Out of my group ....! <3

My coach in school revealed to me it's smarter to point high and miss, than point low and succeed.

For the most part his recommendation was correct, however I discovered the most difficult way possible that his astuteness doesn't work with ladies.

With regards to ladies, in case you're out of your group, you can point high as you need, however take it from me, you will get only sorrow.

I'm a battling author—that is the thing that props me up, yet doesn't pay my bills—filling in as a Visitor Service Aide at the National Art Gallery does that.

I realize what you're considering—that is a compelling esteemed sounding title for a Tour Guide—and you're correct.

One thing about Jay Spenser—I know my identity and where I stand.

Now and again I wish I didn't.

Take Kate Brookes, for example.

Her father's an Aide or something at the White House and she's a craftsmanship student of history who helps Jason Rutledge, the Director, with his acquisitions.

She's unquestionably out of my class—that is the thing that I tell my moronic head, however my stupid heart says something else.

"Why not ask her out? — She's your age."

Leopold's the Curator of Sculpture and my companion—really, I think he fancies himself my otherworldly consultant.

He generally expresses the conspicuous at that point utilizes it as use—like that comment about Kate being my age. For hell's sake, Kate Upton's my age and I don't take a stab at asking her out!

I take a full breath and endeavor to be understanding. What is it about the savvy men throughout my life that their recommendation works for everything with the exception of with regards to ladies?

I attempt to clutch my poise, however wind up venting.

"Better believe it, well perhaps I will ask her out, Leo—next time we share a business lunch together."

I know the comment is faltering and puerile—however perhaps I'm permitted to fuss.

And afterward I discover my lips moving once more.

"Jason Rutledge gets the chance to go out on the town each lovely lady in the craftsmanship exhibition, and a couple of others other than."

Leo just feigns exacerbation.

"Is it accurate to say that we are back on the Rutledge document once more? Truly, Jay—you have no self-assurance. That trifler is more inspired by status than expressions of the human experience. The man's a poseur—he knows nothing."

"He got the opportunity to eat today with Kate."

"He gets the opportunity to eat each day with an alternate lady—Except for Kate, they're all vacuous, half-witted bits of cushion to enhance his arm—not all that much."

Presently I feign exacerbation.

"All things considered, hmm Leo, that is consoling—it's quite recently that I simply happen to be somewhat shy of beautiful sight myself of late."

"I think Kate likes you. Try not to undercut yourself."

I like Leo—I truly do—he's a genuine positive person, however certainly unaware of what's going on.

What chance has an ex-junior hockey player and starving craftsman, going up against the urbane, smooth, Jason Rutledge? – an indistinguishable chances of progress from the notorious snowball in hellfire.

It's previous five when I get in and I should meet Max and the folks at the Verizon Center at seven.

The Washington Capitols are playing the Toronto Maple Leafs and it'll be a decent diversion. I make myself a barbecued cheddar sandwich, put on my Capitols hockey sweater and set out toward the field.

The amusement satisfies its buildup and despite the fact that the Caps lose, Alex Ovechkin gets a cap trap—we're all riding a post-diversion high and take off for Chinese sustenance.

We transform a corner and keep running into Kate and her family, every one of them wearing night clothing.

"Jay! What are you up to this evening?"

She looks stunning—all made up and wonderfully dressed—her sister looks like Pippa Middleton and her father and mother seem as though they ventured out of the musical drama scene in My Fair Lady.

I'm in a hockey sweater and with my unruly companions—simply brilliant.

I swing to my companions, "Go ahead to the Golden Dragon folks—I'll make up for lost time."

Mr. Brookes is standing holding up, his dark jacket open, demonstrating his tuxedo and white silk scarf. He's looking extremely statesmanlike… and I'm feeling like a grunge.

"You should be Jay," he says.

"How would you do, Mr. Brookes"— I practically say Mr. President.

"May I present my significant other Edith and my girl Sarah? Women, this is Jay Spenser, who works at the National Gallery with Kate."

They make proper acquaintance and I'm surprised—Kate's dad knows me by name. I'm remaining there tongue-tied and somewhat stunned.

"Things being what they are, how did Ovie do today?"

"You take after hockey?" I ask puzzled.

"I have season tickets—when my young ladies let me out to see a diversion."

Mrs. Brookes laughs. "See young ladies—we ought to have released your dad to the hockey game today around evening time as opposed to constraining him to go to the Nutcracker."

"Gracious, I wouldn't state heading off to the expressive dance with three stunning ladies constitutes constrain—wouldn't you concur, Jay?"

I gesture stupidly.

"It was so pleasant to see you, Jay," Kate says, "Appreciate whatever is left of the night with your companions."

I watch them get into a limousine and I wave as they head out.

I simply remain in the city shaking my head. Leo, you simply don't get it—that young lady's out of my association.

to be continued...