“I got it written down here, they’ll be at the Harlem Underground. That’s in Harlem.”
“Got it, Granny. Are you sure they want me there?”
Why do I even bother asking when I know that they don’t?
“If they don’t then they’re damn fools. You know how they are. Your father is like your grandpa, God rest his soul, but he couldn’t find his own ass with two hands and a map.”
I smile. She’s not wrong. I didn’t know my grandpa much, but my parents….
They were always so absorbed with their art and with each other that they often forgot Reese and I existed. The abandonment from my parents led me into chasing love and affection like a hound after rabbits. And then instead of being fuzzy and cuddly, they were vicious mammals out for blood.
The train comes to a stop.
“I gotta run, Granny. Love you. Give my love to Reese. Tell her I’ll call her this weekend.”
“You got it my girl, have extra fun tonight. Get into trouble, or something. I think you’re due.”
“It’s only a charity dinner.” I step off the train and into the station, moving around people and glancing around the space for the exit.
“It’s like I always say, my dear, life is like beer and skittles. Sometimes it’s sweet, and sometimes it smells a little funky but it can still give you a buzz.”
I laugh. Granny is always tossing out random expressions that don’t make a lick of sense. A pang of homesickness slices through my chest. “Love you.”
“Damn, hottie!” Bethany squeals in my ear, her arms draping over me in a hug. “Can we be sister wives?”
I laugh. “Of course. I’ll break the bad news to Brent, later. This venue is amazing.” I glance around the space, my eyes trailing over the high ceilings, glowing chandeliers, and formally dressed attendees. Even the servers are wearing tuxedos, weaving through the crowd carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres.
The event is being held at The Pierre, a way fancy hotel on 5th Avenue overlooking Central Park. It’s like being in a movie. The walls are covered in intricate designs and wainscoting, lined with sconces placed strategically to add to the ambience of the space, the floors are sleek and shiny, and the tables have all been decorated with elegant white bouquet centerpieces.
She carefully extricates herself from around me; one of my mini cupcakes is in her hand and the frosting passes right before my eyes, almost scraping my nose.
“Thank you so much for bringing the cupcakes,” she says, holding it up. “The kids love them, but not as much as I do. I had to fight off three of them for this one.” She motions over to a table where a few of the kids are stuffing their faces, along with some adults. The kids are so cute in their little suits.
“Cake makes everyone happy,” I say.
“No joke. Come on, our table is over here near the front.”
“You did an amazing job with this event,” I tell her.
She waves it off. “I have a thousand people working for me. I just get to tell them what to do.”
Bethany moved to New York late last year and took over the lease on Gwen’s apartment while Gwen was traipsing all over the world taking pictures. She got a job at Crawford and Company as assistant to the CEO—Mr. Crawford himself—but took over a managerial position when he retired.
She grabs my arm and we move through the crowd but it’s slow going because we’re stopped every couple of feet. Bethany introduces me to each person, most of whom are employees from Crawford and Company. Some are football players that must have come because of Bethany’s man, Brent Crawford. He was the tight end of the New York Sharks until a medical condition took him off the field last year.
“Make sure you check out the art show outside, there are some interactive walk-in exhibits and a silent auction!” Bethany calls back to some quarterback as we meander our way through clusters of people.
“Walk-in art exhibit? I’ll have to check it out.”
“It’s interesting,” Bethany says.
I smile at her, but then over her shoulder, a familiar figure in the crowd makes me do a double take.
“Bethany.” I grip her arm.
She looks down at my hand squeezing her bicep. “Is there a good reason you’re going all anaconda on me right now?”
“Why is Guy Chapman here?”
She follows my gaze and then nods. “Oh, yeah, him? One of his places did the dinner service. Why do you think we were able to charge $500 a plate? He’s like a big deal or whatever. Do you know him?”
“You could say that.” My stomach clenches. I can’t seem to get away from him. What if he sees me?
Her eyes brighten. “Let’s go talk to him.”
“No!”
Her brows lift at my sudden vehemence and then she grins. “There’s a story here and I have to know it. Tell me everything.”
“I can’t. I can’t be around him. I lose all control and then bad things happen.”
Her eyes widen and I immediately regret the mouth slip. Bethany is stubborn and determined and will torture the truth out of me. “I’m intrigued.” Her arm tightens on mine. “What happened?”
“Nothing important. I mean, I have to pee. Be right back.”
I push at her to unlock my arm from her death grip and do what I’m good at—run away.
“You’re such a liar!” she calls after me. “I know where you live, Scarlett!”
I keep going, too chicken to turn around and see if Guy heard her or noticed my abrupt departure and the subsequent yelling.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he won’t make the connection; I’m sure there’s more than one Scarlett in New York City. Unless he’s noticed the cupcakes…. Gosh darn it, my business cards are all over that table. If he sees me, I’m sunk.
I need to hide until dinner. By then everyone will be sitting and he won’t catch sight of me and I’ll survive another day. Dramatic, much? Maybe.
I escape out the first side door I come across. It opens into a wide hallway with cream walls speckled with prints and photographs of various sizes. Free standing sculptures dot the open space.
There’s a table set up to the side with silent auction boxes. A few people linger at the tables, filling out their bid sheets.
“We’ll be starting the speeches in twenty minutes,” the attendant by the door tells me. “At which time we won’t be allowing people back in to avoid interruptions.”
“Right. Got it. Thank you.” I smile.
There are about a dozen people walking around inspecting the pieces. It’s a lot quieter and less crowded than the ballroom.
I take a few deep breaths and wander through the hall, stopping to inspect some of the artwork. Some of them are Gwen’s photographs from her travels. Seeing them makes me miss her. I wish she could be here. I gaze at one of her pieces of a young child draped in colorful beads smiling at the camera, eyes gleaming with excitement. There’s another photograph of woven baskets. Then next to that, an amazing shot of a group of people dancing, their robes swirling and the colors making it appear almost like they’re in motion.
Down a side hall, I find the walk-in installation Bethany was talking about, literally a giant black box with an open doorway.