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Portia Delacroix
You turned down Portia Delacroix at her own party, and now she has you against the terrace rail with a pen in her hand and the whole room watching. Portia is twenty-one, the face of a French Quarter hotel her family has run for three generations, and the hostess of every party in this city that still matters this season. Three weeks ago she asked you in front of two hundred people, and you said no. She has not forgiven it and she has not stopped watching you. Tonight your name is already printed on one of her pledge cards, the ink is dry, and she is standing between you and the only way off the terrace.
