Invitation Only (Private 2) - Page 74

I passed by an idling Rolls-?Royce and tried not to stare at the uni­formed driv­er as Ki­ran, Tay­lor, and I fell in­to a rhythm with our steps. We fol­lowed the oth­ers up the street as I glanced in­to each and ev­ery lob­by, not­ing the elab­orate mar­ble floors, glis­ten­ing chan­de­liers, gor­geous flow­er ar­range­ments. I was com­plete­ly

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dumb­struck by all the op­ulence, and Ki­ran and Tay­lor were hav­ing fun lis­ten­ing to the clip-?clop of our heels--so much fun that we al­most walked right by the rest of our friends when they stopped, en masse, in front of a wrought-?iron gate. Ap­par­ent­ly we had ar­rived.

Dash hit a buzzer that was built in­to a gray stone wall, and two sec­onds lat­er an im­pos­ing man in a green door­man's uni­form with gold tas­sels ap­peared. He looked us over with dis­dain, as if we were rab­ble off the street.

“Can I help you?” he said through his nose.

Noelle stepped up, near­ly shov­ing Dash aside. The door­man had the hu­man­ity, at least, to ap­pear stunned by the gor­geous­ness that had ap­peared in front of him. His eyes trailed down to the spot just above her cleav­age, where her own Lega­cy pen­dant glim­mered.

The man's thin lips twist­ed in­to a smile and he bowed his head. “Wel­come.”

He un­locked the gate, which gave an ages-?old squeal. Dash flashed his sleeves, show­ing off a pair of Lega­cy cuff links--the guys' ver­sion of a pass--and the man bowed to him as well. Whit­tak­er took my hand, de­tach­ing me from my friends, and showed his cuff links as we passed. The door­man glanced at my chest and nod­ded and my skin siz­zled with ex­cite­ment. I was in. My plus-?one had been ren­dered. Now it was time to get to the task at hand.

218

THE WEL­COME

“This place is un­be­liev­able,” I whis­pered to Whit­tak­er as we wove our way through the milling guests. His hand was hot and sweaty and prac­ti­cal­ly crush­ing mine. All I want­ed to do was stop and take a look around, but Whit­tak­er was in a rush to get who knew where.

“Come on. We have to get a good spot for the wel­come,” he said, hur­ry­ing me along.

I held my mask up with my trem­bling free hand, strug­gling to see in the can­dle­light. I would have tak­en it down, but ev­ery­one else seemed in­tent on wear­ing theirs, and I didn't want to look like the gawk­er I was.

“The wel­come?”

Whit­tak­er didn't re­ply. It was so dark I could bare­ly make out the faces around me, es­pe­cial­ly with my line of sight par­tial­ly im­paired by se­quins. If the light­ing re­mained this way through­out the par­ty, I would nev­er be able to spot Thomas. Es­pe­cial­ly not if he was wear­ing a mask, like ev­ery­one else was. My on­ly hope was that Thomas would choose to be dif­fer­ent. Not a bad bet, ac­tu­al­ly.

219

All around me skirts swished, drinks were sipped, hushed voic­es mur­mured. For the par­ty of the cen­tu­ry, it was quite tame at the mo­ment. I scanned the crowd and saw no one fa­mil­iar, not even the peo­ple I had come with. Ev­ery­one had dis­persed the sec­ond we stepped off the el­eva­tor, dis­ap­pear­ing with­in the sea of hid­den faces.

Fi­nal­ly Whit­tak­er paused near a wall and I was able to take a breath. He whis­pered some­thing to a tall, skin­ny wait­er, who re­turned mo­men­tar­ily with two drinks on a tray. Whit­tak­er hand­ed me an ex­treme­ly pink bev­er­age in a frost­ed mar­ti­ni glass and took the short, dark snifter for him­self. I at­tempt­ed to hold the glass with one hand and sloshed some of the liq­uid over the side on­to the exquisite mar­ble floor. Ap­par­ent­ly I need­ed some prac­tice.

De­ci­sion time. Take off the mask or make a com­plete mess? I tucked my mask un­der my arm so I could hold the drink with both hands.

“Who lives here?” I asked.

“The Dre­skins,” Whit­tak­er said, un­fazed as he sur­veyed the dozens of cou­tured lega­cies milling about the great room. “Don­ald Dre­skin, Dee Dee Dre­skin, and their par­ents. They're good friends of the fam­ily.”

“Oh. So you've been here be­fore?” I asked.

“On oc­ca­sion,” he said. “And ev­ery year for this. The Dre­skins have been host­ing the Lega­cy since be­fore I was born.”

He was so in­cred­ibly blase about the whole thing. As if ev­ery day he was whisked up to the two-?floor pent­hous­es of Park Av­enue

220

build­ings in pri­vate el­eva­tors that re­quired spe­cial keys to work. As if this apart­ment, which stretched the en­tire span of the build­ing on both floors and was big­ger than my en­tire house times five, was just an­oth­er home. So far all I had seen was the wide-?open foy­er with its sto­ry-?high Pi­cas­sos and its de­co chan­de­lier, fol­lowed by this hu­mon­gous room with its win­dows over­look­ing Cen­tral Park--the Cen­tral Park--and I was ready to faint with awe.

Sud­den­ly there was a dis­tinct mur­mur through­out the crowd as ev­ery­one turned in our di­rec­tion. I glanced over my shoul­der to see what the fuss was about and saw that the two grand doors be­hind me were open­ing. The floor on that side of the room was raised three steps, cre­at­ing a sort of stage.

“Ah. Here we are,” Whit­tak­er said ex­pec­tant­ly.

Through the doors stepped a tall man in a tuxe­do, wear­ing a wood­en mask of a grotesque, leer­ing clown face. He clasped his hands in front of him and ev­ery­one fell silent.

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