Free Amanda Bright @ Home by Danielle Crittenden Page B

about—well, it’s hard to sum it up in a nutshell, but basically it addressed gender issues through the eyes of a transsexual prostitute. The Warner was thinking about producing it for its ‘New Playwrights’ series but I think they found it too challenging.”
    “I’d love to see your play.”
    “I’ll invite you to the opening.”
    The bell rang and they stood, smiling at each other.
    “Sometime we should have a coffee together. It’s good to get out and, you know, talk to other adults,” Alan said, giving his sleeping baby an accusing look. “And you tell Ben to keep being—what was it?—robust. All he’s doing is breaking out of the box.”
    Amanda touched his shoulder. “Thanks.”
    “Are you feeling okay now?”
    “Yes—way better.”
    “That’s good—although I like seeing you angry. There’s fire in you, too.”

Chapter Seven
    THE HOUSE EVEN had a name: “Merrymount.”
    The car wheels crunched to a stop in the raked gravel. They were greeted by three valets in tuxedos.
    “Good evening, sir,” said the first, accepting Bob’s keys. The second waited patiently for Amanda to unlock her door so he could open it, and bowed slightly as she emerged. The third handed Bob a claim ticket. None registered the slightest reaction to their car. It was driven a few feet away to join a line of BMWs, Porsches, and Mercedes parked in front of a six-door garage.
    Bob and Amanda gazed up at the house. Its imposing facade of new orange brick was an opulent jumble of architectural styles, as if the owner had decided he could afford everything: Georgian roof, neoclassical pillars, Palladian windows. A row of perfectly symmetrical boxwoods stood sentry by the porch. All natural foliage seemed to have been banished to the rear of the house.
    “Am I dressed okay?”
    “You look
great.
”
    A butler opened the door before they could ring the bell, and they entered a front hall crowded with guests. The house seemed to unfold in every direction. To the left of the stark white foyer was a curved staircase leading up to a similarly cavernous second-floor landing. To the right, a pair of lacquered doors had been thrown open to expose a suite of rooms that stretched farther than Amanda’s eyes could see. Straight ahead a pair of tall, skinny columns framed a two-story window, showcasing a wooded view of the Potomac River.
    A waiter stepped in front of them bearing a tray of white wine. Amanda and Bob each took a glass.
    “Please, stay with me,” Amanda whispered, grasping Bob’s hand. “I don’t know anyone at all.”
    They stood rigidly for a few seconds, uncertain how to proceed.
    “Look, there’s Sussman with Chasen,” said Bob, pointing to the big window. Bob’s boss was huddled in animated conversation with their host, Jack Chasen, founder, largest shareholder, and chief executive officer of TalkNet, the biggest Internet service provider in the world. “Do you want to say hi?”
    “Oh God, no. We can’t just go barge in on them.”
    “C’mon, don’t be so frightened.”
    Bob gripped Amanda’s arm and steered her through the crowd toward the two men. Sussman smiled when he saw them and waved them closer.
    Amanda had met Frank Sussman a couple of times at Bob’s office. He was a short, thin man with the waxy complexion and sunken cheeks of a cadaver. Chasen, by contrast, was tall and handsomely tanned, as if he spent most of his waking hours yachting or playing tennis rather than sitting in front of a computer screen plotting the downfall of his archrival, Mike Frith.
    Sussman greeted Bob enthusiastically. “Do you know Bob Clarke?” he asked Chasen. “He’s my most valuable soldier. He was on to Megabyte from the beginning.”
    Chasen circled an arm around Bob’s shoulders. “Of course I know Bob. I’ve been working with him a lot these days. So glad you could come tonight.”
    Amanda stood behind Bob waiting to be introduced. Bob, flushed from Sussman’s compliment, seemed momentarily to