“It was the Palmer House. And the Goddess was leading me into the swank Pump Room. A tall guy in an impeccable tuxedo and flawless smile approached us and crooned, “Ah, what a delight it is to see you, Mrs. Costain. Your father is expecting you.” I thought, “Well, she’s tricked me into meeting the old bastard.” We followed him through the dulcet light and muted hum of polite conversation to a large, plush booth. A tall aristocratic guy in a blue cashmere suit was rising from his seat with langui...d feline grace. His platinum hair was a sleek tailored cap with steel-gray emblems embossed at the temples. His glacial grey eyes held mine as he greeted us with a Madison Avenue smile. His voice was low and velvety, as he held out a pale manicured hand to her and said, “Whisty, you sweet girl.” She tiptoed and kissed his long straight nose. “You kept your promise. This must be the wonderful Johnny O’Brien I’ve heard you extol. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Johnny. I’m Bradford Wherry.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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