PRIDE'S CHILDREN - a novel of obsession, betrayal, and love. Book 1

Chapter 3, Scene 4

Mallory’s Bar and Grill, NYC

 “Roland! Roland!” A ragged roar of applause from women in glitter, men in black tie, the shockwave hit Kary’s ears like a physical blow as Andrew swung open the door from Mallory’s kitchen into the upper East Side bar and grill, and held it for Dana and for her. ‘In the jungle, the mighty jungle...’ floated through her head.

  His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t seem fazed; his smile encompassed everyone.

 The king entering the Great Hall? She shook her head. This is a little party? She should have expected it. At the WMRC dock, George Cosgrave had shepherded them into the heated limo so quickly she hadn’t time to get cold in the brittle black New York night, but the chauffeur delivered them, not to the front entrance, but to the alley behind the restaurant. For safety?

 Escaping the maelström was her first thought. Too early for people to know who she was—they’d either been getting ready for the party or already here drinking when Night Talk had blown her cover. If she could dissociate herself from the man of the hour, she could still avoid detection. She touched Andrew’s arm. “Dana and I have to find her sister.” She caught Dana’s attention. Great—trading one celebrity for another. “Okay with you, Dana?”

 Dana locked arms. “We’ll raid the buffet. I’m starved.”

 “Keep a chair for me,” he said. “There’s a pile o’ people I have to make nice with. I’m the ram on the auction block.” His petitioners bore him away, but not before he had grabbed the maitre d’ and handed Dana and Kary over.

 The restaurant matched Kary’s mental image of an old gentlemen’s club: heavy dark furniture, hunter-green wallpaper over the wainscoting, photos of celebrities and politicians in massive gilded frames. To one side, five servers presided over a display worthy of Versailles. Elaborate. And expensive.

 From a booth toward the front, she followed Andrew’s progress: the fisherman’s sweater stood out easily from the crowd. He poached a beer from a passing waiter, grazed from group to group without letting any claim him.

 “Pours it on rather thick, doesn’t he?” Dana said. Her gaze alternated between the knot with Andrew at its center, and the entrance. “There’s Chrissy!”

 Dana took charge. Mother-hen-like, with Brian as footman, she snagged a waiter and supervised delivery of ‘two of everything.’ She pampered Chrissy and Kary impartially. “If I don’t, Chrissy won’t eat enough to keep a mouse alive.”

 Kary had to raise her voice to be heard. “Do you know all these people?”

 “Producers, agents, gossip columnists.” Dana returned a wave from a tall brunette in a chartreuse cocktail dress. “Hangers-on. Yeah, most of them. But they’re here to talk to Andrew, so enjoy your dinner.”

 “Fine with me.”

 Dana’s head snapped up as Brian looked horrified. “Oh, God. I can’t believe I said that!”

 Brian, who had seated Dana by the wall ‘to hide her from view,’ hung his head.

 Chrissy laughed. “Foot in mouth?”

 “Sorry, Kary. They’re all used to me being outrageous.”

 “I meant it,” Kary said. The food restored her—she hadn’t realized how long it had been since dinner—but she didn’t belong here. The familiar ache starting between her shoulder blades warned her she was on time borrowed at exorbitant interest.

 He invited me for one thing. She turned to Chrissy. How old was the girl? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? There was something wan about the face, a stillness about the body, as if someone had taken a Dana and smoothed away not only a few years but all of the verve. “Tired?”