On the Avenue Read Free Page A

shapeless black lines. And it took nearly a minute to reach the ground floor.
    She hurried out into the lobby. She could already feel the electric pulse of the streets and hear the controlled chaos of the traffic. Her heart fluttering, shespotted the doorman, Steven Hillby, standing at his usual post by the reception desk. Tall and big-boned, he was the official mayor of 974 Fifth Avenue. He knew everything about everybody.
    “Oh no you don't,” he said when he saw Lex striding toward him. “A little birdy named Trevor Hamilton told me you were supposed to spend the night
inside.
” He stared down at her with a smug expression.
    Without so much as arguing, Lex popped open her purse, took out her favorite pair of Oliver Peoples sunglasses, and slipped them on. Then she dunked into the purse a second time and withdrew a crisp hundred-dollar bill from the bulging side pocket. She held it out to Steven. “Cut the bullshit,” she said with a playful smile. “Now go on out there and rev up the engines.”
    Steven snatched the bill from her fingers and held open the doors for her. “This way, ma'am.” His tone was suddenly—and exaggeratedly—sweet.
    “You didn't see me leave,” she said as she stepped outside.
    “And you didn't see me take a bribe.”
    “I never do.”
    At the curb, Steven motioned for the gray Mercedes limo parked at the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue. When it pulled up beside him, he waved Lex forward, into the open back passenger door. “Have a good evenin', ma'am.”
    “Thank you, kind sir.” She dropped into the plush leather seats and settled Champagne on her lap. The door closed. “The Met,” she said.
    The partition that divided the front seats from the luxurious passenger compartment slid all the way down. Striking blue eyes stared back at her from the rearview mirror. Clarence Becker had been the Hamilton family's chauffeur for three years. He was a scrawny forty-two-year-old guy with a good heart and a penchant for booze, loud music, and expensive cigars. Lex often referred to him as a sweet thug.
    Now he was staring at her intently. “Lex …,” he said, his voice trembling with worry.
    “I've already heard the speech, Clarence, and I'm in no mood to hear it again.”
    He turned around in his seat. “If your father finds out I drove you to the gala, I'll never hear the end of it. He told me you're not supposed to …”
    As his voice trailed away, Lex reached for the magic purse. She withdrew a long Cuban cigar from the
other
side pouch—the one reserved for rare emergencies that money couldn't solve—and held it out.
    Clarence's eyes widened. He reverently took the cigar into his fingers and stared at it. Then he passed it beneath his nostrils, inhaling the expensive scent. “Ohhh,” he groaned. “This a hot little number. Yum.”
    “Straight from Daddy's fine-tobacco collection,” Lex said. “He could care less about cigars. Park and Ismoke most of them. And there'll be five more for you tomorrow—
if
I get my ride.”
    Clarence gave her a conspiratorial wink as he dropped the cigar into his lapel pocket and turned around. A moment later the car pulled out onto Fifth Avenue.
    Mission accomplished.
Lex leaned back and smiled happily. Who said freedom couldn't be bought?

2

West of Madison
    The Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was glittering. Candles burned on the tables, and endless strands of white lights had been draped across the vaulted ceiling in honor of Van Gogh's
Starry Night.
It was like a scene from a fairy tale, Madison Hamilton thought as she scanned the crowded floor. She recognized most of the faces smiling back at her. Some were her father's business acquaintances. Others were old fixtures on the New York social scene. Dinner had been served, andnow the quiet crowd was mingling as the orchestra played Bach.
    She stood up from her place at the coveted President's Table—reserved for patrons who had dropped ten thousand dollars a plate—and