Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

They were ignoring me, both Tony and Jillian, and deep down I was so hurt I wanted to do some hurting on my own, and so I did something ill conceived and stupid. I decided to go and visit Logan. "Besides," I said, "I have plans to go into Boston this afternoon."

"What do you mean you've made plans of your own for this afternoon?" asked Jillian. "Really, Heaven, isn't Saturday our day, when we can do things together?" (This had never been made clear to me before, as I stood around with people much older than I, all talking about subjects I knew nothing about. I had felt as needed as a lamp at noontime.) "I thought tonight we could make it a going-away party in that charming little theater we just had restored, right off the swimming area. We can watch an old movie. I do hate new movies. They embarrass me the way they show naked people making love. We could even invite over a few friends to make it more enjoyable."

But Jillian shouldn't have mentioned inviting friends. Friends would take away the specialness of our last evening together for a week. "I'm sorry, Jillian, but I really thought you'd want to go to bed early this evening, so you'd be rested when you reached California. I'll be fine, and if I get home early, your guests will still be here."

"Where are you going?" Tony asked sharply. He had been browsing through this morning's newspaper; now his eyes above the newspaper were very suspicious. "You don't know anyone in Boston but us, and the few older friends we have introduced you to--or have the girls at Winterhaven suddenly embraced you as a friend? That seems unlikely." He raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps you plan to meet some boy?"

As always when I was hurt, my pride came rushing to the forefront. Of course I'd made many friends in Winterhaven--or they would be sooner or later. I swallowed first. "One of the girls at school has invited me to her birthday party. It's being held in The Red Feather."

"What girl invited you?"

"Faith Morgantile."

"I know her father. He's a scoundrel, though her mother seems decent enough . . still, The Red Feather is not the kind of place I'd pick for my daughter's birthday party."

He continued to eye me up and down, until I felt sweat break out in my armpits. "Don't disappoint me, Heaven," he said, turning back to his paper. "I have heard of The-Red Feather and the parties held there. You are much too young at fifteen to begin drinking beer, or wine, or to sample any of the other adult pursuits that begin in innocent-appearing games. I'm sorry, but I don't think it is a good idea for you to go."

My heart plunged.

The Red Feather was very near Boston University, where Logan Stonewall went to school.

"And," continued Tony, who was still talking, "I have given Miles instructions not to drive you off the grounds until Monday morning. The servants will take care of your needs. If you grow tired of being indoors, you can always explore the grounds."

At this point Jillian looked up, as if she'd heard nothing about anything but the outdoors.

"Don't go to the stables!" cried Jillian. "I want to be the one to introduce you to my horses--my wonderful, beautiful Arabians. We'll do that when we come back,"

For days and days and days she'd been promising that. I no longer believed her.

I had made my play to escape and find Logan, and I had failed. And if they held the party and showed the movie, they'd never miss me, never.

Ten guests would arrive around four for what Jillian called her "Off to California Party." I knew she was still testing me, and a great deal depended on how I went over with this particular group, which included people who had more influence than the ones I'd already met. Then came Tony's information. Everyone had to have a dining partner, and I was the odd one out. "There's a young man I want you to meet," said Tony.

"You're going to like him, darling," said Wan in her

whispery-soft way, while an exceedingly handsome young man arranged her hair in a new style. I perched on a delicate chair, watching the marvel of what he could do with a comb, brush, and hair spray. "His name is Ames Colton, and he's eighteen years old. His father won his seat in the House just last year; Tony expects John Colton to end up in the White House."

That made me think of Tom, and his desire to reach the White House someday. Why hadn't Tom answered even one of my three letters? Was Pa somehow keeping them from him? Didn't Tom care anymore now that he knew I was rich and well taken care of? My family had always given me sustenance, a reason to keep on trying. Now I felt all those dear and familiar ties stretching thin and fading away.

"Be nice to Ames, Heaven," said Jillian with a note of authority in her voice. "And please try not to do or say anything to embarrass us in front of our friends.

It was the first real party of my life, and wearing a brand-new floor-length gown of deep blue with sparkling blue beads embroidered on the bodice, I stood between Jillian and Tony near the door. Tony wore a tux and Jillian had on a glittering white outfit that took my breath away.

"Just smile a lot," whispered Tony as the first guests were shown in by Curtis.

Ames Colton was nice enough, not anything at all like Logan. Not exciting like Troy. In fact I considered him too nice, embarrassingly impressed by someone like me, who was scared half to death, and a fake. If I did anything right that night I couldn't remember it later. I dropped my napkin, dropped my fork, twice! I stammered when I was asked about my past, and how long I planned to stay. How could I answer when Jillian was staring at me with fear in her eyes?

It took so many dishes to have a party like this, so much silverware; and then, when the meal was over, a dainty little bowl with a silver tray underneath was served by Curtis. He stood quietly waiting as I eyed what appeared to be water with a slim slice of lemon on the top. It puzzled me, that small bowl that sat and waited for me to do something with it. I raised desperate eyes to Tony, then flushed when I saw his sarcastic amusement. And very deliberately he dipped his fingertips in that lemon-flavored water, then dried them daintily on his napkin.

Somehow I made it through the evening without any gross mistake to give away my

background; I only betrayed my social inexperience. I didn't know what to say when asked for my political opinions. I had no opinions on the state of the nation's economy. I hadn't read any of the recent Hollywood best-sellers that told all, nor had I been to a current movie. I found smiles for answers, and pretenses for getting away, and in my opinion I made a complete jackass out of myself.

"You were fine," said Tony, coming into my bedroom while I was brushing my hair. "Everyone commented on how much you look like Jillian. That is not odd, for her two older sisters are older editions of Jillian, though they are not as 'well preserved,' so to speak." His expression turned serious. "Now, tell me what you thought of our friends."

How could I tell him exactly what I thought? In some ways it seemed all people were alike, despite their fine clothes, and fancy vocabularies. There were some who talked too much, and sooner or later revealed they were fools. There were some there only to make a good impression, and they'd had as little to say as I had. Then there were others who came to eat and drink, and gossip about those they thought were out of earshot.

"If they had played fiddles, banjos, and stomped their feet, and all worn shoddy clothes, they could have been from the Willies," I said honestly. "It's just what they talk about that makes them different. Nobody back home cares about politics, or the nation's economy. Few people read anything other than the Bible or romance magazines."