, actually. I didn't know I would enjoy it as much as I did. Talking about the stuff that interests me, and them wanting me to talk about it and them listening, it is something I can get used to. I liked it. And I see what Linda meant when she coached me through these types of interactions. I can set my boundaries. At least at an event like this. "

This is a Ben I don't know. I came here today expecting to protect him, to rescue him and be the savior in case things do not go well. This Ben doesn't need a savior. I'm at a loss. No longer a teacher, not needed to guide him, the reason he'd want me around is unclear. An assistant professor, two years his senior, living in an apartment with two roommates and a negative balance in her account at the end of the month is not a match for a successful food scene personality with women of all ages hanging to his every word, who looks the way Ben looks and is at the beginning of what, according to Linda, is a successful career in food entertainment.

The 'right now' in Linda's statement takes on a whole new meaning. I have Ben, but it's unlikely I'll get to keep him. The now is better than never. I press my mouth to Ben's and when he draws me closer, I lose myself in the now of his lips. I will not worry about the future. My now with Ben on the staircase is fantastic, and it is mine. I'll take it.

3.7.21

Linda and Am, will they become freinds, you think? Or does Linda have something up her sleeve?