Drawing himself straighter, he turned to welcome the junior senator from Florida.They talked for a bit.John had met the man at a reception in Washington several months before, and since plans for the Palm Beach store had been well under way at the time, they had much to discuss.
He wasn’t the only senator John knew.With the steady expansion of his circle of contacts, he made frequent visits to Washington which put him in the company of politicians on a regular basis.They fascinated him, or rather their game did.He was intrigued by the jockeying that went on when one wanted something from another.Political blackmail was subtle and called by any other name.
He played the game, but from a distance.He was content to contribute money to one candidate or another, even to contribute big money to some.But he wanted none of the impermanence of Washington, where a man’s career was at the whim of voters or, worse, the media.He wanted his own fame to be solid and long-lasting.Given how far he’d come in his thirty-nine years, he had a good shot at it.
Only half-listening while the senator talked, he ran through a mental roster of his guests and considered how he ranked on the list.He wasn’t as wealthy as some.He didn’t have as many homes as others.And the St.George Company was a baby compared to some of the other corporations represented.
But what a baby.She was a gold mine, and he had made her so.His timing had been right, his shrewd managementon the mark.Any financial crises he’d endured after the opening ofFacetsBoston were history.
He couldn’t help but be smug at the thought of his yacht moored in Newport Harbor and his Rolls-Royce parked on Beacon Hill.The townhouse; redecorated from top to bottom, had been the scene of many an elegant gathering of late.His parties were prized affairs, well attended and chic.He never had a shortage of guests.
But guests were guests, women were women, and superficiality was the name of that game.When he wanted to relax, Hillary was still the one he went to.She knew him.He didn’t have to play the gentleman with her.
She wasn’t here tonight, though, because he never invited her to the most important of his parties.It wasn’t her place.Unlike Pam, she wasn’t the glamorous type.
Excusing himself from the senator at a breaking point in the conversation, John wandered to a spot where he had a view of Pam again.She was talking to the applesauce heir.He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, twenty-five or twenty-six, not a bad match for her.She claimed she wasn’t getting married, claimed—right to his face no more than a month before, when he’d raised the issue—that if she couldn’t marry Cutter Reid, she wouldn’t marry at all.
He didn’t like her boldness or the arrogance that came with professional recognition.Even more, he didn’t like her mention of Cutter Reid.She only did it to bother him.
Cutter was one of his few mistakes.He hadn’t dreamed that the guy could pull himself up by the shoestrings and make something of himself.Not that John considered modeling as something, but Cutter was making goodmoney.He assumed Cutter would squander it.His kind didn’t have brains to think ahead to the day when their skin would crease and their hair would turn gray.
Although Cutter Reid’s days in the sun were numbered, it rankled John that he had enjoyed any such days at all.
The irony of it all rankled, too.Cutter would never have modeled if John had been freer with the belt and scarred his face.Nor would Cutter have ever modeled if John hadn’t made him leave Timiny Cove.He would still be there.Mining.Making eyes at Pam, who was so far above him.She was beautiful.Talented.Smart.
John reached for a cigarette, only to remember that he was no longer smoking.His doctor had advised him to stop, and that made sense.It would be tragic to build an incredible life and then die of cancer at fifty.He planned to live until eighty at least, enjoying respect, adulation, and great wealth.
Eighty years was a long time to live.A person could get lonely after a while.A person could get lonely, period, but life at the top was that way.Loneliness was the price paid for prominence.Even in this large, lavishly appointed room with four hundred people, he felt alone.
Pam should see that.She was his sister.She should know how he felt.She should help.She should be there for him.
But she was more interested in furthering her own name and career.If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t be sashaying her way among the rich and famous.She wouldn’t be an up-and-coming jewelry designer.She wouldn’t have any career at all.
If it hadn’t been for him, she would be an unwed mothertrying to raise a child on her own.Maybe it was time he reminded her of that.She was a little too ungrateful and enamored of herself.She needed to be taken down a peg or two.
By the time the last of the guests had left and the caterers were stacking their silver trays, Pam was gone.John might have guessed it.She never made things easy.He called the hotel and learned that she had checked out before the party.One of his PR people reported having seen her change clothes in the ladies’ room.Another reported having seen her leave the store and jump into a cab.A third called the airport and found that her name was on the passenger list for a flight that was now taxiing onto the runway.
He tried calling her in Boston later than night, but she didn’t answer.He tried calling her at the company’s suite in New York, although he knew she rarely stayed there.She preferred the Hilton.Or Hillary’s.So he tried calling her there, but a groggy Hillary was the only one to answer.
He wondered if she was seeing Cutter Reid.The thought drove him wild.He simmered all night, took the first morning flight back to Boston, and went to her apartment and pounded on the door.
He never expected her to be there, but within a minute she opened the door.She was tying the sash of a long white robe.Her face was clear of makeup and flushed from sleep.Between that and the hair tumbling over her shoulders, she looked warm and womanly.John felt an instant physical response, which annoyed him all the more.
She was wary.“What is it, John?”
“No bright ‘hello’?No ‘how are you,’ or ‘didn’t that go well yesterday’?”
“Sorry, but I OD’d on small talk.”
She did look tired, which got all of his suspicions going again.“Where the hell have you been?I thought you would stick around after the party.”
“What for?It was a success.We both knew it would be.”
“There were people to thank.That’s your responsibility, too.We’re business partners, for Christ’s sake.”
She arched a slender brow.“Business partners?Are you kidding?I’m a company employee.Just one of the designers.”
Since he-wasn’t about to acknowledge that her work was in any way superior, he focused on the family connection: “You’re a St.George.You have a stake in the company.”
