<strong>Name</strong>: Mr. B<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Approach/Anteroom<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: All<br/><br/>A lapse in scheduled civic business and his wife taking the kids to go see her parents - something he bemoaned just enough to put up a show - have conspired to give him the rarest of things these days: a block of several days to himself. The fact that the first day of his solo vacation coincides with the anniversary of the Club had not been lost on him, either. In anticipation he has not been to the Club in a few weeks. He has arranged the details of a fishing trip at a remote cabin through his intern, and instructed his staff that for the next two days he will be out of cellphone range. His deputy has been handed the reigns in his absence.<br/><br/>Mr. B arrives, as usual, by private car. The sedan is late model and generic, the very car he first bought himself when he finished college, as a means of commuting between law school and his job in the city. On paper the car has no further connection to him, having been sold to a man from out of state for parts. It even has the appropriate plates, carefully maintained. He is nothing if not thorough in his desire for privacy, as one in his position needs to be. Careful, though indulgent on occasions such as this. He parks and leaves everything save his billfold in the car. What he needs for the duration of his stay he can always return for. He checks the cuffs of his bespoke suit - an affectation his public forgive, as he has never showed the arrogance typical of a politician in a suit practically sewn onto him - and then approaches the front of the manor. As he passes into the anteroom he takes a moment to let his eyes adjust to the interior light and he smiles a rather lascivious smile. This is not going to be his typically short visit. He is going to enjoy himself in a manner that befits the anniversary.