She looked incredulous. “I can’t imagine being back in school. Not at this age.”

“And what age is that?” I couldn’t help myself.

“Twenty-nine.”

Twenty-nine.

She turned to Gayle again, hoping to change the subject to something more interesting. “So what do you do?”

“I’m a reporter.”

“Really.” She sounded duly impressed. “For what publication?”

“Congressional Quarterly.”

“Oh! CQ!”

“Yes! CQ!” Gayle looked delighted. Finally, someone who was familiar enough with the magazine to call it by its insiderly abbreviation.

I drummed my fingers on the table, tempted to add that I liked to refer to it by my own personal favorite nickname—The House Organ—but I didn’t. After several minutes of listening to Adrienne and Gayle gab away about whom they knew in common at the magazine and how interesting it must be to cover politics, though, I ran out of patience.

“Yes, Gayle’s been covering the flag debate since the beginning. In fact, I think she broke the story.”

“What flag debate?” Adrienne asked.

Gayle blushed.

“Well, there’s two issues, actually, right, Gayle?”

“Right.”

“There’s the Pledge of Allegiance issue, and then there’s the flag desecration constitutional amendment that’s still pending. Both, of course, very very big in this town.”

Adrienne started to glaze over. “Really,” she said, trying to sound interested enough to be polite but not so interested as to keep this line of conversation going. “Stories like this never seem to make the Times.”

“Sometimes they don’t even make the Post,” I added under my breath.

“Anyway, back to the wedding,” Adrienne said, clearly relieved to have found a segue. “Will it be a day or evening affair?”

“A Saturday evening.”

“So, it’ll be formal.”

“Actually, it’ll be semi-formal”

I had no idea what I was talking about.

“Oh.” She leaned back in her chair and squeezed the life out of a wedge of lemon into her glass of iced tea. “I never know what that means, semi-formal, on an invitation. Does one wear a cocktail dress? A suit? A long dress?”

Like it mattered. She wasn’t coming.

“I often wish people were more definitive,” she continued. “Absolutely formal. Or absolutely informal.” She shook her head, sipped from her glass. “But that’s just me, I suppose.”

Gayle nodded. “Yes, I agree completely. I much prefer things to be definitive.”

I glared at her. “What things?”

“Well, things, you know. Dinners, parties, weddings, other events and such.”

“Since when are you a stickler for being definitive? You’re the most vague, inexact, confused person I’ve ever known.”

Gayle looked wounded. Those were the things I always said I most loved about her.

“I was kidding,” I said, and she was immediately resuscitated. But the damage had already been done as far as Adrienne was concerned. She could tell I was lashing out because I was nervous. Either that or she’d decided I was simply a bitch.

“So back to the wedding.” Clearly, Adrienne did not want to let the subject go. “Will you be having a religious ceremony?”