“But the interview today went well, didn’t it?”

“Yes. Very. But do you think the moratorium is really important to the piece, or is it that Luke Johns is on a star trip now and wants more attention?”

“I think he made a valid point when he called. It’s another sphere of his action, and could add a lot of strength to the piece. Atmosphere, if nothing else. It’s up to you, but I don’t see any harm in your going. And I know what you’re worried about, but you saw for yourself in Chicago that there was no problem with that. No paparazzi, and he hasn’t the faintest idea that you’re anyone but K. S. Miller.”

“Kate.” She smiled to herself.

“What?”

“Nothing. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. What time does the meeting start? Did he say?”

“Noon. He’ll be flying in from Chicago in the morning.” She thought about it for a minute, and then nodded at the phone.

“All right, I’ll do it. I suppose I could fly down on the shuttle. That’s innocuous enough. And I could be back easily by tomorrow night.”

“Fine. Do you want to call Johns yourself to confirm it, or shall I? He wanted confirmation.”

“Why? So he could line up another biographer if I didn’t go?”

“Now, now, let’s not be nasty.” Simpson chuckled in spite of himself. There were times when she needed a good boot in the ass. “No, he said something about picking you up at the plane.”

“Shit.”

“What?” Simpson sounded faintly shocked. He was much less used to that from her than Edward, who was of a comparable vintage but a little less proper.

“Sorry. No, I’ll call him myself. And I don’t want to be met at the plane. Just in case.”

“I think that’s wise. And do you want me to arrange someplace for you to stay? If you want to stay at a hotel we could bill it to the magazine, along with your plane fare.”

“No, I’d rather come home. And that place you got me in Chicago was fabulous. Must be quite a home when it’s in full swing.”

“Used to be … used to be. I’m glad you liked it. I had some good times there, many years ago.” He drifted for a moment and then reverted to his business voice. “So you’ll come home tomorrow night then?”

“Damn right.” She wanted to get down to SoHo, and Mark. It had been days! And tonight she had that damn party at the El Morocco to go to with Whit. Hunter Forbishe and Juliana Watson-Smythe were announcing their engagement, as though everyone didn’t already know. Two of the dullest, richest people in town, and worse luck yet, Hunter was her second cousin. The party was sure to be shitful, but at least the El Morocco was fun. She hadn’t been since before the summer.

And not only were the dumb bastards getting engaged, but they had decided to have a theme for their party. Black and White. What fun it would have been to appear with George, her dancer friend from SoHo. Black and White … or Lucas for that matter, with his black hair to match Kezia’s, and their equally white skin. How absurd—and worth a mountain of news for a year. No, she’d have to settle for Whitney, but it was a shame. Luke might have been fun at a party like that. Fun and outrageous. She laughed aloud as she sank into her bath. She would call him after she dressed, to tell him that she’d meet him in Washington tomorrow. But first she had to dress, and she needed time for a party like the one they were going to. She had long since decided what to wear for their charming soiree in black and white. The creamy lace dress was already laid out on her bed, fiercely décolleté and gently empire, with a black moire cape, and the new David Webb choker and earrings she’d bought herself last Christmas: an onyx set with a generous supply of handsome stones, diamonds of course. At twenty-nine she had stopped waiting for someone else to buy that sort of thing for her. She bought them herself.

“Lucas Johns, please” She waited while they rang his room. He sounded sleepy when he answered. “Luke? Kee … Kate.” She had almost said it was Kezia.

“I didn’t know you stuttered.”

She laughed and his own laughter answered.

“I don’t. I’m just in a hurry. Jack Simpson called me. I’ll come down to cover that moratorium thing tomorrow. Why didn’t you mention this morning that you thought I should be there?”

“I didn’t think of it till after you left” He smiled to himself as he spoke. “I think you’ll need it, though, to round out the rest. Want me to pick you up at the plane?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Just tell me where to meet you.” He did and she wrote down the address, standing at her desk in the white lace dress and the black moire cape, delicate black silk sandals on her feet and one of her mother’s diamond bracelets on each arm. And then she started to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Oh, nothing really. It’s just what I’m wearing.”

“And just what are you wearing, Ms. Miller?” He sounded vastly amused.

“Something terribly silly.”

“Sounds very mysterious to me. I’m not sure if you mean leather hip boots and a whip, or a rhinestone-studded peignoir.”

“A little of both. See you tomorrow, Luke.” She hung up on a last gurgle of laughter as the doorbell rang, and Whitney appeared, as crisp and elegant as ever. For him, of course, the black and white had been easy. He was wearing a dinner jacket and one of the shirts he had made four times a year in Paris.

“Where were you all day? And my … don’t you look splendid!” They exchanged their standard dry little kiss, and he held out her hands. “Is that something new? I don’t remember seeing that dress before.”

“Sort of. I don’t wear it often. And I spent the whole day with Edward. We did up my new will.” They smiled at each other and she picked up her bag. Lies, Lies, lies. It had never been like this before. But she knew as she swirled out to the hall that it was going to get worse. Lying to Whit, lying to Mark, lying to Luke. “Is that why you write, Kate? For fun?” She remembered Luke’s question as the elevator swept them down to the lobby, and her brows knit as she thought of the look in his eyes. It had not been accusing, only curious. But no, dammit! She didn’t just write for fun. It was real. But how real could anything be, when whatever you did, you draped in lies?

“Ready, darling?” Whit was waiting for her outside the elevator, and she had stood there for a moment, not moving, just looking at him, but seeing Luke’s eyes, hearing his voice.

“Sorry, Whit. I must be tired.” She squeezed his arm as they walked out to the waiting limousine.

By ten she was drunk.

“Christ, Kezia, are you sure you can walk?” Marina was watching her pull her stockings up and her dress down as they stood in the ladies’ room at the El Morocco.

“Of course I can walk!” But she was weaving badly and couldn’t stop laughing.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing since Luke. I mean, Duke … I mean breakfast dammit.” She had hardly had time to touch her lunch before catching the plane at O’Hare, and she hadn’t bothered with dinner.

“Kezia, you’re a nut. Want some coffee?”

“No, tea. No … coffee. No! Chaaaaamppagggne.” She dragged the word out and Marina laughed.

“At least you’re a friendly drunk. Vanessa Billingsley is crocked out of her mind and just called Mia Hargreaves a raving bitch.” Kezia giggled and Marina lit a cigarette and sat down, while Kezia tried desperately to remember what Marina had just said. Mia called Vanessa a … no, Vanessa called Mia … if she could just hang on to it, it would be good for the column. And what had she heard earlier about Patricia Morbang being pregnant? Or was that right? Was it someone else who was pregnant? It was all so hard to remember.

“Oh Marina, it’s so hard to remember it all.”

Marina looked at her with a half smile and shook her head.

“Kezia, my love, you are smashed. Well, hell, who isn’t? It must be after three.”

“Christ, is it really? And I have to get up so early tomorrow. Crap.”

Marina laughed again at the sight of Kezia sprawled on the white wall-to-wall in the ladies’ boudoir, looking like a child just home from school, the white lace dress frothed around her like a nightgown, the diamonds glittering on her wrists, like something borrowed from her mother to dispel the boredom of a rainy day.

“And Whit’s going to be very cross if I’m drunk.”

“Tell him it’s the flu. I don’t think the poor bastard would know the difference.” They both laughed at that, and Marina helped her to her feet. “You really ought to go home.”

“I think I’d much rather dance. Whit dances very nicely, you know.”

“He ought to.” Marina looked at her hard and long, but the implication of the message was lost on Kezia. She was too drunk to hear, or to care.

“Marina?” Kezia looked still more childlike as she stood watching her friend.

“What, lover?”

“Do you really love Halpern?”

“No, baby. I don’t. But I love the peace of mind he could give me. I’ve about had it with trying to make it on my own with the kids. And in another six months I’d have had to sell the co-op.”

“But don’t you love him a little?”

“No. But I like him a lot” Marina looked cynical and amused.

“But don’t you love anyone? A secret lover maybe? You have to love someone.” Don’t you?

“Do you? Well, fancy that. Do you love Whit?”

“Of course not” Some small alarm went off in her head then. She was talking too much.

“Then who do you love, Kezia?”

“You, Marina. I love you lots and lots and lots and lots!” She threw her arms around her friend’s neck and started to giggle. And Marina laughed back and gently untwined her from her neck.

“Kezia sweet, you may not love Whitney, but if I were you, I’d get him to take me home. I think you’ve about had it.” They walked out of the ladies’ room arm in arm. Whitney was waiting just outside. He had noticed the ominous sway in Kezia’s walk as she left the room half an hour before.