Free Sawyer, Meryl by A Kiss in the Dark

aliens with heads like light bulbs. He'd made the
front page of the nation's largest tabloid when he'd come up with a story—
complete with a picture—of Bill Clinton getting a preelection endorsement from
the aliens. The issue sold out in one day.
    Ingeblatt nosing around made her nervous. More than nervous.
    "There are my parents." Brent looked across the room.
"Let's say hello, then see what they'll be auctioning tonight."
    Royce kept her hand on his arm as he negotiated his way around the
maze of closely packed tables. The soft light from dozens of chandeliers and
the peach-colored damask fabric on the walls cast a mellow glow across the
ballroom. The dance floor had been turned into a viewing area for the auction
items. She scanned the crowd previewing the auction items for her friends.
    "I've ordered wine," Ward Farenholt said as they walked
up. "I'm not drinking that inferior cabernet the charity is serving."
    "Good idea." Brent kissed his mother's cheek.
    Royce had to admit she envied how close Brent was to his mother.
There was always a distinct coolness between father and son, but Brent was
genuinely fond of his mother. A good sign, she told herself, recalling her
discussion with Talia and Val. You could judge a man by the way he treated his
mother.
    Royce mumbled good evening, thinking nothing ever suited Brent's
father. It was a wonder Caroline Rambeau measured up to his standards for a
daughter-in-law, but she did. Ward was fond of Caroline—almost affectionate.
Evidently, he had a heart, but opened it only to a select few.
    "Wasn't Royce terrific last night?" Brent asked his
father.
    "There's no hope for the homeless. They're a fact of life and
have been since the beginning of time."
    Ward directed his comments solely to Brent. It was as if Royce
weren't present. Ward ignored most people, talking to the chosen few, like
Caroline, he didn't consider inferior. He never spoke to Royce unless he
couldn't avoid it.
    "You're doing another trial program?" Eleanor asked
Royce.
    "Yes. I'll be interviewing the head of the Center for Women
in Crisis. I'd hoped to do it last night to publicize this event, but I guess
they don't need my help. The turnout's great."
    "On the next show," Eleanor said, a false note of warmth
in her voice, "you'll look better if you have the makeup man use more
concealer. Your freckles showed. And your hair—"
    "Mother," Brent cut in. "Royce didn't want to hide
her freckles or change her hair."
    Royce challenged Eleanor, staring into the older woman's
glacier-blue eyes. Seeking this woman's approval was futile. Never try to
please her again. "I don't want to be another blond prime-time clone. God
gave me naturally curly hair and freckles. That's what the viewer will get—the
real me."
    Brent said, "Royce is an original."
    Eleanor blessed Royce with the smile she saved for the homeless
and liberals. "I see."
    Royce turned away before she said something hateful. Was her
relationship with Brent doomed? She walked around the table until she found her
place card and put her Leiber bag beside her napkin.
    The jeweled cat looked more like a piece of art than an evening bag,
she decided. It threw off shards of iridescent light like a Fourth of July
sparkler. Still, its flashing green eyes looked so real that she imagined the
cat was laughing, making fun of her for wasting her time with people who hated
her. And always would.
    Well, at least she'd have her two favorite men beside her tonight.
Brent was on one side of her and Uncle Wally was on the other. Wait. Brent was
with her, but the other card had an unfamiliar name. She left her cat bag
guarding her plate and marched around the table, remembering the fiasco at the
last party when she'd been seated with Mitch. She was positive Eleanor had been
responsible.
    Naturally, Caroline was at the table between Brent and his parents,
seated with the Italian count. The other couples were friends of the
Farenholts. Coming to the auction had been Royce's