It was in December that I first met Mr. Adrian Delinfere. There is a myth about the difficulty of gaining access to society here, but Mr.Delinfere proved the mendacity of such claims, as did I, incidentally.

I was attending a rather decadent Christmas party thrown yearly by one of the more prominent area families. I had arrived by limousine an hour and a half after the party began, wearing a gown that, had I bought it, would have bankrupted me. As it was, the rental fees took up nearly all of my Christmas savings, but I knew from personal experience that this night would more than make up for a few nights at the bar and a company party. I ascended the stairs with no hesitation, pulling a white card from my purse. In truth, it was little more than a piece of cardboard, but that and fifty dollars to the doorman was invitation enough for me to gain access. The ploy was one I had used for some years, nearly always with success. There were other, less dignified ways to crash these parties but few that were convenient in a dress. The truth is that anyone who looks the part can attend nearly any large party with a little ingenuity.

In any case, three hours later I was flushed with dancing and champagne. My various dancing partners had introduced me to senators, a governor, and diplomats of all kinds. Everyone assumed I was a friend of the family, or perhaps an employee. I'm sure you have all seen the spy films where the spy infiltrates a party? The idea makes perfect sense to me. Nothing I heard was top secret, of course, but the general information I innocently overheard was enough to entertain me for a year whenever I saw these personages on television. The senator to whom I had just been speaking was a bit intoxicated. We'd discussed the quality of the canapes, the ice hockey season, and a proposition before his aide rescued him (or me, depending on your viewpoint). It was then, as I wandered back toward the dance floor, that I noticed a man standing by a window. He caught my eye because he was looking out, seemingly uninterested by the extravagance behind him.

As I stared at him curiously, he turned and met my eye. My own embarrassment went unnoticed as I watched surprise wash quickly over his features. Indeed, no one else in the room had seemed to notice his preoccupation, but then few others in the room were anywhere close to sober. I looked away quickly, recovering my manners just as someone asked me to dance. Without even glancing up at them I accepted, and found to my surprise that I was dancing with an old classmate of mine. We chatted amiably for some time before he asked why I was there. I brazenly confessed my subterfuge, and he laughed, making some comment about the indiscretion of saying such things to a lawyer. I promised to call him if I ever needed an attorney and thus protect myself by attorney-client privilege, and we parted ways.

Soon after that I retrieved my coat and purse, and prepared to take the long walk down the drive to the main road to catch a cab. There was no reason for a limousine at this late hour, and truthfully I couldn't afford one, but I was still not looking forward to a half-mile hike in the snow. I sighed as I descended the front steps, pulling out my cell phone to call the cab company. Before I could complete the call, I was interrupted.

"Excuse me, miss," someone said, "but did you need a ride?"

I had my mouth open to say "no" when I realized to whom I was speaking. It was the man from the window, and he was just about to step into a warm limousine. I would have refused anyway, but he spoke before I could.

"I assure you my intentions are honourable, and it's the least I can do for a fellow gate crasher." He smiled, and I realized he was handsome.

I could hear his faint European accent adding an obvious "u" to "honor" and resented the superior indulgence I thought I heard there.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I responded testily.

"I heard you speaking to your friend," he answered, undisturbed.

I tried to recall whether I had noticed him on the dance floor, but had to admit that I might have missed him. Perhaps I was feeling reckless that night, or perhaps I had had more champagne than I thought, because I surprised myself by accepting his offer. I slipped the phone, still awaiting a touch of the send button, back into my purse, and steppind into the car. He climbed in gracefully and sat facing me, still with a small smile on his face.

"I am Adrian Delinfere," he introduced himself, offering his gloved hand.

"Madeline Salvatore," I answered, shaking it firmly. I smiled, then remembered something. "You said you crashed the party, too?"

He laughed and nodded. "That I did."

"But why go to all the trouble of crashing a party that bored you?"

He laughed again. "Oh, it was no trouble," he assured me, "and I didn't know ahead of time that it would be less than exciting." He looked down at his lap for a moment. "It's been awhile since I last bothered to attend a party. I suppose I'd forgotten why I'd stopped."

I had to laugh myself at that, even though I couldn't imagine what bored him so.

"But why did you crash it?" he questioned in turn. "You hardly seem the type to be jealous of those types."

I wondered when he had had time to know me that well. Jealousy was the last thing on my mind.

"I suppose," I told him, "that it's a little like watching Jerry Springer for me." The look of confusion on his face was priceless. I clarified. "Most people watch Springer for one real reason: they want to reassure themselves that people have worse and crazier lives than they have. They need to see people to whom they can feel superior."

At this he nodded understanding, even though I had the craziest suspicion that he hadn't a clue who Jerry Springer was.

"So you came to the party to feel superior to the official attendees?"

I laughed again. "No. This is totally the other end of society." Again I thought he was getting confused. "I don't come to feel superior."

It occured to me that I was about to tell this strange man more than most of my friends knew. It mattered little what I told him, of course. I'd likely never see him again. It saddened me, however, that I held no one in my life close enough to reveal all. My own eyes dropped, and I sensed him growing a bit concerned. I looked up with a small smile.

"I come to the party once a year to prove to myself that I am equal to them...that my small life in my small town hasn't made me small."

I felt my cheeks redden, and I looked down again.

"It wasn't your intent to live out your life here, then," he inferred.

I barked a laugh and leaned back in the soft seat, staring at the ceiling.

"Hardly."

"Then why not leave?" he asked, as though it were really that simple.

"Leave and go where? Live on what?"

"Anywhere. You have a car, a few hundred dollars. Go anywhere. Pick up some small job when you get there to tide you over until something comes along. Or, if that idea frightens you, get the job first. Apply for a position somewhere you've never been. It doesn't matter what or where. Just go."

I looked at him through tired eyes. I'd dreamt of doing as he said, but they were only the pipe dreams of anyone disillusioned by the sad realities of post-college life. I shook my head.

"Running away doesn't solve anything. And besides, I never run away."

He looked at me, and the warm concern in his eyes almost made me weep.

"You wouldn't be running away. You'd be running toward a new life."

I looked away.

"My responsibilities..."

"To whom?"

I looked at him questioningly.

"To whom are you responsible?" he repeated.

I stopped to think about it. I was unmarried and childless. My parents were dead. I had a few friends, but none who could not bear my absence. My employer? He could replace me. My church? They hardly knew I existed.

"You owe no one anything here," he spoke softly. "You are free."

I felt as though scales had fallen from my eyes. All this time I had felt an obligation to stay, when no obligation in fact existed. I was free. The dreams I had put away years ago were not lost after all. Free. The word was sweet and terrifying on my lips.

I stared out the window into the snowy wood, and suddenly it seemed alive with possibility. The moon had come out and set everything aglow. Fifty yards away or so movement caught my eye. It appeared to be a wolf. Starled, I turned away for a second and it was gone. I sat back inn my seat facing Mr. Delinfere.

"You seem wise for someone little older than I," I told him honestly.

He smiled that handsome smile again. "I'm not that young."

"But how do you know so much?"

"My own freedom came as a shock to me," he said, the smile leaving his face, and his eyes darkening. "My venture out into the world was somewhat...forced."

"Disownment?"

A corner of his mouth twitched up.

"Something like that," he answered.

Around this time we entered the outskirts of town. I gave him directions to my apartment and in a few minutes we were there. He walked me to my door and waited while I unlocked it. I thanked him and bade him farewell. He was on his way back down the hall to the elevator when I remembered something.

"You never did tell me why you crashed the party," I called after him.

He turned back as the elevator doors opened.

"Contrary to popular belief, I never take my meals where I've been invited. It would be a bit rude, wouldn't you agree?"

He flashed that white smile again and stepped into the elevator car. My mind was racing, and I am certain I looked as shocked as I felt.

"You're welcome at my place anytime!" I called out.

I heard his heartfelt laugh echo back to me before the elevator doors closed and I was alone. I spent the rest of the night pondering what manner of man had shown me how to finally begin to live.