1

      “AREN’T PARTIES AT THE MET absolutely fab?” mused C.C.

      “Divine,” returned Diane.

      “Those chicks in Sex and the City have got nothing on us,” chimed Mara.

      “Stick around for just a few more minutes….” As Signe Sargent continued serving cocktails to costumed people sidling up to a makeshift bar, she glanced at her girlfriends, all wearing cat costumes. Through floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, light from the nearly full moon and star-scattered sky poured into the room, illuminating the ancient stone Temple of Dendur, brought from the Nile and reassembled in the Met’s Sackler Wing, as part of the museum’s permanent collection.

      “We’d love to stay—” C.C. reached to adjust the pointed cat ears nestled in her silken shoulder-length hair “—but while our kitty-cat costumes still look fresh, we’ve got to get downtown to Gus’s gig.” Gus was the owner of the bar nearest Signe’s walk-up in the Village.

      Diane, who’d flipped open a compact, was checking her lipstick. “I wish you weren’t working, Sig. You could go with us.”

      “Thanks for sneaking us onto the guest list,” put in Mara.

      Diane closed the compact, then tilted back a champagne flute, drained it and placed it on the tray beside Signe. “Sneaking in here was risky, but definitely worth it,” she pronounced, flashing a business card she’d managed to get from one of the hot, circulating bachelors.

      Afraid her boss might recognize her friends’ names, since the bash, given by a computer mogul, was strictly for New York’s crème de la crème, Signe had signed everyone in under false names.

      “It’s definitely one of the better parties we’ve crashed this month,” agreed C.C. with a sigh.

      “Amazing hors d’oeuvres,” added Mara.

      After filching another pumpkin-shaped tart from under her workstation, Signe nodded, munching. “I still haven’t seen Gorgeous Garrity.”

      “You will,” assured C.C.

      Maybe. Signe’s eyes settled on the windows behind her opening onto Central Park. In full autumnal glory, the park was beautiful, the trees bursting with color. Gold and russet, they glimmered with night dew and framed a moon so romantic that even the most jaded New York cynic might swoon. It was the perfect backdrop for propositioning Gorgeous. So, where was he?

      Signe’s gaze returned to the cavernous room—the ancient Egyptian tombs, the stone statues of guardian goddesses and the temple itself. As mystical as the moon, Dendur stood just as it had for thousands of years, its yellow stones covered in hieroglyphs.

      “I met a Rockefeller,” Diane said.

      Signe nodded, still scanning the crowd for Gorgeous. While it wasn’t generally known, the museum was available for private parties, at least if they were given by the city’s movers and shakers. Tonight, faces recognizable from magazines and the news were everywhere.

      “I met Ghardi,” Mara was saying. “You know? That shoe designer who does the retro-platforms with the gaudy bows on the toes?”

      “C’mon, you guys,” said C.C. “If we don’t get downtown nobody will be left at Gus’s, and I want to see the costumes.” Greenwich Village’s pre-Halloween parade was tonight, and there was bound to be stragglers.

      “So many parties,” said Diane. “So little time.”

      “And there will be even more on Halloween night,” agreed Mara.

      “I’m