"She'd look better yet if she didn't walk as though she was late for an audit." Margo caught herself before she pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach again. "We're going to have to start the auction, Laura." She gripped her friend's hand. "Christ, I need a cigarette."
"Make it fast, then. The rep from Wednesday's Child has been giving me the high sign for ten minutes."
"No, I'll suck it in and make another pass so people can cast avaricious looks at the pearls. Then I'll work my way over to Mr. T., and tell him to start the auction."
She started the glide, pausing here and there to touch someone's arm, share a quick laugh, to note who needed a refill of champagne. The minute she saw Kate come back out of the storeroom, she stepped up to Thomas.
"It's showtime. I want to thank you again for helping us out."
"It's a good cause, and good business." He patted her head affectionately. "Let's hose 'em."
"Damn right." She kept her hand in his as they stepped to the front of the room. She knew the murmurs would grow as people turned their heads to study them, knew how to let them play out as she, in turn, sized up the room. From close by, she caught a curious whisper.
"I don't know what Candy was talking about. She doesn't look debilitated or desperate."
"Tommy Templeton wouldn't have let things go so far with his son if she was the conniving whore Candy claims she is."
"Darling, if men recognized conniving whores when they saw them, it wouldn't be the oldest profession."
She felt Thomas's hand tense in hers and looked up at him with an easy smile and hot eyes. "Don't worry." Rising on her toes, she kissed his cheek. "They got the conniving part right, after all."
"If I wasn't a man, I'd punch that jealous cat in the nose." His eyes lit up. "I'll get Susie to do it."
"Maybe later." She gave his hand another squeeze, turned to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could interrupt for a moment." She waited while conversations ebbed, flowed, then politely tapered off. "I'd like to thank you all for coming to Pretenses' first reception."
The speech had been in her head, the one she and Laura and Kate had fine-tuned, but it was slipping away. Using her nerve, she skimmed her gaze over faces.
"We'd especially like to thank you for staying even after you'd had your fill of champagne. Most of you are aware of my… checkered career, the way it ended with the kind of delectable little scandal we all love to read about."
She caught Laura's eye and the concern in it. Just smiled. "When I left Europe and came back here, it wasn't because I was thinking of America as the land of opportunity and free enterprise. I came back because home is where you go when you're broken. And I was lucky, because the door was open." She picked her mother out in the crowd, kept her eyes on Ann's. "I don't have anyone to blame for the mistakes I made. I had family who loved me, cared for me, watched over me. That isn't the case with the children who so desperately need what Wednesday's Child offers. They're broken because they weren't loved and cared for and watched over. Because they weren't given the same chances as those of us in this room. Tonight, with my partners, Laura Templeton and Kate Powell, I'd like to take a small step toward giving a few of those children a chance."
She reached back, unclasped the choker, and let it slide through her fingers. " 'Bye, baby," she murmured. "I hope you'll bid generously. Remember, it's only money." After draping the pearls over a velvet stand, she turned to Thomas. "Mr. Templeton."
"Miss Sullivan." He took her hand, kissed it. "You're a good girl. Now, then." He turned a cagey eye on the audience as Margo slipped to the rear of the room. His voice boomed out, challenging as he described the single item up for bid, and ordering the bidders, many of whom he called by name, to keep their wallets open.
"That was better than the script," Laura murmured.
"Much better." In agreement, Kate slipped an arm around Margo's waist. "Let's hope it inspires some of these tightwads."
"All right," Thomas called out. "Who's going to get this ball rolling and open the bid?"
"Five hundred."
"Five hundred." Thomas's brows lowered. "Jesus, Pickerling, that's pitiful. If it wasn't against the rules I'd pretend I didn't hear that."
"Seven-fifty."
He huffed and shook his head. "We have a miserly seven-fifty. Do I hear a thousand?" He nodded at a raised hand. "There's a thousand, now let's get serious."
The bidding continued, some called out, others signaled—a lift of the finger, a sober nod, a careless wave. Margo began to relax as they slipped over five thousand. "That's better," she murmured. "I'm going to try to think of anything else as gravy."
"It's making me nuts." Kate fumbled in her bag for her roll of Turns.
"We have six thousand two," Thomas continued. "Madam, you have the throat of a swan. These pearls might have been made for you."
His quarry laughed. "Tommy, you devil. Six-five."
"How much did you say those were worth?" Kate wanted to know.