"You're a fool to miss out, man. It's not often you'll get into a place like this."

"Why bother? What I need I can buy from you."

"You want an exclusive, do you?"

"No other way."

"Well, good luck, then. This is the most private family this side of Monaco."

The exclusive. That was the Jennings dream. Private entree into rarefied realms. There was excitement in the stalking to be sure, but no status, no respect. If he could somehow work his way inside; that's where it was at.

"Hey, Nanny! Nanny!" shouted Hobie in the distance. "Look this way!" And all attention focused on a towering birthday cake being wheeled out from inside.

The child's nanny, Chessa, was dressed as a clown, her face whitened with powder and painted with a garish red smile. As the photographers danced about her, she delighted in the attention, hugging, kissing, smearing her makeup onto the child.

"Can he blow them out?" they shouted. u Let him take a try."

Jennings' eyes traveled slowly through the crowds; he spotted the face of Katherine Thorn, standing at a distance, a vague hint of disapproval playing about her mouth. For a split second her mask was down, and Jennings instinctively reached for his camera, clicking off a shot. At the birthday cake a howl of applause and approval went up, as Katherine slowly moved forward.

"Tell his fortune!" shouted a reporter. "Take him to the fortune teller!" And as a body, the crowd began to move, bearing the nanny and her adored child across the lawn.

"I'll take him," said Katherine, reaching toward them as they passed.

"I can do it, mum," replied the nanny brightly.

'Til do it," smiled Katherine.

And in the single moment as their eyes met, the nanny relinquished the child. It was a moment unnoticed by all, the momentum and noise carrying them forward, but Jennings was watching it through his viewfinder. As the crowd moved on, the nanny was left standing alone, the towering house framed behind her, the clown costume somehow accentuating her air of desertion. Jennings hit the button twice before the young girl turned and walked slowly back to the house.

At the fortune teller's tent Katherine admonished reporters to stay outside, then entered, breathing a sigh of relief at the sudden quiet and darkened atmosphere.

"Hello, little boy."

The words came from beneath a hood; an apparition -was seated behind a small green table, her voice strained to sound witchlike, her face made up in green. As Damien gazed down, he stiffened, climbing fast to his mother's shoulder.

"Come on, Damien," laughed Katherine, "this is a nice witch. Aren't you a nice witch?"

"Of course," laughed the fortune teller. "I won't hurt you."

"She's going to tell your fortune," coaxed Katherine.

"Come on," gestured the fortune teller. "Hold out your hand."