Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, either the ones based on real people or the ones created by the writers of the movie.

The View from Here
One: Typical Evening

He could feel his body starting to sober up as the second act dragged on. He timed it that way so the drinks that came after the curtain fell would be a bit more socially acceptable. That was the way his parents described it. As long as he stood dutifully by his mother's side, she and his father turned a blind eye to him doing so with a glass of champagne at his lips.

Philip wondered how many he would need to get through for this evening to be tolerable. He readied his best tight-lipped smile.

Philip made it past the first conversation with strategic sips. Strategic in the sense that it began with sips and he slowly worked his way up to longer and longer swallows. If he paced it right, no one would notice. And he would be taking down half a glass in one swallow.

"... isn't that right, Philip?" His mother was addressing him, but he hadn't been paying any attention to the conversation. Not that he needed to in order to guess at the topic. Or the expected response to his mother's prompting.

"Absolutely, Mother." He punctuated the statement by draining his glass. He caught her frown but she wouldn't say anything to him here. The waiter had perfect timing and Philip switched his empty glass for a full one, draining it much less covertly.

"I see your son is enjoying the refreshments," someone remarked to his parents, purposefully keeping their voice loud enough for him to hear. Philip took another defiant sip. Why don't you come out and say it? You're calling me a drunk and we all know it.

"It is indeed excellent champagne," he said out loud. "I imagine everyone will be serving it at their next party." This inspired his mother to boast about all the parties they were invited to thanks to the success of Philip's play in London.

The evening wore on and by the end of it, Philip had put away two more glasses of champagne. Not the most he ever drank in one evening.

"I only hope you will manage to pace yourself a bit better when we go to the ballet," his father commented.

"The ballet?"

"Yes, Philip, the ballet." His mother let out an impatient sigh. "Some of New York's prominent families have their daughters performing a recital, and they have invited us to attend. You said you would be escorting me." Did he? Philip replayed the evening in his mind and let out a long sigh.

Not that he had anything against the ballet. It was more after the curtain fell that made him unethusiastic. But going would please his parents. So he would go with his mother on his arm, though he would make no promises on pacing himself.

Being overly fond of spirits was scandalous, to be sure, but better that than snub an invitation and cause embarrassment.