Leana wanted to hurl.
She started toward them, her gaze shifting from George to Elizabeth to Celina. One of these days, they’ll respect me as much as they respect her. But even as she thought this, she wondered how she’d pull it off. As she took her position next to Celina in the reception line, disappointment, frustration and anger were all clearly expressed by George and Elizabeth-and yet neither said a word.
Leana supposed she should be happy for the way her presence-or lack thereof-had affected them, but she wasn’t. Instead, a part of her felt guilty for coming late.
Outside, the paparazzi went suddenly wild as Michael Archer alighted from his limousine and stepped into the lobby. Cameras flashed. The crowd of onlookers cheered. Leana recognized him immediately. “I didn’t know Mom sent him an invitation,” she said to Celina. “I read one of his books a few months ago.”
Celina looked puzzled. “Mom didn’t send him an invitation. I went over the guest list twice with her. Michael Archer’s name was nowhere on it." She gave her sister a look. "And where have you been?”
"Flossing."
Leana looked at Elizabeth, who was watching Michael Archer shake hands with her husband. She knew her mother had no tolerance for those who crashed parties-especially her own. She wondered how she would handle this.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said politely as Michael approached. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Her voice was firm. She ignored his hand. “This is a private party.”
In the silence that fell, George and Celina turned to listen. Leana watched Michael. “I apologize for intruding,” he said. “But I understand you’re raising money this evening for children with HIV, and I wanted to do something to help.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. He handed it to Elizabeth. “I hope this will.”
Elizabeth looked at the check, then coolly back at Michael. “$100,000 is very generous,” she said.
“I work in the entertainment industry,” he said. “HIV is prevalent there. It’s the least I could do. It’s a cause I believe in.”
Although Leana doubted he knew it, Michael Archer had just handed her mother five million dollars. Perhaps six. Once word got around that he had given her a check for $100,000, the other guests would be scrambling for their checkbooks, desperate not to lose face. Elizabeth knew it, but she didn’t show it.
“I apologize,” she said to him. “This is very kind of you. We would be pleased to have you stay. Would you?”
The relief that crossed Michael Archer’s face was unmistakable. Leana lifted her chin at the same moment he turned to look at her. Their eyes met and Michael smiled. “Mrs. Redman,” he said, “it would be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER SIX
The old Buick coughed, wheezed and shook for several moments before it jerked to a halt and died in the heart of Manhattan.
Jack Douglas sat there, numb, as steam rose from the engine and the headlights dimmed into darkness. He knew what was wrong with the car without checking the engine. For weeks now, he had been meaning to have a new radiator and alternator installed, but he was so busy with work, he had put it off. Naturally, both failed him on the night of George Redman’s party.
He would have to catch a cab.
He opened the glove compartment, plucked the invitation from a mass of crumbled papers and broken pencils, and searched for his wallet. It wasn’t there. He looked on the seat beside him, on the floor, in the pockets of his black dinner jacket and pants, and then remembered leaving it back at his apartment, out in full-view on the kitchen table, just so he wouldn’t leave it behind.
He could help but laugh. Now he would have to walk.
He left the car where it had died, on the corner of Fifth and 75th Street, and started for The Redman International Building, which was over a mile downtown. He knew his car would get towed, but he didn’t care. Tonight, Jack Douglas had more important things on his mind.
Tonight might just change the rest of his life.
He had just passed 61st Street when lightning flashed and thunder rippled across the sky. Jack looked up, felt the rising breeze on his face and quickened his step. It had better not rain, he thought.
But it did.
When the rain became wind-swept sheets, panic rose in him and he broke into a run, the rain pelting his lowered head. With each passing motorist, he was sprinkled with the spray that flew off their wheels. He ran seven blocks before The Redman International Building came into sight, and when it did, Jack slowed. If George Redman himself hadn’t sent him an invitation to tonight’s party, he would have passed on this and gone home. But that wasn't happening.
Last week, when he sold an unprecedented $500 million dollars worth of bonds to a client in France, he had become the financial world’s most revered species-a Big Swinging Dick. The following morning, when the Journal named him Wall Street’s latest financial whiz, every investment firm in Manhattan tried luring him away from Morgan Stanley-but to no avail.
Jack refused the offers, determined to remain loyal to the firm that gave him his start. And then came the invitation from George Redman, asking him to come to the grand opening of the new Redman International Building. “Congratulations on the Journal article,” George wrote on the invitation. “And I hope you’ll come to the party. I’d like to discuss a few things with you.”
And that was all it took. Redman International was the world’s leading conglomerate. If Jack was offered a job there, his career would be set. So much for loyalty, he thought.
As much as he didn’t want to, he stepped into the building and handed the doorman his damp invitation. The band wasn’t playing. There was nothing but the rustle of silk, the light din of those who hadn’t seen him and the titter of those who had. The doorman looked at him, then at the invitation and seemed to hesitate with indecision. But then he smiled and said, “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Douglas.”
“Right,” Jack said, and moved into the lobby.
A waiter stopped beside him. “Champagne, sir?”
“Champagne, sir” was at the end of a ten-foot pole and conveyed the message: “You and your wet clothes and your dirty face are not welcome at this party.”
Although he preferred beer, Jack accepted a glass and toasted those who were rude enough to stare. “Lovely evening,” he said, and smiled when they turned away. There was a hand on his arm. Jack turned and saw Celina Redman. “You look as if you could use a friend,” she said.
This morning, she was on the front page of the Times. While Jack always considered her an attractive woman, he was delighted to find that Celina Redman was even prettier in person. “And a shower,” he said after a moment. “I got caught in the rain.” He extended a hand, which Celina shook. “I’m Jack Douglas,” he said. “Glad to meet you.”
Celina returned the smile. “Celina Redman,” she said. “And that was one hell of a profile the Journal had on you last week. I was impressed. My father invited you personally, didn’t he?”
Jack nodded. “Afraid so. My big break and look at me. I’m a mop.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Showing up shows you have guts.”
“I just wish I wasn’t wearing them on my jacket and pants.” He looked around him. “I should probably clean up before I meet your father.”
Celina looked at the dusting of mud and grime on his face and hands. “I’ll tell you what-my parents have a triplex on the top floor. If you’d like, you can clean up there and borrow something of my father’s. You look to be about his size.” She motioned toward the bank of elevators beside them. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll see what I can find for you to wear. I’m sure my father has something.”