“I tried to.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Well, that was true, actually. She didn’t. In her head she was trying to say no. But in truth, she had just done as she was told.

“You’ve been on TV before,” Scarlett said. “You did that telethon.”

“When I was nine.”

This was a stupid conversation to be having, especially in the sleek black hallway of Rockefeller Center, in full view of people from the show and the other Powerkids. It was stupid under any circumstances.

“I have to meet my guest for lunch,” she said. “So I have to take you right back.”

“I’m supposed to have lunch with them.”

“I don’t have any choice, Marlene. It’s my job. Let me take you home…”

“I’m coming,” Marlene said. She was just doing it to be difficult—and frankly, her technique was working. But Mrs. Amberson was going to have to meet Marlene sooner or later.

More to the point…Marlene was going to have to meet Mrs. Amberson. And that, frankly, was kind of an amusing prospect.

LUNCH DATE

The Algonquin Hotel was one of the most pedigreed establishments in the entire city, famous for its literary connections in the twenties and thirties. Mrs. Amberson was settled on a small sofa in its dark paneled and richly appointed lobby. Where the Hopewell had sparkle (or used to have sparkle), the Algonquin had a deep, cultivated charm. And…guests.

“It’s this or a short hospital stay,” she said, greeting Scarlett with a raised glass of a deep red liquid with a celery stalk sticking out of the top. “Bloody Marys are one of the truly medicinal cocktails. The only way I can beat this jet lag is by staying up all day, and this is going to keep me alive. And who is this?”

This was directed at Marlene, who was stalking along behind Scarlett like a wet cat.

“My sister Marlene. We were at an event this morning for her group.”

Marlene dropped into a plush chair at the farthest end of the little table.

“Group?” Mrs. Amberson said, pulling out the celery and taking a big bite out of the stalk.

“Powerkids,” Scarlett said, sitting down a little closer. “It’s a cancer survivor thing.”

This was usually the place where people would go into a long, “You had cancer? What a brave little girl you are! How terrible, at your age. You know, they say that children who have been ill…” Blah, blah, blah. It was always the same, and Marlene never listened to a word of it. Mrs. Amberson, however, didn’t say a thing. She just cocked an eyebrow at Marlene and jabbed her celery stick back into the glass. It was a strangely satisfying reaction for Scarlett, who was equally sick of hearing the speech.

“I’m hungry,” Marlene said.

Mrs. Amberson smiled lightly and passed Marlene the menu.

“Help yourself,” she said.

This, Scarlett had not expected. The Alonguin was a nice place, which meant it was also an expensive place.

“I…um…I only have eight dollars on me,” Scarlett said. That was half of her current fortune.