Wayward Son Read Online Free PDF

dignitaries.
    Dozens of waitstaff in black-and-white jackets clustered around their supervisors in a final drill. In their late teens and early twenties, attractive and graceful, many of these young women and men anticipated the moment of discovery—their own, that is, by an influential mogul in entertainment, sports, or another celebrity field. The guest list tonight would be full of such power brokers.
     
    ***
    It was 4:45 p.m. when Amanda pulled the yellow Jeep Wrangler into the garage of her apartment building. She had barely an hour to shower, change, and repack. If she was going straight from Villa Colosseum to LAX, she would have to change at the airport. Dr. Walker had used his pull to get her admitted to the business class lounge, which offered convenient changing rooms. As for the Wrangler, she would use the airport’s long-term parking. Expensive, but there was no other option with such sudden arrangements.
    Plato, of course, was delighted to see her, despite the long, affectionate good-bye she had given him that very morning. But he was not finicky. Amanda’s unanticipated reentry meant some extra bites of savory food. He rubbed against her legs as she hastily opened a can and spooned his meal into a dish.
    Out of the shower, Amanda chose a black cocktail dress belted with an aqua sash. She scooped a pair of three-inch pumps off the shelf. She debated whether to wear her hair down or use the tortoiseshell combs her mother had given her when they lived in Japan. She decided in favor of the combs. For jewelry, she selected a favorite pair of aquamarine earrings and a simple gold locket on a chain. Once upon a time, it had held a picture of Juan Carlos. Now that they had drifted apart, however, the locket held only her mom’s photo. She kept telling herself that another picture would take Johnny’s place when the time was right.
    Almost ready, she checked her answering machine. Most of her friends used her cell number, but some callers continued to use the landline. Pressing the speakerphone button, she found she had two messages. The first was from Dr. Walker.
    “Just an aide-mémoire , Amanda. You have to leave the party early, so please try to arrive no later than six fifteen. I’ll wait for you outside the library. The staff will inform you where it is.” Beeeeeep .
    “Well, how about that,” she murmured to herself. The voice equivalent of a spam gram.
    The second message was from British Airways, reminding her that check-in for her flight to Rome was a minimum of two hours before the scheduled flight time. If she didn’t meet the deadline, her reservation might well not be honored.
    “Time to split,” Amanda thought. Grabbing the Louis Vuitton and her backpack, she blew a kiss to Plato, let herself out, and double-locked the door.
    Arriving at the front gates of Villa Colosseum thirty minutes later, she found a traffic jam. Limos were stacked up on PCH the way the vehicles of lesser mortals clogged the I-5 freeway on weekday mornings. As she maneuvered the Wrangler into the procession, Amanda thought how incongruous her vehicle looked in this parade. She showed her invitation to one of the four armed guards at the main gate and was waved forward.
    After a ten-minute crawl, she reached the esplanade in front of the mansion’s main entrance. Several athletic, raven-haired valets who looked like clones jockeyed for her attention. The tallest one issued her a claim check and took custody of her car keys.
    “My bags will be okay?” she asked him.
    “No worries, Miss. Mr. Renard’s garage is totally secure. I’m Rob, if you need anything,” he added amiably. She caught him admiring her emerald green eyes and her well-proportioned body as she stepped out of the car and onto the paving stones.
    Amanda nodded, and the Wrangler swiftly disappeared around the drive and into an underground garage. She noted with satisfaction that it was only 6:10 p.m. Dr. Walker would not be kept waiting.
    Amanda took