The Maya 1.53

Previously On The Maya...

Secret Service Agent Lance Simmons meets Tucson Sutton II and finds him to be formidable. After leaving the welcome line, he and his date for the evening, Haley Talford, daughter of the President of the Isle of Use, go up the stairs to watch things from above. Out of habit, Simmons looks around for the security officers, but can only spot one or two. He tells Haley that he's impressed with them, to which she remarks that her father will be happy to hear that.

After a time, they rejoin the rest of the gathering throng and head to their table with the President, his wife and others. As they do, there is a commotion across the way. A beautiful woman Simmons saw coming through the line earlier is questioning the seating arrangements, apparently wishing to sit next to people she knows. Simmons takes it all in as the crowd goes quiet.

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The Maya—a living legend covert operative-for-hire that no one she encounters can remember.

George Kirkegaard—a former newspaper owner forced out of business by state government.

Eugenio Stavros—a shipping magnate on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Use to renegotiate a steel contract.

Amara Barclay—a savvy, independent multi-millionaire entrepreneur and socialite with unparalleled beauty.

Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake—two U.S. government officials running off-the-books dark ops involving The Maya.

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And now...the next installment of The Maya.

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Amara spied Kirkegaard and Paloma, quite accidentally, as she scanned the crowd. She didn't expect to know anyone, so her intent was to people watch and guess who people were. Stavros was more interested in carrying on a conversation with one of the steel company vice presidents they were seated with, leaving Amara to her own devices. When she saw Kirkegaard, she nearly jumped out of her chair, but managed to make it look like she was just readjusting herself.

What is he doing here?

From what Stavros had described, invitations to this event were not the easiest to come by. Not that a person needed to be special, or even know someone, though the latter might help. The invitations were given out at random, the only sure attendees to be the Suttons and the oldest of their descendants. In reality, this dinner was a formal family gathering, but as the population of the island grew, the family decided it would be much more fun if they randomly invited others, and those people randomly invited more. There were a finite number of seats, but room was made for everyone who was invited.

Amara did not recognize the people Kirkegaard and Paloma were sitting with. The man with the tuxedo and cowboy hat was out of place, but he was the only standout among a table of beautiful people. Amara shook her head. All of these women had the bodies of lingerie models, yet, they did everything they could to downplay them. Meanwhile, the men might all be titans of industry, or heads of state. Elegant men, regal women, all wearing hair and clothing styles most reminiscent of the fifties and sixties. Even the orchestra, a large brass and string ensemble, were alternating between big band, swing and jazz.

As far as she could tell, neither Kirkegaard or Paloma had seen her. While not completely, they did face away from where Amara was. Paloma was fitting in better than Kirkegaard, coming in and out of conversations as she pleased, while Kirkegaard seemed content to listen in. Amara was not surprised. Kirkegaard was better suited for intimate settings, not large gatherings in formal attire. After what happened the night before, Amara wondered if she was crazy to be concerned with Kirkegaard's personal comfort, but she couldn't help it. She should be trying to avoid him, not excited to see him. It didn't help that the conversation going on around her might be marginally interesting in a business meeting. This was supposed to be a lavish party, where the discussions were, well, livelier.

Stavros hardly noticed when she excused herself. Before she could change her mind, she practically vaulted the space between her table and Kirkegaard's. Paloma was the first to notice her approach. Amara wasn't sure how she expected Paloma to react, but it wasn't what she got. A radiant smile issued forth from Paloma's face, and she stood up, holding out her hands.

"Amara," she said, offering an embrace which Amara fell into. "Look, George. Someone else we know."

Kirkegaard turned around, his face flush, but he did not look surprised. "That officially makes everyone on the island."

"Fancy meeting you here," Amara said, hands on hips. Kirkegaard stood up and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. It was more production than she needed, but she wasn't in a subtle mood. Not the way she was forced to be dressed.

Kirkegaard sat back down and Amara plopped down in one of two still empty chairs. Whoever they were for had yet to show. It wouldn't be too long before the dinner would start, and the doors would be closed. They'd been warned by the attendants on the way in not to wander away, that dinner would start on time.

"You're not alone, are you?" Paloma asked, looking back through the tables where she thought Amara had come.

"No," Amara said, "He's back there, talking steel."

Kirkegaard grinned. "Sounds exciting."

"I don't mind business-talk," Amara said, rolling her eyes, "I just prefer diamonds." She held up a hand where one of her originals, a multi-band bracelet, all gold, with diamond chains hanging off of the bands. It sparkled brilliantly in the ambient light.

"That's lovely," Paloma said.

"And expensive," Kirkegaard said.

"Quite," Amara agreed. "But I design them, so I get to wear them, too."

"Do you enjoy it? Designing jewelry?" Paloma asked.

"Yes, usually," Amara said. "I like wearing it more."

"Ma'am," a male voice said. Nearly as one, Amara, Kirkegaard and Paloma turned to see a man and a woman standing beside the table, accompanied by an usher.

"Yes?" Amara said, not sure if it was she being spoken to.

"We should take our seats," the man said, glancing at his wife before turning back to Amara. "Thanks for keeping them warm, though." The man was friendly and did not seem put off at all that someone was occupying one of their chairs, but Amara wasn't ready to leave yet.

"Oh," she said, but did not get up, "I just got here."

"There will be time to chat later, I promise," the usher said, chiming in. "Right after dinner, and before the dance."

"I don't want to move, though," Amara said. She looked from the couple to the usher and back, "These are my friends, and I don't know much of anyone else here."

"I'm sorry about that," the usher said, "but these folks have friends, here, too."

Amara got up. "I understand. I just don't know why I can't sit here." She started to raise her voice, and people from surrounding tables started to look over as the discussion continued.

Another usher showed up, tugging on the first. "We need to get everyone seated," he said.

"This lady wants to sit here, but it's full," the first usher said.

"Ma'am, we need to have you go back to your seat. We're getting ready to start."

"I..."

"Amara? What's going on?" It was Stavros. He'd realized Amara was in distress and had come to find out why.

"I want us to sit here."

"Sir, we'd love to accommodate, but we can't," the second usher said to Stavros. "Could you and the lady please return to your seats."

"Amara, we can talk later." Kirkegaard said, "It'll be okay."

"I don't want to talk later," Amara said, "I want to talk now."

"Amara, please, let's not make a scene," Stavros said quietly, but firmly. Secretly, he wondered if Amara had somehow snuck some wine from somewhere, because she wasn't acting like herself. He also wasn't pleased that she was wanting to sit by the man he presumed to be Kirkegaard.

"Why can't we sit by them?" Amara asked. She looked at Stavros, then in turn, the two ushers. "Do you mind?" she added, directing the question to the couple.

The man was about to answer when someone said, "Pardon me." There was a hush as people around the table and immediately adjacent realized who had spoken. The voice came from behind Amara, so she turned as she saw the faces of those nearby staring over her shoulder.

It was Sutton and Lilith. Lilith was the one who spoke, her sing song voice cutting like a thin reed through the chatter. When she was certain she had everyone's attention, she raised her voice somewhat, but it was obvious to all that she spoke to Amara.

"It is customary," she said, holding out a hand, "for Tuscon and I to choose companions for our table from among the gathered guests. It gives us a chance to meet people we might not otherwise meet, and it nearly always guarantees a more scintillating conversation." She took a step toward Amara, clasped her hand and said, "Amara, we would be honored if you and Eugenio joined us at our table."

For once, Amara was speechless. One, that she was being asked to sit with the Suttons, and two, that Lilith remembered her name! How many guests had she greeted? Several hundred, Amara was certain.

"What do you say, dear?" Lilith pressed, when Amara only stared, then became conscience she was being stared at.

"Yes, yes, of course," Amara said. A smile lit her face, as a cheer and applause went up through the crowd. She turned around, making a pirouette in Lilith's hand, and then she raised her other one. That brought another cheer.

"We should probably invite the two of you, too," Lilith said, now speaking to Kirkegaard and Paloma.

Startled, the couple looked at each other, then back to Lilith, with more than surprise on their faces. Then, Paloma's expression calmed and she said, "We'd be honored."

"We still need two more," Lilith said, as a third cheer ran through the crowd.

"I know just the pair," Sutton said. "I'll meet you all back at the table."

"Don't get lost," Lilith said, giggling.

"Beat you back," Sutton said.

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'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

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