She looked at me critically. 'You'll never turn heads with what you're wearing, Kylie. Color's what does it. Color and personality.'
We arrived at the charity gala for cancer-stricken children a little early, as Aunt Millie hated to be late. I'd carefully mapped out the route in my
A huge illuminated sign proclaimed: church of possibilities
CATHEDRAL AND CONVENTION CENTER-'OUR PROMISE IS YOUR POTENTIALITY!'
The building had everything-tall imposing columns, golden domes, a wall entirely made of stained glass, lit from within. Rows of fountains spurted water illuminated in changing colors, all garish. Huge angelic statues, some holding swords, others harps, stared down at us mere mortals.
My car was snatched away, and a ticket was shoved in my hand by one of many men in tight white uniforms who were scurrying around opening doors and then whipping vehicles away down into a subterranean area.
A row of stern guards with handheld computers barred the way. Our names were punched in, and we were found worthy to join the ever-thickening parade of guests heading for the main entrance along a wide red carpet. Gems sparkled, teeth sparkled, cries of greeting probably sparkled too. It was a sparkling occasion all round.
'Sparkling occasion,' I said to Aunt Millie.
She didn't answer, her attention on the activities of several photographers snapping smiling groups, who'd stop and pose with practiced ease. Each photographer had an assistant who hurried to jot down the names of those photographed in the correct order, left to right. I'd seen photos like these in the social pages.
One of the photographers suddenly popped up in front of us. Aunt Millie grabbed my arm and bared her teeth in a smile more enthusiastic than I'd ever seen before. To the assistant, she said, 'Millie Haggety from Australia. Brother Owen's
As the photographer moved on to another group, Aunt Millie said to me, 'Wait until they see
'It is a bit like the Academy Awards,' I observed.
She wasn't listening. 'Is that George Clooney over there?'
Before I could stop her, my aunt had rushed into the crowd and disappeared. I hurried after her, now and then catching sight of her sturdy, red-swathed figure.
In the end, she found me. 'Where have you been, Kylie? I've been looking for you everywhere.'
'You took off after George Clooney.'
'Lovely man. We had a nice chat.'
We were approaching the entrance to the edifice-the word
'Nice,' said Aunt Millie. 'I like a bit of glam.'
I wasn't sure whether she was referring to the building or the crowd around us. I'd thought Aunt Millie's dress rather over-the-top, but it had nothing on the outfits surrounding us. And blonds. There were more blonds than I'd seen in my life. Many were attached to the arms of older men, and all seemed to be laughing and tossing their heads with delight. Could
Brother Owen himself led the welcoming committee at the entrance to the ballroom. After the ceremonial greeting, a bevy of young assistants were on hand to lead guests to their tables.
Aunt Millie and I joined the line and waited to be acknowledged by the great man himself. As we got closer, I heard a recorded celestial chorus singing softly. Concentrating, I could just make out the words. The music obviously ran in a continuous loop, repeating endlessly, 'Brother Owen! Brother Owen! All things are possible! Possible! Possible! Only believe. Only believe.'
Brother Owen was a smooth operator, indeed. He had every name on his lips, greeting each individual as a close personal friend. We reached the top of the line. 'Kylie.' Brother Owen smiled into my eyes while massaging my hand. He turned his incandescent smile on my aunt. 'And this must be Aunt Millie.'
While we'd been waiting, I'd been observing two sleek young men, each holding what seemed to be an electronic organizer. They watched guests approach the top of the line, and one or the other would check the screen they held, then murmur into a lapel microphone. I reckoned Brother Owen had a wireless device in his ear and was being told each name before the person reached him.
The system was efficient. A quick, warm greeting, and then we were passed to a young woman who would guide us to our table.
The banquet room was immense. At one end a broad, shallow stage was floodlit, although at present it was empty, except for a grand piano. I was impressed, in spite of myself, to discover the walls were hung with gigantic tapestries, depicting many separate scenes. Possibly they were biblical, although most figures seemed to be wearing modern dress.
Many round tables filled the area, each glittering with crystal and silver table settings. The room was already crowded, buzzing with conversation, punctuated by bursts of loud laughter.
'Don't like that Owen bloke,' said Aunt Millie as we followed the young woman to our table. 'Those glib, fast- talking types are all bad news. Watch out for yourself, my girl. He'll be after you like a rat up a drainpipe.'
'Thank you for that alluring picture.'
'You can laugh all you like. That one's trouble, mark my words.'
She halted. 'Is that Alf Hartnidge?'
Alf and Chicka were already sitting at the table, but for an instant I didn't recognize them. Both were formally dressed in tuxedos and looked sensational.
'Aunt, I told you he and Chicka would be at our table, remember?'
'I'm leaving it up to you, Kylie, to make sure I don't sit next to either of them. All they talk about is the Hartnidge clan, and a more boring bunch you'd go a long way to find. I'm related to the Hartnidges by marriage, and I've had to endure the family stories for more years than I care to remember.'
The woman who'd been guiding us came back to collect us. She had a flat, expressionless face. 'You're at Brother Owen's table,' she said in tones of awe. 'You'll find your place indicated by your name. Brother Owen asks that you not change your place. Each position has been carefully chosen for harmonious vibrations.'
Aunt Millie snorted. 'Harmonious vibrations, is it?'
Wisely, the young woman didn't engage Aunt Millie in conversation, murmuring, 'Blessings,' and then hurrying away.
Both Alf and Chicka leapt up as we approached. Alf made an awkward little bow in Aunt Millie's direction. 'Millie, you're looking good.'
'Not so bad yourself, Alf. Formal wear looks OK on you boys.'
I blinked. This was the equivalent of a flowery compliment from anyone else.
'Change the place cards,' hissed my aunt out of the corner of her mouth.
'Your wish is my command.'
There were ten places at our table. Four names I didn't recognize. Brother Owen had the seat of honor, facing the stage, and a raised high-backed chair, superior to other seating, so I could hardly move his place card. Alf and Chicka were seated to his right and left. I was next to Alf, and then came Tami, who indeed had managed to arrange to sit next to me. Then came the four strange names, with Aunt Millie in the middle of them. I grabbed Tami's place card and switched it with Aunt Millie's. If I had to choose between the two, it'd be Aunt Millie all the way.
The tables around us were filling up fast. A string quartet had appeared on the stage and was vainly attempting to be heard above the sounds of social conversations, which seemed to include the need to shriek people's names upon each first sighting. Waiters appeared with French champagne.
My heart leapt as I caught sight of Ariana. This romantic stuff about seeing someone across a crowded room was right-where she was concerned, I had tunnel vision. She was wearing black, her pale hair swept up in a more elaborate style than usual. As she came closer, I saw her sapphire earrings were almost the same color as her eyes.
Ariana was with Nanette Poynter, who was doing her model-walking routine on the arm of a portly, older guy
