"No, go and enjoy the party. There's plenty of handshakes out there for you too, Mister Chief of Staff," I replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be out once the first wave of stuff is on the way. But if you see your son, can you send him in here? His mom might need a hand with the cake later."
Mark grinned and nodded. "Of course. He's probably around here somewhere. There's quite a few pretty girls in the audience, he's going to have his hands full."
"Like father like son," I replied. Mark chuckled and left, and I redirected my attention to the staff. One girl, a cute little thing who looked kind of like I did when I was twenty, a lot of curves with just a hint of softness to them capped by a thick mane of nearly black hair, watched Mark leave with dream filled eyes. She was like me I could tell, a lot prettier than she thought she was and suffering mostly from a giant case of insecurity. I smiled and tapped her on the arm. "You okay?"
The girl jumped, startled. "Yes... sorry ma'am."
"It's okay," I said. Quietly, I leaned in and whispered in her ear. "You want to know the secret?"
She nodded, all big eyes and innocent features, and I smiled again at how much she reminded me of me at that age. "Just go out and try for them. They're not out of reach, although they are hard to find. Got me?"
The girl nodded again, a sheepish smile coming to her face as she realized I'd nearly read her mind. Her smile faded and her jaw dropped as the swinging door to the kitchen area opened again, and Riley came in. Named after his father (it was how all of us had finally learned his real name), Riley Bylur was the spitting image of his father when he was younger. Sandy blonde hair, piercing eyes, smart and athletic, the only thing he lacked was the soft Southern drawl his father could recall in an instant that still melted my heart. At nineteen, Riley was already a junior at Harvard. Like mother, like son, I guess.
"Hey Mom, Dad said you needed.... help," Riley said, his eyes stopping on the young girl next to me. I tried to hide me smile as I saw the two look at each other, and made a decision.
"Yes, later. In the meantime, Riley, this is...., sorry, I didn't get your name," I said to the girl next to me.
"Scarlett," the girl replied, blushing. "Scarlett Wayne."
"Scarlett Wayne. Scarlett, this is my son Riley Bylur. If you need any help tonight, ask him. I'm sure he'll be happy to assist you, he can coordinate things back here," I said, patting my son on the shoulder. "I'm going to join the party."
Riley nodded and smiled at Scarlett, already dismissing me from his thoughts. I left the kitchen before I could overhear too much of their conversation. The celebratory gala was already going when I came out, followed seconds later by the servants, carrying trays around to everyone. I made my way through the crowd, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with people while I looked for Mark. Finally I spotted him near the front door, shaking hands with Bennie Fernandez. Excuse me, Judge Fernandez of the Fifth District, a new position that had him in line for a Supreme Court spot if he wanted it later on. Still, he was just Bennie to us.
"So how's the new house?" Mark asked as the two took drinks from the tray, Mark's of course being non-alcoholic. Some things never changed.
Bennie on the other hand had. Balding, with a pleasantly round belly, he sill had the fire in his eyes that had told me he was a good prosecutor years before. "We're enjoying it. Our son's getting married soon, so the extra room will be great. Can you imagine it? Grandkids running around the house. My wife is already planning on spoiling them rotten whenever they come over. I was glad the President was willing to relocate me down there after my son got a job in Miami. It's a good thing. Keeps me out of your hair at least."
Mark laughed and patted Bennie on the shoulder. "You know I'm getting too old for that type of stuff, Bennie. I'm not twenty five any more."
Bennie chuckled, knowing that he'd never, despite all the years of subtle probes, get a clear answer from Mark. "I see.... and the urban legends then?"
I chuckled and came up to Mark, wrapping my arm around his waist. "Are urban legends, Benjamin. Don't make us lie to a judge."
Bennie laughed and nodded. "Okay. Well, I'm still fighting the good fight myself. New playground, same trash to take out. You know how it is."
At the front of the room, Patrick's assistant campaign manager took the microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight," the man said. He was young, just out of college and was replacing Gwen as Patrick's personal assistant after so many years, once Gwen had trained him in how to do things.