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.
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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.
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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
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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.