Free Unsafe Harbor by Jessica Speart Page A

excitement in her voice.
    “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not comment on that. I don’t like to flaunt my family connections. I’m sure you understand,” I evasively responded.
    Sometimes I felt as if I were the creator of my very own reality show. Why should I simply want to be a Hilton, when I could actually pretend to be one?
    “Oh, of course. Please forgive my rudeness. It’s just that I’m thrilled to have you call. Now what can we do for you?” she asked, bouncing back like a real pro.
    “As I said, I’m planning to host a charity event. Bitsy von Falken, who was a very dear friend, used to just rave about the way you handled her party,” I explained.
    “You were a friend of Mrs. von Falken’s?” Joy asked in a hushed tone. “Oh my goodness. Wasn’t that dreadful news? Please accept my condolences. What a horrible thing to have happen. It must be just terrible for you.”
    Actually, I felt fairly certain that it was far worse for Bitsy.
    “Thank you. Yes, my days just haven’t been the same since. Which is why I plan to hold this event in her memory. I want to invite all the very same people who came to her fund-raiser. Would you possibly still have that attendance list?” I asked, careful to sound appropriately disconsolate.
    “Exactly which party would that be, my dear?” Joy inquired.
    Which party? I could count the number of parties I’d thrown in my life on one hand—and those had all been potluck dinners.
    “The charity event that Bitsy held for cancer awareness. I believe it was about a year ago. It was the one at which shawls were auctioned,” I said, going for nonchalant. But in truth, my anticipation was about to overflow.
    “Well now, let’s find out, shall we? I’ll just check the computer,” Joy said.
    Click, click, click.
    My nerves tagged along for the ride as her fingertips pranced on the keyboard.
    “Ah, yes. Here it is. That won’t be any problem at all. Naturally, we’ll be happy to send out the invitations for you,” she informed me.
    “That would be wonderful. However, would you mind e-mailing that list to me first? I’d like to go over the names, and then we can take it from there,” I replied.
    Either someone had snuck up from behind and slapped a gag on her, or Joy had suddenly become mute. My request was met with dead silence.
    “Is anything wrong?” I finally asked, hoping to move things along.
    Joy responded with a sigh as deep as the Grand Canyon.
    “Oh dear. I’m afraid we do have a problem. I can’t release this information. Privacy issues and that sort of thing, you know. It goes totally against our policy,” she disclosed.
    “I can appreciate that. But I have a problem of my own. An unpleasant incident took place a few weeks ago involving some of the women. Nothing I can discuss of course, but it upset Bitsy terribly. I want to make certain that their names aren’t on the list,” I blatantly lied.
    “Well, that’s easily solved. Just give me their names and I’ll cross them off,” Joy replied in obvious relief.
    “That’s the problem. I can’t seem to remember them. I’ll need to see the list in order to jog my memory. Couldn’t you make an exception just this once?” I cajoled.
    “I’d really rather not,” she resisted.
    It was time to pull out the big guns.
    “Just between you and me, I know that Paris is planning abig soiree and is looking for a new PR firm to handle all the details. She wasn’t pleased with the last company that she used. I’d be happy to put in a good word for you.” I had no qualms about providing Joy with a little imaginary incentive.
    “Paris Hilton? Planning a party? Really?” she asked, just about panting. “That would be absolutely divine.”
    I could nearly hear her ticking off all the new names to be added to her contact list.
    “Well…I suppose we could make an exception just this once,” Joy complied. “In fact, I also have a separate list of those women that bought shawls, and exactly how