Read the Overnight Socialite for Free Online

the taxi's roof glowed like a beacon signaling Home . Like an island castaway spotting a plane in the sky, Lucy Jo darted into the street, frantically waving both arms to get the cabbie's attention. He pulled over just steps away.

    But before she reached the back door, another girl dashed past her--unseen behind her umbrella--grabbed the door handle and slid into the backseat.

    "Excuse me?" Lucy Jo was shocked by the stranger's audacity. "This is my cab! I've been looking for a really long--"

    "So you're already wet." The umbrella quickly collapsed to reveal its owner, a glamorous blonde with catlike green eyes. She looked expensive and vaguely familiar, and she laughed a little as she slammed the door in Lucy Jo's face. Then she rubbed a circle on the fogged window so that Lucy Jo could see her victorious little smile as the cab pulled away.

    Lucy Jo watched the taxi disappear into the rain. Maybe I'll catch a fatal case of pneumonia , she thought, struggling to see the bright side. She glanced at the bus stop, only to see her cab thief 's smugly beautiful face on a huge poster for Townhouse magazine.

    "IT" GIRL CORNELIA ROCKMAN TAKES MANHATTAN, read the headline.

    Lucy Jo ducked under a nearby awning. Who was she kidding? MANHATTAN CHEWS LUCY JO ELLIS UP AND SPITS HER OUT, that's what her headline would read--right next to a photo of a drowned rodent in fluorescent ruffles and an old ski parka.

    6

    To: [email protected]

    Sent: December 2, 9:22 PM

    From: [email protected]

    Subject: heading to your place in 20. xox

    T rip's BlackBerry vibrated in his pocket, and he held out the blue screen in front of him. "Eloise. I should get home."

    Wyatt rolled his eyes. "For the record, I don't see what you're holding out for. You're more or less married already. Just give the girl a ring."

    "You're either married or you're not." Trip's speech might have been a little slurred from drinking, but his defensive edge was sharp.

    "Touchy!" Wyatt laughed. But he couldn't help feeling a little impressed. Who would've guessed that roly-poly Trip Peters, of all their friends, would be the one most unwilling to commit to marriage? Then again, who'd have guessed he'd be the one to bank $500 mil by his thirty-fifth birthday?

    "Eloise is the best. I love her to death. All I'm saying is, marriage isn't for everyone. It's not for us."

    "Hear, hear," toasted Wyatt, enjoying the last of his scotch. He waved for the check. It was reassuring to have one wingman he could still count on. Most of their buddies had been swept into the vortex of domesticity, guarded by wardens who used to dance on tables at Bungalow 8 or Moomba. Many had moved off-island to Greenwich or Locust Valley, their lives surrendering any real spontaneity. Wyatt didn't envy them a bit. Neither, apparently, did Trip.

    They stumbled out of the bar and into the downpour. "Where's Raoul?" Wyatt asked. He glanced down the block, expecting to see the midnight blue Mercedes that trailed Trip wherever he went.

    "Gave him the night off, his daughter had a ballet recital. Shit timing. We'll never get a cab." Trip pulled his Barbour over his head.

    "We'll walk. You've got four blocks; I've got six," Wyatt said. Trip's pursuit of convenience had become almost comical, he thought. His household manager now packed and shipped his luggage before every trip to spare him the chore of wheeling a roller bag onto his private plane.

    They set off, weaving through the already deep puddles. "Any interest in Turks and Caicos for a few days?" Trip asked, tripping over a fire hydrant that shot out in front of him. "Wheels up tomorrow at eleven, weather permitting. We've got room."

    "Yeah?" Wyatt considered it for a moment, but he felt too glum to motivate himself. "Maybe next time. Now that I'm a free man, I might head to London for a visit. I keep promising friends I'll make it there, but work's been keeping me busy."

    He knew he was playing fast and loose with the