Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

There was a mischievous look in George’s eyes when he started toward the door. “Wait until I tell your mother,” he said.

Clouds were moving in from the west when Celina and Jack left the limousine and started up the ramp to the Crystal Princess. Jack was in black dinner jacket, Celina was in a simple white evening dress. A river-cooled breeze that smelled faintly of salt was in the air, as were the light sounds of an orchestra.

A group of reporters were gathered along each side of the red-carpeted ramp. Cameras flashing, microphones raised, the paparazzi called out to them as they passed.

“You’re looking great, Celina. Would you turn this way, please?”

“Word’s out you’re leaving for Iran soon. Where does the takeover of WestTex stand now?”

“Can you at least give us your reaction on what happened to Eric Parker.”

That got her. Celina squeezed Jack’s hand and put a smile on her face as he handed an elegantly uniformed butler the invitation for Celina Redman and Guest.

As they stood there, she became aware of people looking at her. She heard Eric Parker’s name mentioned more than once and though she tried to ignore it, she couldn’t. She was beginning to wonder if coming to this party was a good idea when the butler led them to the reception line and called out their names.

Anastassios Fondaras, the Greek shipping tycoon and their billionaire host, held out his arms to Celina as she and Jack approached.

“Celina,” he said, enveloping her in a hug. “It’s been what? A year? Two?”

A camera flashed as Fondaras kissed Celina’s cheek.

“Two, I think,” Celina said. She pulled back so they stood at arm's length. “And look at you,” she said. “I’ve never seen you so tan. Retirement is suiting you, Anastassios.”

“Retirement?” Anastassios Fondaras said with a shrug. “Retirement is a term I use so I can sleep an extra hour each morning without feeling guilty. You don’t think I’d give up control of my ships just because I’ve passed the golden age of sixty-five, do you?”

“I hope not.”

“Your parents are here somewhere,” Fondaras said with a glance around the deck. “Haven’t seen either of them in years. They looked wonderful. Your mother looks better each time I see her.” When his gaze settled back on Celina, something in his eyes darkened. “Rumor has it that your father’s planning a move into the shipping business.”

It’s more than just a rumor, Celina thought. And you know it. She nodded, and hated that she was made to feel somewhat guarded. Although Fondaras was a friend, he was cunning when it came to discussing business and she never trusted him because of it.

“Tough business,” Anastassios said. “Lots of competition out there-including me.”

“I think there’s enough trade to go around, don’t you?”

“I’ve never thought there was enough trade to go around.”

“It’s a big world, Anastassios.”

“Not with me on it, it isn’t.”

“I can promise WestTex won’t infringe on your business.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How could you possibly promise me that?”

“You’ll see soon.”

“I’d rather see now.”

“That’s impossible.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Celina kept her gaze on his.

“I don’t like playing games, Celina.”

“It’s business, Anastassios. We’re all in it to win. It’s why I respect you so much. But my father and I never play games.”

“Except for those you win?”

She didn’t reply.

Anastassios shrugged, as if the conversation now meant little to him. Still, a hard look remained in his eyes. “I just hope no one gets their toes stepped on,” he said.

So do I, Celina thought and turned to Jack. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Where are my manners? This is my friend, Jack Douglas.”

Fondaras nodded at Jack. “I’ve read about you,” he said. “You’re the man who sold $500 million worth of bonds a few weeks ago, right? Became a Big Swinging Dick at Morgan? I was thinking of hiring you myself, but I see that Redman beat me to it.” He turned to Celina. “Let’s hope that doesn’t become a habit. Have either of you met my good friend Lady Alexa Ionesco from Spain?”

Lady Alexa Ionesco from Spain was a tall reed of a woman with dark hair pulled back into a chignon, black eyes that reflected a curious intelligence, and lips that were oddly full, likely from a few too many injections. Celina thought back to her conversation with Jack and was willing to bet that her title-unlike the ropes of diamonds that blazed at her neck, wrists and ears-was fake.

As they made small talk, she wondered if this woman, who was dressed in a stunning red dress and who was at least thirty years Fondaras’ junior, stood a chance with him. Divorced twice, widowed once, Anastassios Fondaras was one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. And he knew it.

“I think you’re darling,” Lady Ionesco said. The way she said “darling” made it sound as if she’d taken the word and stretched it like a rubber band.

Celina took her hand. The woman warbled a bit. And I think you need to lay off the booze. “You’re very kind.”

“Have you ever been to Turkey in the fall?”

“I think only in springtime.”

“Fall is best. Fall is a must. Fall is the new spring. You must come. Promise me, you’ll come. I own a little cottage there-fifty rooms along the ocean, fifteen servants, three pools, a garden to die for-but we make do.” She glanced at Jack. “There’s plenty of room.”

“Of course,” Celina said. “Let’s have lunch sometime and look at our calendars.”

“Mine’s impossible,” Lady Ionesco sighed. “My assistant put everything on one of those little iPad things for me, thinking it would organize a life that can’t be organized. He still doesn’t know who I am. He still doesn’t get that there is no order to the world in which we move. He thinks my life can be squeezed-squeezed! — into something shiny and slick. And now, naturally, the situation is worse than ever.” She tossed her head back and cackled out two words. “Technology! God!”

In an effort to steady her, Anastassios put a hand on her back.

“Anastassios,” she said, her head rolling toward the ceiling. “That chandelier. I never noticed it before. It’s sublime.”

“It’s Lalique.”

“It’s terrifique!”

“You about ready for a drink?” Jack asked Celina. He looked at Lady Ionesco. “We just came from the city and I have to say, a drink is in order.”

“Try the champagne,” Lady Ionesco said. “It’s divine. And then try a Manhattan. God, I love a Manhattan. So ‘20s. So now. So forever.”

Celina gave Anastassios a kiss on each cheek, and then did the same with Lady Ionesco, who said too loudly, “Turkey! Fall! Lunch!”

As they stepped away from them and moved into the crowd, Celina said, “You handled yourself well.”

“I barely said a word. You, however, were impressive. That woman is a mess and that man is a clever son of a bitch.”

“He’s a lot more than that,” Celina said as they followed a wave of instant celebrities and old money to an aft bar that was teeming with people anxious to forget the pressures of the world in which they lived.

While Jack ordered drinks, Celina glanced around the polished deck.

The first person her gaze settled upon was the last person she expected to see here-Louis Ryan. Celina remembered that Ryan, who was ousted by society because of his refusal to donate money to charity, once was quoted by a newspaper as saying: “My mother used to tell me that charity begins at home. If that’s the case, I own eight homes, and that’s where my money goes.”

She watched Ryan and wondered why he received an invitation to this event, where money almost certainly would be expected from him to help combat that forgotten disease, HIV, which was starting to become hot again among the charity set. Standing alone near the twenty-piece orchestra, he was sipping a glass of champagne and watching the guests giggle and hug and push.