The seats would fill when the speeches started. Right now, only a handful were taken. Petra took Mr. Contreras over to Table 1, right in front of the podium. Jolenta Krumas, the candidate’s mother, was sitting with a small knot of older women who were all talking at the same time. Two younger women sat across from them. I recognized Jolenta from the newspaper photos of Brian with his family. I think the younger women were a sister and sister-in-law, but they weren’t as striking as Jolenta. Her thick dark hair, well streaked with gray, was swept back from her face with a couple of diamond butterflies. At sixty-something, her posture was still perfect. She was intent on what the woman to her left was saying, but she looked up with a good- humored smile when Petra bent down.

“Aunt Jolenta! This is Salvatore Contreras. He’s, like, my newest honorary uncle, and I know the senator-to-be would adore meeting him and having his picture taken!”

Jolenta Krumas, glancing from Petra to the row of polished medals on Mr. Contreras’s suit, gave a wry smile. “You are doing a splendid job, darling. I’ll make sure Harvey tells your papa the next time they talk. And so, Salvatore, is Petra exhausting you? Come, sit down, rest! Brian will be along in a while. He’s in back with some of Harvey’s friends. Now that he’s running for office, I’m lucky if I see him at Mass on Sunday mornings. This fundraiser is our first meal together in months!”

Petra turned around and saw me behind her. She made a grimace of mock contrition. “Oh, Aunt Jolenta, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce my real cousin, Vic, Victoria. She’s Uncle Sal’s upstairs neighbor. She’s a detective. Vic, this is the senator’s mom.”

“Senator-to-be, dear, senator-to-be, we all hope. The election’s a long way off. Let’s not jinx it, okay?”

She patted Petra’s hand, then indicated a chair near her for Mr. Contreras. Everyone swarming nearby stared at him, trying to figure out what he’d done to get a seat near power. I picked up a glass of wine from the Krumas table. As I moved toward an exit, I heard a woman say to her partner, “Oh, that’s Brian’s grandfather. The guy behind me just told me that.” I laughed a little. So stories start.

I moved away from the building and walked to the east edge of the pier, remote from the pounding loudspeakers and the endless preening conversations. See and be seen, see and be seen.

I stared down at the ripples that gleamed on the black water. The pier was awash with money tonight, with everyone hoping some would drift their way. Or at least some glamour or a tiny snippet of power.