Double Standards

In the distance, against the backdrop of a steep bluff, sprawled an immense, modernistic three-story glass-and-stucco house. Acres of lush green lawns, dotted with colorful umbrella tables, sloped gently to a sandy beach. Waiters in light blue jackets were passing trays among what had to be at least a hundred guests, who were lounging on chaises around a gigantic kidney-shaped swimming pool, talking and laughing in animated groups on the lawn, or strolling on the beach.

Silhouetted against a pink-and-gold sky, gleaming white yachts rode languidly at anchor on the swelling water. Lauren decided they looked serenely unimpressed by a lake that was nearly a thousand feet deep in places, and unintimidated by the fact that storms could rage across its 22,000-square-mile surface, whipping it into a turbulent gray fury.

Nick got out of the car and came around to open her door. With his hand at her elbow, Lauren had no choice but to walk beside him along the winding row of racy foreign sports cars and luxurious sedans toward the throngs of guests.

At the edge of the lawn she stopped and surveyed the people with whom she was about to mingle. Besides several famous movie stars, there were other vaguely familiar faces—faces she'd seen repeatedly in magazine articles about the international jet set and the fabulously rich.

She glanced at Nick, who was slowly scanning the crowd. He looked neither impressed nor intimidated by this glittering assembly of the beautiful and the rich; in fact, he looked irritated. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with the same annoyance she saw in his expression. "I'm sorry, Lauren. If I'd known Tracy's 'little gathering' was going to be like this, I'd never have brought you here. It's going to be noisy, crowded and frenetic."

Although she felt rather ill at ease surrounded by such famous people, she managed an air of nonchalance and gave him a jaunty smile. "Maybe, if we're lucky, no one will realize we're here."

"Don't count on it," he warned dryly. They strolled along the perimeter of the lawn, which was bordered by dense woods. When they came to a bar that had been set up for the use of the guests, Nick stepped behind it. Rather than staring at him like a besotted idiot while he made their drinks, Lauren forced herself to turn and observe her surroundings. As her gaze moved over to a chattering group nearby, a gorgeous redhead glanced up and saw Nick.

With a smile dawning across her perfect features, the woman left her friends and hurried toward Nick and Lauren, her wide-legged lounging pants billowing softly at her ankles. "Nick, darling!" she said, laughing, her beringed hands already sliding up his arms as she leaned forward to kiss him.

Nick put the liquor bottle down and obligingly curved both his arms around her, drawing her to him to return the kiss.

Even after he released her, Lauren noted that the redhead kept her hands on his arms while smiling warmly into his gray eyes. "Everyone has been wondering if you were going to disappoint us and not come," she said. "But I knew you'd be here because the phone has been ringing off the hook with calls from your office. The servants and everyone else have been taking messages for you all afternoon. And who's this?" she asked brightly, at last taking her hands from his arms and stepping back to regard Lauren with open curiosity.

"Lauren, this is Barbara Leonardos," Nick began the introductions.

"Call me Bebe—everyone does." The woman turned back to Nick and continued, almost as if Lauren wasn't there, "I thought you were bringing Ericka."

"Really?" Nick mocked lightly. "And I thought you were in Rome with Alex."

"We were," Bebe admitted, "but we wanted to see you."

When she left a few moments later, Nick started to explain, "Bebe is—"

"I already know who she is," Lauren admitted softly, trying not to sound awed. Barbara Leonardos was the darling of the fashion magazines and gossip columnists, an American oil heiress who was married to a fabulously rich Greek industrialist. "I've seen her pictures in fashion magazines and newspapers dozens of times."

Nick handed Lauren the drink he had mixed for her, picked up his own and inclined his head toward the couple who were striding quickly toward them, arm in arm. "Do you recognize either of those two?"

"No," Lauren admitted. "They don't look even slightly familiar."

Nick smiled at her. "In that case, I'll introduce you. They happen to be our host and hostess, as well as very good friends of mine."

Bracing herself for the inevitable round of introductions, Lauren studied the beautiful brunette in her thirties and the rather heavyset man beside her, who was close to sixty.

"Nick!" The woman laughed delightedly, flinging herself into Nick's arms in utter disregard of the drink he was holding and kissing him with the same intimate, enthusiastic familiarity that Bebe had. "We haven't seen you for months!" she scolded as she stepped back. "What on earth have you been doing?"

"Some of us still work for a living," Nick told her with an affectionate smile. Reaching out, he caught Lauren's arm, drawing her into the circle of comradery. "Lauren, I'd like you to meet our hosts, Tracy and George Middleton."

"Lauren, I'm so happy to meet you," Tracy said, then she demanded of Nick, "Why are you two standing way over here by yourselves? No one will even realize you're here."

"Which is precisely why I'm standing over here," Nick told her bluntly.

Tracy's breath came out in a rueful laugh. "I know I promised you this was going to be a small gathering. I swear we had no idea that nearly everyone we invited was actually going to come. You can't imagine the problem it's created up at the house."

She glanced at the purpling sky and then over her shoulder. Following her gaze, Lauren saw that nearly all the guests had begun to stroll toward the house or down to the pier, where motor launches were waiting to take them out to their yachts. Waiters had started to set up tables under a huge striped canopy, and torches were being lit around the pool. Musicians were moving their instruments onto a large portable stage that had been erected at the far end of the pool.

"Everyone is already dressing for dinner," Tracy stated. "Are you two going over to the Cove to change, or were you planning to change here?"

Lauren's mind reeled. Dressing for dinner? She had absolutely nothing that was even remotely suitable to wear if they were going to dress formally for dinner!

Ignoring Lauren's urgent grip on his forearm, Nick said, "Lauren will change here. I'll go over to the Cove, return whatever phone calls can't wait and change there."

Tracy smiled at Lauren. "The house is bursting at the seams; you and I can use our room, and George will find somewhere else to change.

Shall we go?" she invited, already starting to turn away.

Nick glanced at Lauren's expression with a wry gleam of understanding. "I think there's something Lauren wants to discuss with me. You go ahead, and she'll join you."

As soon as the couple strolled out of hearing distance, Lauren said desperately, "Nick, I don't have anything suitable to wear. Surely you don't, either?"

"I have things over at the Cove, and I'll find a dress for you there too," he assured her calmly. "I'll send it over, and it will be in Tracy's room by the time you're ready to put it on."

Inside, the house was a cacophony of voices and bustling activity. Laughter and conversation drifted from twenty different rooms on three different floors, while servants hurried in every direction carrying freshly pressed clothing draped over their arms and trays of drinks in their hands.

Nick stopped one of the servants and asked for his phone messages. In an instant they were in his hand, and he turned to Lauren with a warm smile. "I'll meet you outside by the pool in about an hour. Can you manage without me for that long?"

"I'll be fine," Lauren assured him. "Take your time."

"Are you certain?"

With his compelling gray eyes searching hers, Lauren wasn't certain of her own name, but she nodded anyway. When he left, she turned to find Bebe Leonardos watching her with open curiosity. Quickly wiping the dreamy expression from her face, Lauren said, "Is there a phone I can use somewhere? I'd like to call home."

"Of course. Where's home?" Bebe inquired casually.

"Fenster, Missouri," Lauren told her, following her into a luxurious study near the back of the house.

"Fenster?" Bebe sniffed, as if there was an offensive odor associated with the name of the town. Then she left, closing the door behind her.

The long-distance collect call to her father didn't take long because they were both acutely aware of the expense involved. But her dad laughed with pride and astonishment when he heard about her new job and salary, and he was relieved when she told him that Philip Whitworth had insisted she live in his aunt's condominium, rent free. She didn't mention her bargain with Philip because she didn't want to cause her father any anxiety. All she wanted him to know was that his financial burden was now eased.