"Name brand?"

"Yes," he said more harshly. "The specific brand I requested."

Sabria's smile faltered.

"You nitwit," he said. "Can't you do anything right?"

"Hem-"

"It was a simple task, and you blew it!"

Sabria lowered her head.

He grabbed her elbow and yanked, spinning Sabria around in a whirl of blue silk. Still gripping her arm, his nails digging into her flesh, Hemorrhoid propelled her toward the door.

As I stood up to stop them, I caught sight of her expression. Sabria didn't look frightened. It stunned me to see it, but her face looked almost happy.

I'd had way too much weirdness for one night to follow them. I went looking for Emma.

I found her in the bar, teaching the Girl Scouts how to tie cherry stems with their tongues. My sister could do it in fifteen seconds and earned their applause.

She saw me coming and got off her bar stool. "Now what?"

"I'm ready to go," I said. "I'm disgusted with myself. And the human race, come to think of it."

"What happened?"

"People are sick, Em."

"You've just observed that fact?"

"Are those the Finehart twins?" I stared down the bar. "Those models from the fashion show?"

She spun her head around. "They're back from New York already?"

"Must be." I noticed my tough sister actually looked nervous and tried to hold back a grin. "Want to go talk to them?"

"Hell, no!"

"I get the feeling they want you snuggled under their bed-sheets watching Xena, Warrior Princess."

"Very funny."

Perched at the other end of the bar, Fawn and Fontayne wore their Brinker Bras under sheer blouses for the world to see. Their straight blond hair was unmistakable, and they appeared to be carrying lollypops-red to match their glossy lipstick. Already they were drawing a crowd. Fawn leaned out and waved to Emma.

Em turned pale.

"She likes you," I said.

"They can't possibly be as vacant as they pretend," she said. "Can they?"

"Would they be more appealing to you if they were smarter?"

"No!"

As we watched, Fontayne spilled her drink on the bar. Four men leaped to her assistance.

"They might act stupid," Emma said, "but they know how to get what they want."

"Hussies."

"You can laugh. They seem willing to do a lot to get the Brinker Bra gig." Emma shivered and grabbed my arm. "Let's jet. I don't feel like getting my tonsils tickled by the Doublemint Twins."

We returned to the hotel to get the rest of my clothes. We found Spike sound asleep in the wreckage of what once had been the sofa.

"Wow," said Emma, impressed by the destruction. "How'd he manage to shred all the cushions so fast?"

I tucked his limp, exhausted body into my handbag. He gave me a feeble lick and snuggled down with a sigh of contentment. "At least he didn't chew the wooden legs. I won't have to worry about splinters in his stomach."

"Heaven forbid."

Emma took me home in Monte Bogatz's Hummer, which was like riding in a giant carnival ride. It had desert camouflage upholstery and more interior lights than the cockpit of a jumbo jet. Lesser vehicles dodged out of our way, and Emma left them behind in a wake of slush.

Over the roar of the engine, I asked Em about Sabria Chatterjee.

"I didn't know her very well in college," Emma told me. "She was a good student. Lots of drive. Big ambitions. I got the impression her parents wanted her to be perfect, poor kid. They came around on weekends to check her homework and talk to her professors."

"About what?"

"Giving her extra assignments. They wanted her to be class valedictorian, but they wanted her to get it the hard way."

"Did she make it?"

"I dunno. I didn't hang around to find out."

Of course. Emma hadn't finished college. She dropped out when our parents couldn't afford the tuition, and she never looked back.

I said, "I wonder what kind of personality results from such high expectations."

"Lots of people manage. Sabria seems to be okay. Maybe she's a little wacky about her job. But buying drugs for Hemorrhoid isn't exactly a good career move. Those two are an odd match, aren't they?"

"My impression was more master and slave, actually."

"Sound familiar?"

"You mean Brinker and Hem?" I shook my head. "Hemorrhoid was always the victim then-a masochist who went looking for people to pick on him."

Emma shrugged. "So he's flipping. It's not impossible."

"Has Monte ever mentioned Sabria?"

Emma sent me a puzzled glance. "Sabria? Why should he?"

"Her ad agency probably hired him for Big Box. Now he's hanging around Brinker. It's a suspicious coincidence, that's all."

"I'm not up to speed on the cowboy's career plans."

"Em, about Monte. Is he . . ."

She shrugged. "He's no Rhett Butler. I know that. But he's not bad. He's . . . resilient."

Carefully, I ventured, "Are you taking out some frustration on him?"

She considered my question seriously. "Maybe. It doesn't matter. This is a short-term thing. We both know it. Not like you and the Love Machine."

"Uhum," I said.

"Mick's trying, you know. To clean up his act for you." Keeping her eyes on the road, Emma was able to say things she couldn't say to my face. "It's a whole redemption thing for Mick, Sis. Because you believe in him, he's trying to be good. It's pretty sexy when you think about it. But if you stop believing . . . I don't know what he'll do."

"Are you about to give me some sisterly advice?"

She grinned. "Not me. I'm a Blackbird too, you know. I always pick the wrong men."

Em dropped me off at Blackbird Farm and declined my invitation to spend the night.

"No, thanks. I've got to return the cowboy's toy." She patted the steering wheel of the Hummer.

"Em-"

"Don't worry about me," she said. "You've got a lot of stuff on your mind. I'll call you tomorrow."

Smiling a little, I took Spike inside.

Michael was not in the house.

Nor had he left me a phone message.

My machine, however, was clogged with calls from old friends angling for invitations to my party.

With a groan, I went to bed.

In the morning, I woke up alone except for Spike.

When the phone rang, I grabbed it, hoping to hear Michael's voice. But the call was from another potential New Year's Eve guest, a pal who fortunately volunteered to bring a bottle of wine. I hoped it would be a very big bottle.

When I hung up, I wrote down her name and looked at my guest list. It had gone so far beyond my control that I might as well invite the whole city.

The thought of providing food and drink for such a crowd that size gave me a dizzy spell.

"Maybe I'll make hors d'oeuvres out of you," I said to Spike while cleaning up one of his near-misses by the door.

I went into my closet and decided not to endanger any of Grandmama's clothes for a daytime foray. I put on a classic sweater set with a Zac Posen layered skirt, one of the last things I could afford for myself before my trust fund evaporated. I checked the mirror and decided I didn't look half-bad for a woman whose life was imploding.

Reed picked me up at ten and delivered me to a Philadelphia department store where a Mensa reject had scheduled a fund-raiser for the literacy foundation during the after-Christmas sale. Kitty had assigned the event to me before her death, presumably so I could be trampled by frenzied shoppers returning unwanted presents.

I rode the escalator behind a woman wearing a Juicy sweat suit and matching lavender flip-flops. The Juicy logo was written across her buttocks. She turned around and I realized she was Gretchen Schwartzenhauser, the air-bag heiress.

"I just came from a pedicure," she said when I remarked upon her footwear. "I leave for Palm Beach in the morning. I can't stand winter, can you?"

I admired her toes, which weren't frostbitten yet. "Are you here for the literacy foundation event?"

"Are you kidding? I'm returning a blouse. When will my stepmother stop getting me things that aren't on my list?" She rolled her eyes. "I mean, Ralph Lauren is so old-school. I wore it once, but I don't think anyone can tell."

Those gifts from the heart sure could spoil a girl's Christmas.

"Say," she said, "you always know cool stuff. Where can I get a Brinker Bra?" She pointed at a huge banner that pictured Brinker's smirking face.

"I don't think they're for sale yet."

"Are you sure?" Gretchen narrowed her eyes. "You're not pretending, are you?"

"I have no idea when they'll be available."

"Hm." She continued to look suspicious. "If you hear anything, let me know, huh? I want to be first in line."

Spike poked his nose out of my bag, and Gretchen recoiled. "Yuck! Is that a pet rat or something?"

Spike's snarl hinted that Gretchen wasn't exactly Miss America either.

"Yes," I said. "Rats are the latest thing in pets."

"Oh, yeah? Where can I get one?"

I escaped before Gretchen could invite herself to my party.

Although the rest of the store was a zoo, the corner where the literacy foundation had set up a table was a sea of tranquility.

English Hubble looked forlorn. "Bad timing," she said after I commiserated about the low turnout. "Live and learn."

I liked English. For generations, her family had owned the city's two most popular tourist restaurants. She aspired to be an actress, but now that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she spent a lot of time recording books for the blind.

"Better luck with the next event."

English ventured to scratch Spike's head. "Funny puppy, Nora. But then, you always did get attached to underdogs."

"He's ugly, but he's sweet."

English nodded and sent a sideways glance at me. I knew she noticed my bruise. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I mean, you know I'm happy to do something if you need help."