After the Golden Age

mass of designer gowns and tuxedos, expensive perfumes and jewelry. Mark had revealed that he’d gotten his tickets for the gala from his father.

A string quartet played Vivaldi. As part of the fund-raiser’s draw, the musicians played rare Stradivarius instruments, the best in the world, brought together for the first time to play in concert. They were worth millions. Celia honestly couldn’t tell the difference. Beautiful music was beautiful music.

She still felt like she didn’t belong. She could have, if she’d wanted to, once upon a time. This was the kind of thing her parents had done during their young socialite days.

“This is pretty swank, isn’t it?” Mark said.

“Sure is. I feel like a million bucks.”

“Wait a minute—aren’t you the heir to the West fortune? You are a million bucks.”

She masked her grimace by sipping her champagne. “Maybe, on paper. I kind of try to ignore that. I have a nice, normal job, and a nice, normal apartment.”

“And then some joker kidnaps you off the midtown bus.”

She shrugged. “I try to ignore that, too.”

He huffed, looking like he was about to counter with some pragmatic quip that might have come from her parents, when they were interrupted.

“Mark! You actually made it. There’s hope for you yet.”

Striding toward them, flanked by ever-present aides, reporters, and sycophants, was Mayor Anthony Paulson. He was tall—as tall as Mark, even—with a rugged, weathered face and thick salt-and-pepper hair. He was a charismatic force, his smile wide and genuine.

“Hi, Dad.” Father and son shook hands, firmly and warmly, clearly happy to see each other.

Mayor Paulson looked expectantly at her.

“Dad, this is Celia West. Celia, my father: Mayor Anthony Paulson.”

Celia braced for the wide-eyed flash of recognition that usually accompanied these introductions. Then the awe, the hesitation, and the impossibility of being treated normally.

It didn’t happen. Paulson offered his hand; she placed hers in it and they shook politely. “Ms. West, it’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise, sir.” She smiled, secretly relieved. She was going to have a good time this evening after all.

“Please, call me Tony.” The mayor glanced conspiratorially at his son. “I don’t believe it. You not only found someone who’ll be seen in public with you, but she’s lovely and charming as well. Good work.”

The group chuckled politely. Mark smiled an apology at her, but at the same time he seemed pleased with the approval. He stayed protectively close to her through the introductions his father insisted on making, showing off his son to the people he wanted to show off to. Mark needed a date, she realized, to be acceptable to his father in this setting. An accessory to increase his status, like an expensive watch. She was nearly flattered that she qualified as a trophy date. At least, she couldn’t be angry.

This was what it’d be like to be a politician’s wife, she thought vaguely. To have a life in the public eye. Might not be so bad. Then again …

Tony Paulson looked back to his entourage, searching for someone. He finally found her and had to coax her forward. “Andrea? Andrea, come meet Mark’s date.”

Andrea Paulson, the mayor’s wife and Mark’s mother, didn’t look much like she wanted to be here. She held a half-empty glass of champagne and still managed to cross her arms. In her designer gown, sparkling black and silver, and perfect hair, she blended into the crowd. She gave Celia a tight-lipped smile.

“Nice to meet you.” She turned to her husband. “Tony, I still have the headache, I’ll just have one of the boys drive me home—”

“Not now, Andrea. I need you here.”

Both of them were speaking through their teeth. Andrea turned her back on her husband and walked away. She always looked happier in the campaign photos.

Mark let out a breath he’d been holding. “I think after eight years in office she’s a little tired of this.”

“She’s fine,” Mayor Paulson said. His smile had turned static. “Another glass of champagne and she’ll be all smiles, you know how she is. So Mark, have you thought about my offer?”

“I told you, Dad. I’m happy where I am.”

The mayor provided the explanation. “I’ve got a place in my office all wrapped up with his name on it—Legal Affairs Administrator. It’s a short step from there to the DA’s office. You’ll be after my job in no time!” He beamed.

“He thinks I want his job,” Mark said in an aside to Celia.

The light in the mayor’s eyes dimmed. “You might listen to me for once. I’m only trying to help.”

This must have been a long-running argument. Celia’s heart went out to Mark. She was actually encouraged that this sort of thing went on in other families. She said, “I’m sure Mark appreciates it.”

That diffused the tension that had begun to mount, which was good, because Celia didn’t know what she’d do if Mark stalked away, as his mother had done, and left her there alone.

“He’ll come around.” The mayor winked at Celia.

Tony Paulson returned his attention to his entourage of personalities, all of whom pretended not to notice that Andrea had left, or that they’d narrowly avoided a family squabble.

“Your father’s a bit of a force,” Celia said, grateful when Mark guided her away.

“Yeah, I haven’t decided yet if he’s like that because he’s the mayor, or if he’s the mayor because he’s like that.”

“It’s tough being in that kind of shadow.”

“Tell me about it. I guess you could, couldn’t you?”

“Only thing you can do is make a break and move on.”

“Easier said than done.”

In the end, it hadn’t been that hard at all. She’d stayed away from her parents for four years during college. Built a life for herself that had nothing to do with them. Pretended to be some other Celia West. Worked two jobs —bookkeeping in the evenings and shelving at the university library on weekends—to pay her tuition and expenses, and it had all been worth it. She’d even started swimming again, able to do so without dwelling on old disappointments.

The time for speech-making arrived. She lingered with Mark in the back of the hall, growing pleasantly tipsy on her third glass of champagne, leaning on him, and drawing stories out of him—amusing anecdotes about the mayor from his childhood, harrowing tales of his years on the police force. Not so many of them. He’d only made detective six months ago and was young for the rank. He tried to turn the conversation back on her. Deftly, she avoided his questions. It didn’t seem right, telling amusing stories about Captain Olympus from her childhood. He was going to throw me off the roof to see if I could fly.…

The first speech came from the symphony’s musical director, profusely thanking everyone for their support and subtly digging for more donations. Next, the mayor stepped up to the podium. He went on about the city’s cultural heritage, managing to work in some stumping appropriate for the venue. She was fuzzily not paying attention.

At least, she wasn’t paying attention to the podium. Movement at the edges of the hall caught her notice. The crowd of socialites and symphony patrons stood in the center of the foyer, faces turned attentively to the front. But here and there, a half-dozen people wearing catering staff uniforms moved purposefully along the walls.

One of them drew a handgun from under his apron.

Celia’s hand clenched on Mark’s arm.

He glanced sharply at her. “What—”

He didn’t have time to ask. A hand closed around her throat and hauled her away from him. The steel nose of a gun pressed against her temple. She dropped her champagne glass, which shattered.

An irrational part of her complained, Not tonight, of all nights.

In moments, it was over. A couple of women screamed. A large space, in which Celia and her captor formed the center, cleared. Mayor Paulson’s voice demanded over the PA, “What is this?”

The other gunmen surrounded the string quartet and their priceless instruments.

“Nobody move, nobody make a sound, or she gets it!” shouted her captor. He held her in a headlock, pinning