Read Homecoming Masquerade, The for Free Online Page B

accidently spills a glass of wine all over her vintage Francesco dress.”

7
    T he clock struck nine and the
musicians on the stage raised their bows. A slow-moving, already drunken muddle
of students began to form itself into two lines, one for guys and one for girls.
Nicky took her place on the far end of the line, finding a table against the
wall on which to set her wine goblet. When everyone was in place, the orchestra
began the first notes of a Beethoven minuet. The two lines approached one
another to break into couples and the formal dance began.
    As was the case with everything
at Thorndike, ritual and tradition dictated all facets of Homecoming. The dance
always opened with a Beethoven Minuet. On this night, it was from his String
Trio in E flat. For the first two dances, everyone was on the floor. It wasn’t
until the third dance that people were allowed to sit out. When they did sit
out, they were expected to congregate at the bar and give generously to the tip
jar as they drank.
    Polite conversation with one’s
partner was allowed, but Nicky’s first dance partner, a tall, burly fellow named
Vince Weir, had nothing to say on their first tour of the ballroom. Nicky took
advantage of his silence to get a good look at the place. She and Jill were the
first Network operatives to get inside Renata’s mansion. Although a raid on the
mansion was not planned anytime in the immediate future, the higher-ups in the
Network would want a report on the place to keep on file. Nicky took careful
mental notes of what she saw.
    The ballroom, like the outside
of the mansion, had a Greco-Roman flair to it. Marble pillars on the edges
matched the enormous columns of the front entrance. Large mahogany doors lined
the walls, leading to who knew where. Maybe the mansion beyond those doors was
a more livable space of human-sized proportions. Maybe there was an alternate
entrance that allowed Renata to skip this massive ballroom every time she came
home.
    Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe
Renata liked to come home every morning to visual proof that she was among the
wealthiest people on earth. There certainly was enough opulence on display to
remind her. The walls, the floor, the molding, the dual staircase in the back–
all were made of shiny white marble. Nooks with life-sized statues filled the
walls, their edges lined with gold. High on the walls sat a collection of
paintings easily worth millions, and these weren’t even the most prized pieces
in the collection. Somewhere behind one of those mahogany doors was a private
art gallery, with Picassos, Rembrandts, Van Goghs and others, the greatest
works of art in all human history, stolen away from humanity to be viewed only
by those Renata deemed worthy to see them.
    Nicky’s dance partner mumbled
something.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch
that,” Nicky said.
    “I said, wow, right out of the
gate I get a girl wearing black.”
    Nicky smiled at him.
    “Nicky, right?” he said.
    She nodded. Pretending to know
nothing about him, she asked for his name.
    “Vince,” he said.
    Vince Weir, only child of a
Vegas real estate tycoon with the same name. The words from the briefing
book rang in Nicky’s mind. She imagined them spoken in Jill’s quiet voice. Participated
in junior football, basketball, and wrestling leagues growing up, now a member
of Thorndike’s boxing club. Has a ‘friends with benefits’ sort of understanding
with Mattie Dupree, even though she’d like something more.
    It was that last part that was
of the most interest to Nicky. According to Jill, Mattie was desperate for
Vince to treat her like a real girlfriend, rather than a makeout partner, and
was known to follow Vince around like a little puppy. If they could get Vince
to attend Nicky’s after-party, then Mattie would come along as well.
    “It’s nice to meet you, Vince,”
Nicky said. “Tell me something about yourself.”
    “Tell you something? Like what?”
    “Whatever comes to