Indeed. Rebuff her advances.

Sudden, red embarrassment flushes her face and she, mumbling, struggles to pass off her brazen offer as a joke. "Not like I care. You are in shipping, you said?"

And the two of you while away some time in awkward but not too unpleasant conversation.

Until the Landlocked Commodore announces his coming presence, military steps and iced glasses balanced precariously by someone unfamiliar with carrying a tray. He hands her her drink first, then toasts you with his own distillate. "Did you enjoy the show?"

You accustom your taste buds to the foul taste and slur out a non-committal answer.

"There is no accounting for taste, of course..." The Thoroughbred Blonde pauses to take a sip. "You might have missed the best parts, but the second half is always better than the first..."