Party Crashers

with their admiring looks. For a few minutes she forgot how much her feet hurt.
    Out of the corner of her eye, a car on Peachtree Street caught her attention—a gray Mercury Sable sedan...hers? Her breath caught in her chest at the thought of Gary following her. She craned for a better look, but the contact lenses moved on her eyes, obscuring her vision for a few seconds. She blinked furiously, but by the time she had focused, the car had already slid into traffic and out of sight. She exhaled a long breath, telling herself there were hundreds of cars like hers in the metro area. Surely Gary wouldn't risk being caught driving a stolen car along the Peachtree Street corridor at night when the police patrols were in full force.
    She wondered if he would be waiting for her when she returned to her car tonight, or if, as Leann had suggested, he had used the bought time to get the hell out of Dodge.
    Was she being a colossal, gullible fool by believing him?
    "Are you okay?" Carlotta asked.
    "Fine," she murmured, and resumed walking.
    They were directed down a lavishly tiled hallway that opened up into a spacious foyer with a small, tasteful sign that welcomed guests to the reception for the Broadcasters and Journalists Association of Georgia. Jolie's palms were moist when they chained onto a line of beautifully dressed guests waiting to give their tickets to a rather stern-looking middle-aged gentleman. She grew even more nervous when Carlotta, casting inconspicuous glances at the tickets people around them were holding, turned a little gray around the gills.
    "What's wrong?" Jolie whispered.
    "I was misinformed," Carlotta whispered back. "I had my brother print up the wrong tickets."
    Jolie felt a full-fledged sweat coming on, and out of fear of staining the rented jumpsuit, concentrated on trying to contract her pores. "What are we going to do?"
    "Follow my lead," Carlotta said just as the couple in front of them moved on and the ticket taker held out his hand.
    "Tickets please."
    "Forgive my ignorance, sir," Carlotta said in a distinct British accent. "This is the first time I have attended such an event, and I wasn't aware that I was supposed to bring the vouchers."
    Jolie stared. The woman was a chameleon.
    A wrinkle formed in the man's brow. "I'm not supposed to let you in without a ticket, ma'am."
    "Oh," Carlotta murmured, fluttering her hands. "I'm quite embarrassed, still adjusting to American protocol and all of that." She turned to bestow a beatific smile on the people behind them. Then she turned back to the ticket holder. "Isn't there something you can do, sir? Check my name on a list, perhaps? Betty Halverson, CNN. And guest."
    Jolie did her part, nodding as if she were indeed the guest of British-born Betty Halverson, CNN, although her neck itched and the contact in her left eye was beginning to feel like a tampon all right—a tampon in her eye.
    The ticket taker leaned in to speak to Carlotta conspiratorially. "I asked for a list, ma'am, but they didn't give me one."
    Carlotta made a rueful noise in her throat. "This isn't your fault, good sir, it's mine, all mine." Flap, flap went her false eyelashes.
    Jolie could practically hear the man's resolve crumbling. "I think it would be all right this once," he murmured.
    "You are a true gentleman," Carlotta crooned, and floated through the opening.
    Jolie followed with a grateful American nod. When they had moved out of earshot, she looked at Carlotta. "What was that?"
    "Accents will open doors," Carlotta said with a lovely shrug. "People with a British accent sound smart and trustworthy."
    "You're scary," Jolie said.
    "We're in, aren't we?" Carlotta said, then scanned the room full of milling guests. She stopped and inhaled sharply. "Oh, my God."
    Jolie froze and tried to blink her contact lens into place. "Do you see Roger LeMon?"
    "No, it's Anderson Cooper."
    "Doesn't he have his own show on CNN?"
    "Who cares about that? He's the son of Gloria Vanderbilt!"
    "Then maybe you should go introduce yourself to your coworker," Jolie said wryly.
    Carlotta made a face and continued to survey the room. "I'm going to be able to add to my book tonight. Without moving, I see the mayor, Jasmine Guy, and Clark Howard."
    "The consumer reports guy?"
    "Yes." Carlotta frowned. "I think I’ll him that his advice to shop discount is not only bad for the economy, but bad for the Atlanta fashion scene."
    "Oh, no," Jolie said with a laugh. "It's better to buy something and wear