When it came to PR, the DiSantiagos played their cards expertly.  Just three months since the party of the year, they were kicking off another extraordinary event.  This time, a benefit.  A brand new state-of-the-art Children's Cancer Center wing for Hudson City Memorial Hospital was on the docket.  The solution: A Charity Bachelor Auction.  A handful of the city's most eligible (and successful) single men had been invited to spend one evening with the highest bidder, all for a great cause.

The Watson Art Gallery, just outside of the Museum in Westhurst was the perfect backdrop.  The walls were tastefully adorned with both contemporary and inspirational pieces, selected specifically for the cause, while an architectural model of the addition served as the centerpiece.  A small chamber orchestra played off to one side of the main hall, opposite from the open bar.

The event was in full swing by nine thirty.  Several bachelors had already claimed top-dollar bids and the official tally, ,according to their charismatic host, Angelo DiSantiago himself, was nearing a million dollars with several more eligible gentlemen yet to come. 

While the party may have had merit on its own, Edison Palmer found himself unable to avoid evaluating the gallery on a professional level.  Ultimately it was Umberto's fault.  "What do you think about this one?" he asked, indicating a somber, black-and-white portrait of a patient in a hospital room.  "The vignette does nothing for it."  There was not a hint of empathy for the subject.  "Very stark."

"I gather that was the artist's intention, 'Berto," Edison replied affably. "For some, it's all substance over style." There was the slightest hint of sarcasm, dialed just below Umberto's awareness threshold.

"I'm surprised you're not up there with the other eligible bachelors, pal. You'd be a prime catch," he added, taking a sip from his wine glass with a humorous glint in his eye.

"Yeah, I know.  Weird, right?" Umberto agreed absently, yet without a hint of irony.  He shrugged and sipped his own glass as he turned back to the party.  "That's alright: plenty of fish in the sea, am I right?"  He scanned the quietly mingling crowd with interest. 

"Like that one, there."  He indicated a leggy brunette.   "Hundred bucks says I can talk her out of that dress before the night's over."

Edison casually glanced over at the designated candidate. His eyes unfocused and he remarked in a distracted voice, "You might even win that bet, old chum. Unless her girlfriend objects. She's not the sharing kind."

Umberto raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"

Edison took a sip. "Not at all," he said cryptically.

"You know," Umberto remarked without missing a beat, or taking his eyes from his target, "You're a strange cat, Ed."  He took one more sip of his wine.  The leggy brunette had caught his eye and they shared a smile.  "Alright, then," he said, "You pick one.  Hundred bucks says you can't do the same."

Edison chuckled, shaking his head in amused surrender. "You're just resolved to making me work at something tonight, aren't you?"

He made a big production of scanning the crowd for any eligible targets as his mind wandered. It's not like he wouldn't've welcomed a bed-warmer for the evening, but recently his energies had been focused on deciphering the grimoire he'd acquired.  In fact, it had taken so much of his free time that he'd accepted Umberto's invitation to attend the event on a whim. All work and no play, and all that rot. But now he found the pageantry and promenade to be... unsatisfying and exhaustingly dull.

Edison shook his head again with an inner grin. Maybe he did need to step away from his self-appointed studies. Otherwise he'd turn into one of those curmudgeonly recluses locked up in their rooms, and what was the fun in that?

His eyes alighted on a quiet black-haired waif-like woman, sitting back and sipping from a glass while doing her own inspection of the crowded gathering. For a second, he thought it was Ophilia, but closer examination easily proved him wrong.  The slight resemblance piqued his curiosity. She was unaccompanied, he was sure, with the odd confidence that came from his enhanced insight.

With a smile, he pointed her out to Umberto with a subtle tipping of his glass. "That one."

"Edison, that's my cousin." Umberto gave her a second look.  "Oh, wait, never mind... That one?  Really?"

"You noticed the resemblance, too? Anyone you know?" Edison asked, hoping the young woman wasn't yet another member of his family. He had enough DiSantiagos to deal with in his life to add yet another one to his list. And he realized with a mental start that he did want to get acquainted with her. The prospect of engaging in such a conquest struck a chord in him that he had not felt in a while.

Can't let those skills get rusty. What better way of making sure I've still got the touch? he thought wryly.  He waited for Umberto's response, sure that he would pursue this intriguing prey regardless. But if I can squeeze some money out of Umberto for doing so, who am I to refuse?

"Not that I can recall with any certainty," Umberto replied, still convincing himself.  "But you're on.  You must really like a challenge."

Edison graced Umberto with one of his disarming smiles. "It's what makes life worth living, friend." He raised his glass as if to toast. "The game's afoot."

His task now established, Palmer began subtly stalking the woman. He surreptitiously studied her pose, her face, her actions, collecting what information he could gain before making the first advance. The thrill of being back in action warmed him.

She was almost bookish from her perch at the far table, solitary but not awkwardly so.  She studied the crowd in anticipation.  Finally, as Angelo emerged from nowhere to stand before the bachelor stage, she smiled eagerly.

Ah. She either knows someone who'll be on the stage, or is planning to do some bidding of her own, Edison surmised. He positioned himself so as to be able to keep an eye on both the petite woman and the stage, hoping to get some more insight based on her reactions, and sat back to enjoy the show.

-------

Daniel McClain had arrived "fashionably late".  While he wasn't a veteran to these DiSantiago events, he was hardly a novice either.  The lobby of the gallery was alive with guests, providing excellent cover to allow him to slip in unnoticed.  Or so he thought.  His name given, the guest-list conferred, he had barely checked his coat before being interrupted.  A strong hand slung over his shoulder like a feed sack.

"You're late, kid," growled the baritone voice of his great uncle Javier.

"A bit, yeah," he agreed good-naturedley. "But that's how these things're done." He grinned. "Or so I'm told." Danny looked sharp tonight in a vintage black tux, tailored to show off his toned and trim frame. His cumber bun was turquoise blue, and it accented his blue eyes and jet black hair to great effect. Onyx cufflinks glittered at the ends of his sleeves. "Do I meet with my esteemed Uncles approval?"

Javier grinned slyly, uncharacteristically, his arm still slung around the younger man's shoulder.  He reminded Danny of a boxer just past his prime.  "Looking sharp.  Now get in here, there's a few folks you should meet."

"Yessir. I think I'm seein' some now." He gave a short wave to Ophilia as he and his uncle made their way across the floor, nodding and smiling at those they passed along the way. There were whispers, appraising stares, blushes and winks. The whole thing made Danny grin wolfishly. "Y'know Uncle, I'm beginin ta think I understand how a cat in a dog park must feel."

Javier grunted in genuine amusement.  "I said you look sharp, kid.  But you ain't that sharp.  Their bite's worse than their bark, so you watch your stuff."

A small platform served as the bachelor's stage when appropriate.  The lights would dim.  Angelo would make an announcement and serve as auctioneer.  A gentleman would emerge and elicit a healthy round of "oooh's" and "aaaah's" before serious bidding would begin.  Forty or fifty thousand or more was commonplace.  Winning bids of upwards into six figures had already been called more than once.

Behind the stage a crimson curtain hid the next man like a prize in a game show.  This is where they encountered each other for the first time in three months.  The first time since that night at the Stewart Regency.  Since New Years Eve.  Mason Willoughby glanced up from an absent adjustment of his tie and noticed the unmistakable costumed form of Nemesis.

The vigilante nodded once in acknowledgment, giving no clue as to his true emotions. He simply took stock of the stage, smiled when appropriate to the appropriate people, and otherwise remained casually attentive. He'd dressed down for the evening, allowing himself only the basic utility belt and none of his usual weaponry. It made feel vulnerable, being in costume but without his usual armament, but he kept telling himself it was for a good cause.

Mason nodded once in return, his face just as impassive, but with a hint of thoughtful study. 

This exchange was not lost on the nearby Sebastian DiSantiago.  He had obviously missed some unspoken history between the two of them, but it didn't take an empath to sense the tension.  "This is something I'll want to pay attention to" he thought.  Flipping his phone open, he retreated to a somewhat quiet corner, with a good view of the two men, and called his answering service. 

"What am I doing here?" Sebastián thought to himself, and it was not the first time tonight he had asked that question.  The obvious answer was the Family.  The DiSantiago name brought with it a lot of perks: free meals, access to the most exclusive clubs, the prettiest women, over-all it was a good thing to be a DiSantiago. On rare occasions however, the price of those perks reared its head, and this was one of those rare occasions.  Offering a silent prayer that some blue-haired with old money didn't win him tonight, he checked his messages.

Mason smiled at the waitress that brought him his scotch, but his eyes had traveled back to Nemesis before he could embarrass her by noticing her deep blush.  After a moment of contemplation, he moved across the room towards the hero.  His presence was such, that though he did not do anything to bring attention to himself, many people moved aside to make room as he did so, and he acknowledged a few with a nod or a smile.

As he approached, he offered his hand. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure.  I'm Mason Willoughby."  His manner was direct, unchallenging, and without pretense, but there was a presence to the man; a self-assured manner that commanded the attention of those around him.   It was difficult to perceive if he considered Nemesis a friend or foe, as if it were undecided, or perhaps under deliberation from the way his eyes studied the hero.

Nemesis had turned to face Mason as he crossed over and shook the offered hand. "Nemesis," he said, unphased by the man's tangible charisma. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister Willoughby. Looks like a good turn-out for the evening's event." He smiled, an almost-boyish grin. "Not sure if that's a good thing or not."

Glancing over at the meeting of the two men, Sebastián grumbled to himself. Well looks like no fireworks, ah well another boring evening. Flipping his cell closed, he walked over and waited for a spot to break into the conversation without being rude.

Mason smiled with a corner of his mouth as he replied, "A good thing, I think.  More people means more money for the Children's Hospital, and better publicity for next year.  Are you going to be on the auctioning block?"

"Looks like," Nemesis said with a sigh. "Ophilia knows I can't say no to childrens' charities. And, like you said, the publicity won't hurt. I'm still a bit of an unknown to a lot of people," he explained, smiling ruefully. "Allowing myself to be sold into slavery for an evening is apparently supposed to alleviate that somewhat."

Mason smiled with genuine humor.  "Don't worry.  It's not so bad.  Just remember that the proceeds go to a good cause.  You might have to do a little manual labor, or buy your way out of it by matching funds if you have the means.  I'm sure Phi will spot you if the terms are unbearable.  But don't worry.  The DiSantiago's are experts at PR.  You'll come out of this smelling like a rose, I'm sure.
 
Actually, I was hoping Phi might send you my way for little project that I'm working on. I could use your reputation, and it might be a mutually beneficial situation.  I talked to JACE about it, but...we couldn't come to an agreement on the terms."

Mason didn't know if Nemesis would be interested in something as mundane as the LeMastre's Park Initiative. Most people only knew about what it had done for the park, but all the programs for Hudson City's transient population seemed to be all but ignored by the media.  He guessed that Phi now technically owned the Nemesis trademark if her family had anything to do with it, so any side projects that used the image would probably have to be run by her first.

Not for the first time that night was Nemesis glad the goggles hid his eyes, in this case because they narrowed. He wasn't certain if Mason knew of the almost-tryst he and Ophilia shared. He didn't care, either, not for something like the auction. But a project that JACE turned down...that both piqued his interest and made him extremely wary.

"I'd have to hear more about it, of course," he said neutrally. "But given my upcoming schedule I'm not sure if it'd be practical to pencil me in for something new just yet."

"Naturally," Mason replied with a knowing smile.  He produced a business card. "For when you find the time to eat. We can do lunch and you can hear my pitch. No pressure. I'm just looking for similar motivations and similar goals.  The situation should be mutually beneficial."

Nemesis took the proffered card and inclined his head. "I'll see what I can work out, then," he said neutrally. He really was curious, but not so much he'd ask any questions now. Not without looking into things further. In my copious free time, he thought wryly.

The bar was small but elegant and very well stocked.  The promise of free drinks drew all varieties like moths to a flame, but without seating it discouraged a crowd.  Some dispersed back into the gallery, some to the lobby, while others - a specific demographic - detoured with their drinks to the left, out the great pane-glass doors, and onto the balcony to satisfy another necessary sin.

The ruby red lips of Carlotta Cruise grinned wide when she spied a familiar face join the small group of smokers.  With the practiced step of an experienced huntress, she approached the man called Stone and offered him the flame from a small pearl and silver lighter.  "Aren't you supposed to be back-stage, handsome?"

Stone leaned forward and lit the smoke he'd just popped into his mouth.  He nodded as he came back up, inhaling, then said to her, "Probably, but then again I've never been much for doing what I'm told."  Smoke flowed out around his words as he spoke them.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"I never miss these things."  She replied as she made a show of inspecting him, her look lingering and obvious as it devoured him.  "I like to see who the prime investments are."

Stone nodded at that and leaned on the bar.  In well-worn jeans over his favorite boots, faded black T-shirt, and a dark leather riding jacket that looked like it had seen better days, he cut a stark contrast to the other well-dressed men in the room.  He exuded that I-don't-care confident vibe as he took a beer from the bartender and turned his sunglasses back to face Carlotta.

She took a lingering drag on her cigarette as she enjoyed the view.  "It helps to know who the hot commodities are, in my social circles.  ...and you, my dear, would qualify."

"I'm not exactly the social circle type, Ms. Cruise," Stone replied with a nonchalant shrug.  "You're okay, though."

And it was true.  Something about the woman gave Stone a relaxed feeling.  Maybe it was her up-front nature - they kind of shared that.  Whatever it was, when it came to the high society types, Carlotta cruise seemed to be the one he could stand the most.

She chuckled sweetly.  Probably at the 'Ms. Cruise' reference more than anything else, and gave him another once over as she sipped at a martini which had magically appeared.  Her eyes narrowed and she moved to stand next to him in a conspiratorial way. "So tell me, Mister Stone," she allowed another throaty chuckle at that, "What's it like working for the DiSantiagos?  Do you miss your soul much?"

"Guilt by association?" Stone questioned after a brief pause for thought.  He shrugged.  "Maybe you know something about the Conquistadors that I don't."

Carlotta laughed.  "Maybe so," she replied cryptically, eyes sparkling.  She closed them briefly and took a long drag of her cigarette.  She savored it, then blew it out again before grinding the butt into an ashtray nearby.  "How is it you became so employed, Stone?  You don't strike me as the hero type."

"I'm not," he readliy admitted.  "Like I told you at the party, I'm just here to make sure this team gets played straight."

Stone took a drag of his smoke and let it flow out with his words.  "I guess I'm an insurance policy," he told the society dame.  "DiSantiago insurance."

She laughed again, each time more amused, more disarming, like she was genuinely having a good time.  "DiSantiago Insurance.  I like that."

A voice from inside interrupted the conversation.  It was hard to hear through the glass doors, but it was definitely Angelo's.  The smoker crowd stirred.

"Speak of the Devil," Carlotta said snidely under her breath.  She gave Stone a wink.  "Better get back inside, I suppose.  Don't worry, darling, I'll bid high."  She cast him the look of a cougar and pinched his bicep gently as she passed through the doors back into the main gallery.  "See you on the menu."

"I'm sure," Stone sighed as he turned and leaned against the bar.

Inside, Ophilia wound in and out of the guests, grateful for once that she wasn't in charge.  She had been eager to help the cause, but the entire event was planned and executed by someone else's very capable hands.  For her part, she had agreed to put up a couple of the heroes for auction, and that, in and of itself was no easy task. 

Nemesis was by far the easier of the two, it had taken him a while to get back to her, but as usual he came through.  Stone, on the other hand, was more difficult, but once she got Luke on board and sold him on the cause, he had reluctantly agreed.  He did, however, negotiate that he wouldn't be wearing a tux for the event.

Finding her cousin Vinny in the crowd and hurried over to see him.  "Vinny!  How are you?"  She nearly tackled him with a hug and laughed out loud as he pulled her into a bear hug and spun her.  The room was crowded, and far too sophisticated for such nonsense, but Vinny was beyond such silly societal rules.

Phi was still laughing when he set her down.  "Does that mean you aren't mad at me any more?"  She asked him as she grinned from ear to ear.

"Nah.  Water under the bridge, Baby.  Water under the bridge."  He draped one of his long arms around her shoulders and ushered her to a table that was very close to the stage.

"So...what are you doing here?  You up for auction?"  Phi asked quizzically.  This really wasn't his usual cup of tea...and she sensed a bit of unease in him.

"Oh...no, Baby.  No.  ...but...  look at all these loaded hot women.  ...and I don't cost a lousy dime, I gotsta get lucky with them odds."  He lounged back in his chair, it was tipped at a dangerous angle and seemed too small for his large frame.  He scanned the room with that half lazy, half dopey smile of his as he spoke.

"Mmmhmmm.  Then what are you looking for?"  Phi asked persistently, too curious for her own good about what was troubling her cousin.

"None of your business, Baby.  None of your business.  Who you putting your money on tonight?  I'm sure there's nobody here ya couldn't take home, with that DiSantiago charm of yours."

Phi rolled her eyes at that, as she caught sight of Danny McClain, heading into the room.  She noted that he was talking to Javier, and felt herself bristle a bit.  When she caught his eye she waved him over to the table that she was sharing with Vinny. 

"Who's that?"  Vincent asked curiously.

"That is our second cousin, he just recently moved here.  He's really great.  I'm eager for you to meet him."  She said as Javier guided the kid her way.

"Well met again, lovely lady," Danny said as they approached the table. "And who's this you've got with ya?" He offered his hand to the tall man sitting next to his second cousin. "Danny McClain."

Vinny gave him a broad grin as he reached out to shake his hand.  "I guess..."  His tone was light and almost chuckling as he continued.  "...I'm your cousin, Vinny.  Vincento DiSantiago.  It's a pleasure, any friend of Baby's is a friend of mine."  He threw a mischievous wink at Javier.  "...and I won't even hold being family against you."

Phi winced a bit at the pet name but didn't comment.  Instead she stood up and embraced her Uncle Javier, giving him a kiss on each cheek, as was her way since she was a child.

Danny took a seat next to this newest cousin. "Done and done. Likewise I'm sure, and not only because me mother would box me ears if she knew I was being rude to a relative." He watched as Ophilia greeted her Uncle and added "So are you part of this horrible perpetuation of beauty myths, or just here to laugh at the rest of us?" 

"I..ya...I'm just here to take home the scraps.  Figure my odds oughtta be pretty good."  His eyes drifted back towards the stage, they were on an intermission right now.  "Ain't that right Baby?  Hard to lose with this crowd."

"Want me to tell your fortune?"  Phi teased him good naturedly.  "Then I can tell you if you'll be getting lucky or not."

"Ah...nah..nah..nah.  I don't thinks so."  Vinny reached over and cuffed her playfully upside the head as she sat back down.

"Half the fun is in the tryin, after all." Danny did a 'ba-dump-bump' on the table with his knuckles and winked. 

Javier gave a sneer.  "Don't you boys go bringing anything home you can't cure with penicillin," he grumbled and cast a distasteful look around the crowd. Danny's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he glanced quickly at Ophilia to see how she'd taken the comment. 

Strangely, Phi found herself distracted.  A tickle at the back of her mind.  An unsettling feeling.  It was fleeting, however, and she wasn't entirely sure what she had felt when it passed. Seeing that she either missed it or didn't mind, Danny relaxed a bit. "Ophilia, who are ya biddin' on this evenin?" he asked, leaning forward towards his cousin.

She shook her head to clear it and gave Danny a big smile.  "Just my boys and only if I don't approve of the women that's courting them."

"Nah."  Javier gave her a hard look.  "You'll be biddin' on that Willoughby boy if you have a lick of sense left in that overtaxed noggin of yours."

Phi winced at that and shook her head, but was kindly interrupted by the announcer.

As if in response, Angelo's voice filled the room.  "Ladies and Gentlemen," he announced.  "I do hope you're enjoying the evening.  I invite you to, please, grab your drinks (and your checkbooks) and make yourselves comfortable for our next round of bidding."

There was a stir as people shifted their attention to the stage.  "Our next bachelor is the prodigal son to one of the wealthiest families in Hudson City.  You might remember him from the news last year as the local hero who protected a young lady from an attack in LeMastre's Park.  Since then he has started the LeMastre Park Initiative and through his endeavors has almost single-handedly turned that park around. In his free time between playing hero and rounds of golf at the country club, he is the VP of Operations at Summit Enterprises. I am proud to introduce one of this city's most eligible bachelors.  "

"Ladies and gentlemen," he paused for effect, "Mason Willoughby."

Phi's eyes drifted to the stage as Mace stepped out, as handsome as ever.  She felt a bit of regret for letting so much time pass, yet again, without seeing him.  It just made more sense that way.  It seemed that they couldn't be together without one of them considering the idea of reigniting their old flame, and for now at least, Phi knew that she wasn't ready for that.  She had too many unexplored feelings and knew that pursuing anything serious with Mason right now would be a bad idea.

As Mason walked across to stage center, he playfully adopted the strut of a male model, eliciting some chuckles from the audience.  He stopped, and turned, assuming a slightly exaggerated pose, hamming it up a bit.  He was clearly comfortable in the spotlight, though he often avoided it.  He knew most of the people attending.  He'd moved in the same circles with the Hudson City elite his whole life, going to the same schools, going to the same parties.

"We'll start Mason out at a poultry thirty grand.  Ladies?"  Thus the frenzy began.  Thirty quickly became forty.  Forty became fifty.  Sixty and Seventy came and went.

From time to time as the bidding began, he would strike a pose straight out of a male model magazine.  Jacket on, suave.  Jacket over the shoulder, casual. Crouched with hand on chin and eyebrow raised, street cool.  He lifted his shirt a bit to show his chiseled abs and followed up with a curled biceps and an Atlas pose.  He was clearly enjoying himself, and the crowd responded enthusiastically, as demonstrated by the catcalls from various women.

"Eighty!"

"Eighty five!"

"Ninety!"  And so it went.  Seemingly without end.

His stage presence was nothing short of incredible. As the bidding continued, he occasionally pointed to a bidder who was falling behind and made eyes at or did something provocative to encourage them to bid again.  It was all for charity, and lately he had a reputation for being quite the philanthropist.  As many of them knew him from his teen days, this was something of a departure from his reputation of being the black sheep of the Willoughby's.

"One hundred thousand," the bookish brunette from the corner table raised her voice just slightly, but didn't stand.  Not yet.  She lifted a hand as heads turned to her and smiled self-consciously.

Back at the table, Edison lifted an eyebrow. The subject of his attention had just put in a respectable bid for the Willoughby lad. This did make things a bit more interesting. He had a strong feeling her interests were not merely in contributing to charity. He glanced up on the stage; the young man was certainly giving a good show of selling himself.

Mason looked over at the woman at the bar as she placed a bid, and he cocked his head for a second. At first glance, he'd taken her for Ophilia, but now he could see she was not.  His apprehension over, he smiled and winked at her.

Edison decided to wait see how this auction ended before making his move, offering either congratulations or sympathy depending on whether she won her bid or not.

Near the stage, Angelo chuckled heartily into the microphone, having stepped aside as the bids escalated.  Now, during the momentary lull, he recaptured the spotlight.  "A very generous gesture from a very beautiful woman.  Mason, my boy, you should be very proud.  The bidding stands at one hundred thousand--."

"One hundred and ten!" Twin voices called together from the opposite side of the room where a pair of forty-somethings had pooled their resources.  They both waved eagerly.

Angelo laughed.  Guests responded in kind.  "Well good evening, ladies, I didn't see you over there!"

Mason laughed out loud and stepped forward to speak into Angelo's microphone for a moment.  "Ooh...that looks like double the trouble and twice the fun!" he said in facetious flirtation.

"One hundred and twenty five thousand dollars."  Undeterred, but looking a little more anxious than before, the bookish brunette was now standing.  She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and glanced across the room at her competition who were obviously disappointed.  One of them swore crudely.

Mason's eyes goggled. He smiled at the two ladies and shrugged good-naturedly, mouthing the word, "Sorry."  He pointed with both fingers at the woman at the bar, impressed with her tenacity and generosity.

Sobered out of his humor, Angelo tried again, this time sounding a bit more humbled.  "That's one twenty five, then."  He paused briefly.  Expectantly.  The brunette remained anxious and bit her lower lip.  "Sold," he said at last, "To the young lady in the corner."

She blew out a breath and smiled.  Applause followed.

Edison leaned back on his chair as he added his own polite applause. That was... intriguing. There's definitely something more going on than meets the eye. Never mind getting into her pants, I'm curious as to what's going on behind that pretty face. He hesitated a moment more, studying the woman for her demeanor and reaction to her successful bid. He strained to see if his unreliable sixth sense could give him any more clues as to this captivating stranger with the familiar figure.

There was something akin to relief in her as she sat back down with a satisfied smile, waiting for one of the hostesses to bring over her claim ticket.  As he watched her, he had this feeling that he'd seen her before somewhere, maybe even met her...but he couldn't place it.  It was something about her figure, mannerisms and the way she moved.  Even her smile was somehow familiar.  It was easy to push it to the back of his mind though, as nothing more than the uncanny resemblance to his boss.

Easing himself up out of his chair, Edison ambled over to the woman's table, drink in hand and smile on his face. First serve.  As he passed Ophilia's table he glanced at her, taking inventory of the similarities between her and his quest.  As it turned out, his boss was also staring at the table with the woman that had just won the bid for her old flame.  The look on her face was laced with curiosity and interest.

"Congratulations on your acquisition, " Edison said to the young lady as he arrived at her table. "Mason is worth every penny, I'm sure."

She glanced at him with serious brown eyes and smiled.  "I'm eager to meet him.  I've never met him, but am very impressed with all the work he's done." 

"Well,Mason is a passionate man in his interests. I'm sure he will be grateful for your generous donation," Edison smiled back. She had the kind of smile that compelled you to return it in kind. His interest ratcheted up another notch.

She folded her hands in her lap and cocked one of her eyebrows at him, a look that made the similarity with Phi even more uncanny.  "Are you a friend of his?"  There was open interest in her voice as she made her query.

Edison chuckled good-naturedly. "I'm ashamed to admit I know him mostly by reputation and association. I'm a friend of a friend, so to speak." He offered his hand. "Palmer. Edison Palmer." He cocked his head inquiringly.

She reached out and took his hand delicately.  "Lana Rodriguez.  I'm pleased to meet you."  She nodded to an empty seat at her table, a subtle invitation for him to sit.  He kind of got the impression that maybe she didn't want to draw any additional attention to herself.

Edison gently squeezed her hand and confidently folded himself into the offered chair. He leaned back slightly and gave the young woman an apologetic smile. "I hope I don't give you the wrong idea by saying this, but I can't shake the feeling I've seen or met you before."

"Really?"  She asked, clearly intrigued, like maybe it meant more than such a simple passing statement should have.  Her eyes settled on his face and took him in, as if she was trying to help him find the missing piece of his puzzle.

Edison chuckled, leaning forward as if taking her into confidence, "Yes. I was hoping you could help me out in that regard. Have we met before? Perhaps at one of these types of events?"

"Perhaps we have."  She agreed with a lilt of mystery in her voice.  "Who are you here with?"  Her eyes traveled over his shoulder towards the area that he had come from.

"Me? I'm on my own, although I've seen a few people I know in the crowd. I'd ask the same to you," he added, gesturing towards the stage, "but it's obvious you've just gotten yourself some rather good company this evening."

"No, unfortunately, not this evening.  Most of the dates have to be arranged at a later time.  Some of these men are pretty busy and there's a whole process of checking calendars."  She grinned at him.  "I had to submit five dates and times in order of preference, when I signed in."

Edison grinned right back, a roguish gleam in his eye. "So does this mean I dare hope that you are similarly unattached tonight?"

"I am."  She nodded her head simply.  "Very available and very broke.  To think I could have saved over a hundred grand.  Where were you ten minutes ago?"  Her tone was light and playful.

Edison bowed his head in theatrical contrition. "I beg your forgiveness. If I'd just known, I'd have rushed to your side. Let me make it up to you, somehow. Dinner, perhaps?" His eyes unfocused for a moment. "I know a very good Thai restaurant, the kind that serves authentic dishes and appreciates those who appreciate it that way."

"Perhaps."  She said again, a bit more coyly than before.  She reached for a pen out of her purse and scrawled her phone number on a napkin.  "I actually have a commitment this evening, but you can give me a call."

Edison pulled out his card case and fished out one of his business cards from his art gallery that included his personal number. "And in case you feel the need to escape your commitment, please, give me a call." He held the card out, his eyes fixed on hers with a promise-laden gaze.

Lana smiled and took the card from him, looking it over for a moment before placing it in her purse.  "Thank you, Edison.  Your offer is a tempting one, I'll see what I can do."

The audience was beginning to stir a bit, heads craning this way and that as they looked for the next man on the block.  "Sebastian DiSantiago!"  Angelo finished from the stage after a very revealing and funny introduction of his nephew.